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"Attention!"

My command could be heard throughout the loud, rickety school bus. Whatever casual conversations they had immediately grew silent. Every newly minted soldier diverted their gazes up front. Most of them were privates, but no matter their rank, all knew better than to let the sweltering heat distract them from listening. Well, save for one sorry recruit who fell asleep.

"Attention!" I shouted once more.

The sleeping squirrel suddenly jumped awake, yanked from whatever dream he'd escaped to (maybe remembering when he'd last fucked a lover, like most soldiers tended to reminisce on in boredom) and stared ahead. The other transfers on the bus hid their snickering, but immediately silenced themselves whenever my sharp eyes locked on the first one to so much as smirk. Smart of them to do so.

I walked down the aisle to glare down at this pathetic runt. His silver-and-black fur contrasted with the green uniform he wore, while a big bushy tail curled against the seat. Sitting straight beside him was a red vixen. She didn't even turn her head to look at me, knowing my eyes were instead set on her seat partner.

"Name, rank and serial number."

The squirrel choked nervously. "H-Huh--"

"Name, rank and serial number!" I growled angrily for emphasis. The Disputed Zone needed recruits who wouldn't stammer or quaver, for God's sake. "Are you too stupid to remember them, or are the recruiters in Salt Lake City willing to send just about anybody to the frontlines?"

"Parker Aaron Sullivan, Private Second Class, sir!" he finally answered at the top of his small lungs, "Serial number is 533993, sir!"

"Did you have a nice nap, Private Sullivan?" I asked him sincerely. "Well? Did you?"

"Are you serious?" he paused.

"I am only serious when this uniform is on." I lowered my shades to stare down at him further. "Now answer me again, soldier: did you or did you not have a nice nap?"

Private Sullivan glanced quickly between me and the other soldiers. His entire stature made him appear like a student caught texting in class, except the air condition no longer worked and my punishments could be more...creative, if I wanted them to be.

"It was, uh..." he struggled finding the right word, "It was nice?"

"Good!" I straightened up and returned to the front end of the bus, raising my voice to the rest of the confused recruits. "When all you sorry-ass maggots get off this bus, naps are gonna become a luxury! If you thought Basic Training was a hotel trip to Vegas, then wait until you get to Evanston. Any minute now and the Utah border will be directly behind us. We'll no longer be in Western Republic territory, boys! We will be the last line of defense in case of a Devout attack. And that includes you, Sleeping Beauty!"

"Sir yes, sir!" everyone, including Private Sullivan, responded in kind.

Resting back in my front seat, I panted at the intense rays of sunlight creeping over the horizon. Soon, summer would be unwelcomely visiting for a few months, and turn us all into sweltering idiots craving for an air-conditioned building. The arid desert surrounding us didn't help either, with the only grass in sight either browning shrubs or littered dead grass.

To our right, a few decaying billboards tried advertising a new car for 1998, then one for fireworks on the next highway exit, or an upcoming TV show that never aired. Meanwhile, to our left, a series of abandoned houses lined up like tombstones from another century. One mini mall showed the bloody, burning wrath of a battle from twenty years prior, during the early days of the Second American Civil War.

Of course, to the Devout government, we were simply another series of states in constant rebellion. They could only view us as the 'Immoral States' and nothing more, not an independent nation the rest of the world recognized. Not as the Western Republic of the United States of America, free of the Revenant Party's religious zealotry.

Out in the Disputed Zone, the longest warfront in history, I was among many soldiers who wanted to keep what remained of the real America alive.

Half an hour of driving later, Jasper the bus driver guided us down a highway exit towards a gated military wall.

"Welcome to Evanston Outpost!" I announced in my raised voice. "The moment you step off this bus, it'll be eight laps around this here wall. Staff will be hauling all your crap into the barracks, but any fuckers too tired to keep up will do double tomorrow morning! Now, who's ready?"

"Sir, we are sir!" everyone replied.

Soon, I was leading this pathetic platoon along the inside of the Evanston Wall, a thirty-foot-high structure spanning parts of a former Wyoming town. A highway served as part of the southern portion of this pit, with barriers and guard towers stacked atop it like Jenga blocks. The rest of the wall cut through streets, buildings and into derelict stores (now used as supply sheds for ammo or vehicles) before curling back to the concrete strip of Highway 80.

Meanwhile, the Western Republic's Air Force used the Burns Field Airport a mile northwest as a base for their military drones, many of which flew over Evanston before patrolling the Disputed Zone for any activity. The fighter jets could be so loud, it'd be a miracle to have a day where the barracks windows didn't shake.

I bet my pension they do it just to fuck with the new recruits, I often theorized.

"Come on, maggots! Move it!" I grunted at them. The sun overhead refused to disappear behind any clouds, baking everyone alive. "Let's go now! Are you not soldiers, dammit?! My grandmother's dead and she could toss her purse at you from a dozen yards!"

Several furs in uniform saluted me as we passed a golf course-turned-obstacle course, while a few others pointed at us before their superiors shouted at them. I did the same for a few of mine too, my jogs slowing down until I was at the back.

"We're only two-thirds on the first lap, mutts!" I ordered, "Let's keep moving!"

As they exerted themselves, I briefly inspected them all over.

Forty-five new recruits: thirteen females, thirty-two males, all of whom were picturesque definitions of soldiers. My eyes couldn't help but admire the 'fresh meat' Evanston got tonight. All the males were drenched in sweaty musk, dripping through their clothes onto their well-defined muscles, chests, and asses. The way their rear ends jiggled firmly in their pants almost had me growing erect. If any of the Cinderella Club's boys weren't in the mood, then these men were definitely going to star in some of my masturbatory fantasies.

Then, I noticed the squirrel from before trailing behind.

"Move it, Sleeping Beauty!" I spoke up with conviction in my voice. "You got two good legs on you, so use 'em like you fucking mean it!"

"Trying, sir!" he coughed tiredly. "Trying to!"

"'Trying' isn't enough, Parker!" I glared down at him as the rest began to get a few feet ahead of us.

"Ugh, cannot wait to get to bed!" one raccoon moaned near the front.

"I can't wait to fuck one of 'em Cinderella Club hookers!" neighed a mustang somewhere in the group. "I hear they can suck ya so hard, not a drop'll be left in your balls!"

I interjected, "You can talk when I tell you to talk and fuck 'em when I tell you to fuck 'em! Otherwise, I can withhold sex privileges until you head back next fall! Is that clear?!"

"Sir yes, sir!" they answered, particularly from the spooked mustang.

"Excellent!" I glanced back to the poor squirrel. "I expect the best soldiers from our Republic out here, and we got ourselves seven more laps to go, Sleeping Beauty!"

"I know sir!" he whined.

"I bet you don't know!" my voice rose in annoyed anger. "I bet you're just a lazy-ass city boy who can't go seven minutes without Wi-Fi or some bullshit latte!" One of the drones flew nearby overhead, startling Sullivan and a few of the unprepared soldiers. I barely even flinched while the poor squirrel jumped and nearly stumbled forward. "I said move, Private!"

My paw slapped his ass hard.

"Aiiiiiieeeeee!"

Private Sullivan yipped before storming back to the front of the line, causing a few of his comrades to laugh out loud. His bushy tail soon disappeared among the taller privates. Clearly, he just needed the right push of motivation.

"Keep going, ladies!" I spoke, "There's plenty of time to be tired when we're all dead!"

Hours went by until they passed 'orientation'. After dismissing them to the barracks, several of whom looking like they wanted to hurl, I reported to Colonel Wyatt. An aid of his informed me the old German Shepherd needed to speak with me about something urgent.

Contrary to popular belief, Evanston wasn't a metropolitan military base. Sure, we had an operating hotel, a medium-sized strip-mall for civilians and soldiers alike to purchase shipped goods, a few restaurants, a working tailor shop, a decent movie theater playing old and new Hollywood films, a couple nice restaurants downtown, including a popular bar everyone called 'The Watering Hole'. However, Evanston was just another small town in the middle of nowhere before the second civil war even started. Twenty-two years later and it seemed barely recognizable for any returning residents, the remaining buildings were prioritized for the war effort.

For example, the local Buy-Mart now housed Humvees, supplies, military equipment and de facto offices for high-ranking officers. Colonel Wyatt in particular had a nice view in the management's balcony, which commanded a view of the building's entire interior. Walking up the stairs and nodding to a few saluting officers, I wondered where the store's final manager went. Did they manage to escape the border disputes, exiling into the heartland of our enemy? Or were they smart enough to flee for the West Coast?

I knocked on the door, and a deep voice gave me permission to enter.

"Ah, Sergeant Hammond, come inside," spoke Colonel Scott Wyatt, sitting at his desk at the far end of the room. To our left was the long two-way window overlooking everything, while shelves of paperwork lined along the right wall.

Closing the door behind me, the downstairs noise grew muffled. "Colonel," I saluted him.

"At ease, Sergeant. How are the new recruits?"

"Very well, sir. There's a couple apples that need more polishing, but I think they have potential out here, if the boredom doesn't get to them first..." I paused when I sniffed the air and noticed another scent. Was that...perfume? "You uh, wanted to see me for something urgent? Your aide-de-camp said it would interest me."

"It might. Before we get into specifics though, say hello to our guest, John."

Someone cleared their breathy voice behind me. Suddenly, the scent became much stronger. I turned around to see a female red husky stand up from a corner chair, her sleek, sparkling red dress heavily contrasting the grim reality of the colonel's office. Greying bits of fur along her curved cheeks couldn't reduce her beauty, making me question of she was in her forties or not.

"Pleased to meet you, Sarge." She greeted me, holding glass of what I guessed was brandy in her paw. "How you all survive out here in the Disputed Zone is beyond me. I mean, I can't even go twenty minutes outside without an air conditioner for this heat."

"And you are?" I tried recognizing her canine features, but to no avail. "You look so..."

"Familiar?" she flashed a bright smile and offered a paw, "Cindy Marie Anderson, but you know me better as the lady who's been supplying you and your men with some of my escorts. And men to your women, of course."

"Wait, you're..." I gaped momentarily, then immediately accepted her paw. "You the Madam Ella, of the Cinderella Club?"

She giggled shortly. "Is there any other? Everyone knows how much I detest copycats."

Madam Ella: there wasn't a horny fur on this side of the Disputed Zone who didn't purchase her services after tiring of endless online pornography. While it was true the Western Republic embraced sex more than our ultra-conservative rivals across the Rocky Mountains, it didn't mean we didn't regulate it, at least, when it came to prostitution. And one of the top escort services to rise through the bureaucracy in the sex industry--including a popular porn site as a subsidiary--happened to be the Cinderella Club, with its madam as the mascot and CEO.

What the Devout spoke about regarding her were lies; Madam Ella was a polite but blunt woman who cared for her employees. She paid them all well with high salaries, retirement benefits, dental plans, and life insurance. In fact, one escort's salary would be tripled or even quadrupled for risking going to an outpost like Evanston. All to pleasure the soldiers from boredom. Besides consent and respect being the most mandatory, the rules included the Club's employees eating and sleeping separately from the rest of the soldiers. In fact, the hotel next to the main highway primarily found itself reserved for VIPs and the escorts only.

"So, what brings you all the way out here?" I asked the Madam. "Why would somebody like yourself be out in this shithole? Pardon my language, ma'am."

"No offense taken," she laughed shortly, then glanced over to Wyatt nearby. "Colonel Wyatt wanted to discuss the details of something we've been cooking up."

"Anchorage has been wanting to test new methods of...psychological warfare, Sergeant," the old dog grumbled, "and now they've asked the Cinderella Club to sponsor our new efforts. It may not convince a Devout soldier to immediately defect or cross the Zone, but it'll definitely test the morale of the D.S.A. platoons on the other side."

"Psychological warfare, eh?" I grinned ear to twitching ear. "What's the campaign strategy this time around? Drones dropping leaflets, or are they gonna let us finally get back to basics and use the loudspeakers?"

The Colonel and Madam equally smirked, with the old dog blushing more.

"Not exactly, Sarge," she teased. "It'll involve audio speakers for sure, but...it is more scandalous."

***

Another dawn shone over Evanston like a spotlight. The early morning alarm rang out from loudspeakers as patrols for the perimeter switched shifts. Luckily for me, I was always an early riser, waking up before the sun even crept up over the horizon. After signing a few piles of paperwork and inspecting my trusty handgun, I joined Colonel Wyatt and the other senior officers at the head table in the outpost's main mess hall.

"So, how's your breakfast, Lenny?"

Chewing on some hash and some scrambled eggs drenched in pepper, Staff Sergeant Leonard Schiller grumbled, "Same shit as always, Hammond..."

"I know," mumbling, I stabbed an overcooked sausage and tore it apart with my teeth. "I heard you had trouble in your platoon's barracks?"

"Yeah, but that's what you expect out here."

With the Colonel, his aide-de-camps and a few lieutenant colonels on one end, while I sat between them and the other officers, it was difficult to listen between two ongoing conversations. Then again, it felt like nobody could shut their traps in the mess hall, even if they were shoving food into said traps. Private Sullivan sat amongst them, mainly nibbling on some burnt toast while trying not to seem intimidated. Whenever his eyes would go in my direction, I'd steer mine away.

Breakfast eventually finished and Colonel Wyatt did morning announcements.

"And on another note, I'll give the mic over to First Sergeant Hammond here. Before anyone leaves for their respective posts, he'll discuss a voluntary assignment. Hammond?" The old dog sat back down at his table, allowing me to stand and pick up the mic in my paw.

"Thank you, sir," I cleared my throat and stood straight up. "So, I trust you're all familiar with the Cinderella Club and their escorts?"

Hoots and cocky whistles echoed throughout the barracks, mainly from the men. A couple female soldiers did express verbal interest, but the rest mainly stared ahead or groaned.

"Anyway, as the Colonel was saying, this is a strictly voluntary mission, but it does not mean it isn't of the upmost importance. You've all heard rumors that the CEO herself is here in Evanston. Safe to say, the rumors are true, but I cannot go into details about the operation at this time, but we'll need the most virile and brave of soldiers. Man or woman, high-ranking or low-ranking, it won't matter. Anybody accepted into this will be guaranteed a bonus as well. If you want more information on this, go to the announcement boards to read the other prerequisites needed. Once again, this mission is voluntary, but in my opinion, you might enjoy yourself doing it. Do I need to answer any questions?"

Silence. A portion of the audience looked intrigued though. I couldn't help but glance at Private Sullivan, staring wide-eyed at the prospect of a voluntary mission that promised a bonus.

"No? You're all dismissed to your respective posts then!"

An hour later, a good one-third of the base had signed up. Now that was real patriotism.

We slashed away the first half who had mandatory duties, were married or didn't have the sufficient requirements, then narrowed the margins down until we had a nice twenty-two candidates. Four women and eighteen men, all of them having attractive qualities. Unfortunately for me, the maximum number of applicants we could accept were eight. That meant I needed to spend an hour or two talking to Madam Ella in her hotel room about the candidates based on their appearance, until we eventually decided to try something simple out.

"...what?" I blinked at her. "You cannot be fucking serious..."

"Why not?" Madam Ella raised a stylized eyebrow at me. "We bring them to a room here, let them masturbate and root out the ones who last the longest."

"It sounds stupid." I argued.

"It sounds sound." she countered.

"How the hell will it matter if we know how long my men can masturbate for?" I asked her. "A porno is a porno, and a soldier is a soldier."

"Not only will we know their sexual stamina--not to mention what's packing underneath those camo pants--but we'll know what each of them sound like when they're sexually charged. We don't want to have Huxley result in the Devout suddenly deciding to launch missile strikes on just Evanston if they figure out the entire base volunteered, do we?"

I thought it over, muttering, "I don't doubt you, but it still sounds ridiculous on paper..."

She giggled, "That I cannot deny, but this is the business."

I raised an eyebrow. "Of pornography or psychological warfare?"

Madam Ella clicked her tongue mid-swig. "Both."

After she managed to convince Colonel Wyatt about the plan to weed out our candidates, we got to work preparing the test. After which, I had an aide radio in each candidate to the Scarlet Oasis Hotel, then greet them in the lobby before telling them to line up outside Room 13B on the third floor. Nobody would be told what they were doing, only to enter the room when called in. They'd discover an empty hotel room with a bathroom, bed and a sizable TV showcasing various collections of porn. Gay, straight, bisexual, lesbian, threesomes, foursomes, fivesomes, orgies, first times, and whatever got you hard or wet.

A sign would be posted beside the TV: Masturbate for as long as you can. Feel free to look through different kinds of pornography, but do not climax until you're at your limit. As an order from First Sergeant Hammond with the permission of Colonel Wyatt, whatever happens in this room will stay in this room. If you are uncomfortable with having us observe you, and do not wish to participate in this experiment, please vacate and return to your post. Thank you, and long live the Western Republic of America!

Although they were clearly nervous walking in, almost questioning why this was possible, most of the runners-ups complied. They lied down on the bed, unbuckling their uniform belts and letting their horny natures take over. This included girls as well as guys, though four did end up leaving due to the uncomfortable nature of the so-called 'experiment'. For the whole day, me and the madam stood in a nearby room watching through hidden cameras.

Today, the always-stunning husky wore a plain grey turtleneck sweater, something that probably cost as much as her pearl necklace. The last time I saw something that expensive, it was pawned off for food back in L.A.

"Not him," she pointed to the hyena in the room, his squirming moans carrying through the microphone. "He sounds like he's getting castrated."

My tail bristled at the image in my head. "I don't understand how that--"

"If we're going to do this operation, Sarge, we'll at least need to have the partners know how to sound good. This one is cute and knows how to persist, but he's not up to par."

"I don't understand, ma'am. Why do you care if they squeak during sex?"

"Because," the husky drank from her mixed drink, "I'm a businesswoman, and even if this is for a classified mission for the Republic, I want to work with the best. And I say his girly cries and incoherent muttering about..." she sighed, "...schoolgirls, are not what we're looking for. Plus, his habit of whining mid-stroke is too distracting if it's the only kind of noise he'll produce in front of the microphones."

"Alright." I sighed in defeat, knowing I couldn't win an argument with her. "Fine then."

I discreetly covered my crotch with a clipboard as we waited for Private Vale to finish, half-convinced Madam Ella would comment on my erection anytime soon. I couldn't help myself though. At eight inches and pulsing with veins between his vigorous fingers, Private Vale's cock could be seen as a perfect male specimen. Not too long or thick, but juicy enough to make any top want to service it.

His supple balls looked exquisite too, though if he weren't fixated on straight porn, I could imagine myself turning Vale over onto his stomach, then slicken up my rod and pry his cheeks open to take it. I wouldn't mind his whines or squeaks, not if they happened each time I'd thrust in and out of him.

The thought made me want to jerk off in the nearest bathroom. It made me want to slam the door shut and stifle my lips as I fished out my strained cock, grasped it and imagined how Vale's ass felt clenching around it in a velvety vice. Having spent the past few hours looking over mostly male candidates made me antsy, to the point my length repeatedly stiffened and leaked inside my underwear.

"So why do you have this room?"

"Huh?" I cleared my throat and turned to the husky. "W-What do you mean?"

"These rooms?" Madam Ella glanced around. "These cameras, the room next door and the locks? Do you...regularly spy on guests here?"

"No, no, no..." I composed myself, "The room they are using is normally for defectors."

"Defectors?" Cinder pressed on. "You mean border crossers?"

"Correct, ma'am." I mumbled, my eyes trying to gaze away from the screen. "Once in a while, some Devout States civie or runaway soldier will defect to our side by making it through the Disputed Zone. It's an extremely dangerous risk, really, but it can be worth it if they avoid the mines, wild animals or drone patrols. Until we actually know they're not spies, we observe them from this room until they're cleared."

"Ah, I see..." she turned back to the monitor, then let out a soft chuckle. "Do you take some of my girls to this room? To properly test the soundproofing while you're at it?"

"Nah," I laughed shortly. "Well, not girls anyway..."

"Oh, okay. To each their own, then," she said. "I assumed, since I'm the only female here right now, and I can smell the musk from your boner."

My ears grew hot as an iron stove. "I'll be in the restroom." Setting the clipboard down, I went into the room's bathroom and slammed the door shut to, uh...relieve myself of some tension.

***

Finally, Madam Ella nitpicked the rest based on their sex sounds, stamina and enthusiasm, before gaining our eight candidates for Operation Huxley.

Blaine Dermot: Private First Class, 6' 4", aged twenty-one. This mustang chose to stroke his impressive length to straight porn involving his breed and smaller species. His favorite video involved a male stallion and some slutty Catholic schoolvixen being 'punished' on his lap for missing Mass. Although immature and very verbal, his deep, baritone moans--as well as his clocked time of forty-three minutes and two seconds--earned him a spot.

Björn Ghram: Army Specialist, 6' 6", aged thirty-nine. From what I knew, he and his family emigrated from Eastern Europe to the Western Republic due to rising nationalism, and the grizzly bear used to be in the military. Despite restarting as private, the grizzly had talent and was quickly rising in rank. Anyway, he went for gay porn almost immediately, stroking his thickly brown ursine cock to videos involving smaller canines and dominant bears. He clocked at fifty-one minutes. And shot far as well, almost hitting the ceiling.

Laurie Ross: Warrant Officer, 5' 10", aged twenty. The female cougar gladly started rubbing her crotch the moment she finished reading her instructions, interchanging between straight and gay porn to watch. Her purrs and moaning growls helped earn her points from Madam Ella, though her time of twenty-three minutes and forty-eight seconds barely saved her for consideration. To be fair though, everyone here was pent-up.

Goodspeed Beiler: Air Force Captain, 5' 11", aged thirty-five. The border collie sure had a wild sexual appetite. Me and the Madam couldn't believe how fast he masturbated to various fetishes on-screen. He clocked out at a decent forty-nine minutes and five seconds, but I think he ran through almost all the videos loaded on the TV. His fondness for male/male/female threesomes was duly noted, particularly with having a cock in each hole of hers.

Ash Cinder: Corporal, 5' 11", aged twenty-four. The fit coywolf went for the gay porn like a man dying of thirst in a desert, stroking and fingering himself with perverted abandon while drinking in all the videos that involved older bears, tigers, lions, etc. Seeing his spit-drenched index fingers go in and out of that pucker made my tail curl with delight. The fact that his time clocked out at an hour and fifteen minutes definitely earned him a position.

No pun intended.

Vincent de la Rosa: Private, 5' 6", aged nineteen. Despite his stature, the raccoon had a stamina that rivaled Corporal Cinder's. One hour and thirty-six seconds, but this time to straight porn. Interestingly, it was vanilla and involved two raccoons just making slow love on a bed. No kinks, no verbal or role play. It made me wonder what the private would consider quirky.

Carrie Lavern: Private, 5' 10", aged nineteen. She nearly walked out when entering the room but ended up staying. Like Warrant Officer Ross, the vixen loved switching between straight and gay porn, but preferred to stay in the canine category for who was in the video. Her moaning huffs and ability to be vocal definitely got the Madam's attention, and her whines even made my member tingle slightly. I wondered if she had a brother. Her time for masturbating to orgasm clocked out to thirty-nine minutes and fifty-two seconds.

The last one surprised me the most.

Parker Sullivan: Private First Class, 5' 7", aged nineteen. When the tree squirrel walked into the room and read the instructions, he seemed more lost than a discharged veteran. Then his expression became addictive lust before he finally got to work minutes later. While stroking himself, Sullivan specifically searched for videos with a dominant canine and a submissive squirrel, then fingered himself and moaned to a decently prolonged climax of forty-two minutes and twenty-two seconds. Apparently, Sleeping Beauty played for the other team too.

After reviewing the candidates, I radioed in for all eight candidates to report to a boardroom inside Hangar One at Burns Field Airport for a debriefing the next morning. Sure, they had to walk through the intense heat and were sweaty as hell, some of them pushing each other away to get to the water bubbler inside, but I think they'd find it all worth it.

Everyone stood at attention the moment me, Madam Ella--wearing a nice grey sheath dress--and her mousy assistant walked inside.

"At ease, soldiers. Take a seat." They did so, but not without hurriedly grabbing a cup of water. "Now, what I'm about to tell you is classified, and _does not_leave this room. You're probably wondering what the tests we've been conducting at the hotel are for, so let me explain to you the details of Operation Huxley."

A few of them murmured to each other before my expression silenced them.

"As we speak, there are twelve different Lockheed military drones in outposts along the Disputed Zone. One is parked in the hangar to your left," I pointed out the window to said hangar. "Each of 'em is specially outfitted to parachute an auditory device some of our boys have been building in Silicon Valley. Think of it as a weather-proof, bulletproof boombox that can emit approximately 100 decibels with a range of almost two miles. Frankly, it's something any popstar would beg to have in their front yard.

"Speaking of front yards, that's exactly where they're gonna be deployed: out there, in the Disputed Zone for the enemy to find. I can't discuss where it will be found, but...let's just say the D.S.A. colonels over in the Casper Outpost will have trouble sleeping this week. Yes, what's your question, Warrant Officer Ross?"

Lowering her paw, the cougar nervously cleared her throat.

"What'll these...'boomboxes', be playing exactly?" she asked, then perked her ears up with a half-devilish cat grin. "Will it be something dirty?"

"Hehe, please tell me it'll be porn," begged Private Goodspeed.

"Or propaganda," commented Private Rosa.

"Didn't we once do that in the past?" Corporal Cinder pointed out. "Not that I'm saying porn wouldn't be a nice way to fuck with those Devout soldiers, but I once saw a news clip that talked about it like...five or six years ago?"

I sighed in agreement. "Four Corners Outpost and Yellowstone Base did a similar form of psychological warfare back in 2012, broadcasting porn on loudspeakers a mere few miles away from the DSA's border. Then..." a growl nearly escaped my throat, "Then the Devout States government retaliated by allegedly sending a message. They utilized technology to identify the pornographic actors involved based on their voices alone. In the end, a car bomb meant for one of the volunteered porn stars...it killed her parents."

"That's fucked up," Cinder commented.

"You said it." Grizz grumbled beside him.

"Which is why the military is utilizing a different tactic this time," Madam Ella spoke up. "My stars are willing to do many things for their jobs but risking assassination isn't one of them. As soldiers of the Western Republic, you're already putting your lives on the line to defend and protect this country, which is why you'll be providing our audio...by having sex with my escorts while we record you."

Like that, everyone's eyes transformed into white, flabbergasted dinner plates. They turned their muzzle to and from the others seated, half of them in slight disgust and the other half in hopeful awe. That mainly come from Cinder, Grizz and Sullivan, with even my subconscious wishing it were the complete case.

"Oh my God..." Goodspeed muttered.

"Are you serious, lady?" Private Dermot gawked at her. "What? We're going to be your porn stars or something?"

"That's 'madam' to you, jarhead!" She bristled in annoyance. "And I am serious about business, especially with our military. I'll let the Sarge here explain the rest."

"Thank you, madam." I glared at the private, who shriveled right back into his seat despite his immense size. "Now before any of you ask: no, you're not going to have sex with each other, not unless you want to. Your partners are some of Madam Ella's escorts who have already volunteered themselves for Operation Huxley, and they've all been chosen based on your, uh...preferences, provided their identities aren't told to you and their voices aren't credited."

"Sir," Private Lavern raised her paw, "permission to ask you a question?"

I replied, "You do."

"I uh," the vixen nervously lowered her ears, "...I can't do this mission, sir."

Everyone in the room, exclusively Private Sullivan beside her, looked at her with confusion. "What're you doing, Carrie?" the squirrel whispered to her. "I thought you wanted to do a mission together--"

"Sullivan. Let her speak." The private sheepishly sat back as I continued giving Lavern a serious look. "Private, would you care to explain why you are refusing this mission?"

"Well," the vixen cleared her throat, "it's just that...I'm waiting for marriage, and even though I'm...open to sexual release, I believe in celibacy until the honeymoon. See, I'm a Mormon, and my parents would kill me if they learned I--"

"Say no more, Private." I offered her an understanding smile. "I mentioned before this was a voluntary mission, and if this makes you uncomfortable, you're permitted to not participate if it goes against your religious beliefs." My expression then suddenly became sharpened. "However, I'm serious that what you were told does not leave this room, and you will be expected to sign a non-disclosure form. Should you knowingly or unknowingly leak any details about what was discussed, and you will never hold a military rank again. Do I make myself clear, Private Lavern?"

The fox's tail, though intimidated at first, wagged sorely behind her. "Yes, sir."

"Good," I nodded. "You're dismissed then."

The vixen gathered her uniform coat and murmured something to Sullivan, then exited out the door with an aide of ours in tow.

"Is there anybody else who wishes to eject now?" Silence befell the room as I grinned like a lottery winner. "No? Every one of you here are to report back to this building at 0800 hours, and we'll get started. See you tomorrow, maggots!"

As they were dismissed back to the barracks, I couldn't help but feel anticipation for the next day. It was the kind of anticipation I hadn't felt since the moments I first discovered the Internet had other uses for horny teenage boys.

***

For once, I was glad I didn't jerk off in the morning. I'd end up thanking myself later.

Up at Burns Field, Operation Huxley commenced. We discreetly outfitted an airport interrogation room into a makeshift porn studio, complete with a recording booth, microphone sets surrounding a king-sized bed and a table for snacks, lube, dildos and condoms. As I gazed through the two-way mirror and found myself wondering if the set would be available for use afterward, Madam Ella handed me a glass of brandy to calm me. Of course, I didn't know it was brandy until I sipped and spat it out.

"F-Fuck, really? I gagged at the burning sensation on my canine tongue. "Why are you drinking this early?"

"Oh hush, Sarge, the day is young..." the husky chuckled before refilling the glass up again. How could she stay sober? "Now let's bring the first lad in."

Coughing still, I clicked at my radio. "Send Ross and..."

"Jeremy," she reminded me.

"--Jeremy in."

We sat down on separate chairs and watched two figures slowly enter the furnished room, a uniformed cougar and a handsome, slim hyena wearing a bathrobe. He seemed confident while the warrant officer nervously flicked her tail at the floor when her focus fell on the bed.

"You may begin when you're ready." Madam Ella pushed her finger on a nearby button. "And remember, don't say names, or my editors might have to do overtime cutting the audio out." The husky let it go, then flipped a switch. "Action!"

It felt weird witnessing it, even if straight coupling never interested me. Sure, they were all-too aware somebody was watching them in the act, but the mountain lioness gained initiative and had Jeremy pleasure her down there after disrobing. While this hyena was leaning down and lapping at her folds, their high moans and grunts being recorded, I couldn't help but look at his wonderful ass jiggling. Or his tail as it wagged mid-fuck, his balls plump and cock straining upward between his legs.

It was difficult though finding a raccoon like Private de la Rosa, but he settled on a female squirrel that helped us get twenty minutes of decent audio. You know, for straight sex.

Private Dermot got his schoolvixen fetish, complete with a Catholic uniform, a ruler and rosary to defile, but we forbad them from doing verbal roleplay. It didn't stop the mustang from eagerly undressing the 'naughty girl', who herself seemed as excited to take his long shaft. I didn't know if it were real or a service requirement in the job description as an escort to be engaged in the line of work, but a twang of jealousy steadily rose in my gut.

Particularly when Corporal Cinder and Specialist Ghram requested they pair up. Those two secretly talked back in Evanston and wanted to do this assignment together. Literally. In the end, the mission did require seven to eight different audio recordings, so I allowed it. But now...

Fuck, I regret it.

After walking inside together, Ghram and Cinder locked their lips and shredded each other's clothing in a matter of seconds. The frisky coywolf, in spite of his smaller size, managed to pull the bear onto the bed and push him onto his large back, then eagerly lap his tongue at Ghram's swelling manhood. The grizzly growled and moaned loud enough to echo through the two-way mirror. The beautiful, sexy sight of Cinder's lips wrapping around the thick head, licking and kissing the shaft like it was the most delicious hunk of meat on the planet, caused me to instantly harden.

Madam Ella didn't comment, but I didn't care. The luscious sight of Corporal Cinder's bare ass hanging off the bed--and seeing his head bob up and down that impressive dark length--hypnotized me. I could stare at that tight tailhole for hours on end. The thought of barging in there and mounting the coywolf nearly made my nose bleed. I felt like a virgin again, unable to participate in a ritual I only saw on the other side of a glass barrier.

Unfortunate though, since Ghram got to test-ride him next, and I watched it all. I didn't look away when the grizzly bear motioned for Cinder to turn his body around to face the window, then grab his tail up and snatch a bottle of lube off the table. True to their orders, they didn't speak, but only moan when Ghram's lube-drenched fingers stretched his insides.

I couldn't see from my position, so I tried to imagine how tight his canine sphincter really felt like. The last time my cock stretched another male's hole, it was when I took a Labrador cadet's virginity the day before they shipped me to the Disputed Zone. The handsome lad wanted to celebrate his nineteenth birthday somehow, and now he'd currently be approaching twenty-five or so. The memory, plus seeing Cinder's eyes roll back in unison with Ghram's first thrust of his cock, sent a jolt of ecstasy up my tail.

Pinning the coywolf down, Ghram didn't hold back. He grabbed the smaller canine's shoulders, pushed him on the oversized bed and bred him hard. I saw that glint in the bear's eyes as he dominated the corporal, as well as the blissfully glazed stare Cinder directed at us (if he could see us). There was no going back for either of them. They found heaven.

Sounds of slapping body parts, squishing grunts, wet moans and sweaty gasps were all recorded until the grizzly bear eventually started to rasp harder. He visibly snarled his teeth and pounded into Corporal Cinder like a train piston, teasing his pert nipples and raising their own voices into a crescendo of moans. Before anyone could object, Ghram clamped down onto Cinder's right shoulder, causing the coywolf to cry out in what sounded like a potent mixture of pleasure and pain.

"You did an excellent job, men," I lectured them later through the speakers, "but you scared us back there, Ghram. We thought you really hurt him."

"I told you, Sergeant, I'm okay," he chuckled, wincing slightly at his rump. Cinder raised a paw to the bandage on his shoulder. "It's just a nip."

"Apologies, Sergeant," Ghram bowed his head. "I was lost in the moment, and did not have control over my actions. I apologize to you too, Specialist--"

"Don't be, big guy!" the coywolf laughed and eagerly wrapped an arm around the larger predator. "It was amazing! Probably the greatest sex I ever had! And please, call me Ash. All my friends do."

"Thank you, Spec--Ash."

"If you two lovebirds are done flirting," I spoke up, half-annoyed and half-horny, "we have two more audio recordings to go, and we don't have all day. Both of you grab your clothes and go to the lockers to get dressed, then report to your posts. You did well."

"Sir yes, sir!" they hurriedly grabbed a customary bathrobe and exited out.

Leaning back, I almost adjusted my erection in my pants.

"I'll admit, they are cute together." Madam Ella commented beside me, taking another sip of her drink. "Shall we take a break, Sarge? I can order us some lunch while you go into a bathroom and jerk off."

I sighed. "Sure..."

An hour and a quick sheet change later, Captain Beiler had his turn. The horndog's dream came true in the form of a sultry doe named Lana being spit-roasted by him and a male white-furred wolf named Robby. Admittedly, seeing the border collie and another canine go at it with a woman in the middle was nice. The wolf was twinkish and had a nice, round butt that wiggled when he walked around to mount her, but I still felt jealous of them getting action instead of me. It didn't help that Beiler was very verbal when it came to sex.

"Mfh, yesh, fuck yes! That's a good girl! That's a nice, slutty slut." Madam Ella once again flashed the signal telling him to shut up, but he didn't bother looking up. "Mfh, oh yes!"

In the end, we only had a portion of the audio left uncut, something that the madam continued to remind me as we waited for Private Sullivan's partner to arrive. "I wouldn't let him be my caterer, let alone a porn star!" she fumed. "Seriously, how does he get into the Air Force when he can't even follow procedure?"

"Trust me, I'll discuss this later with his supervisor," I groaned, "but we got what we needed, right?" I turned my radio on. "Send in Sullivan until uh--"

"Landon," she reminded.

"Yes, Landon finally shows up."

The squirrel waltzed into the room shortly, eyes darting at the mirror and the bed before he nervously sat down. It seemed like the Private didn't know whether or not it was appropriate to relax in such a setting.

"Hello?" Madam Ella suddenly answered her phone. "Kendra, you find and tell Landon right now that...what? Are you sure he's...Oh? Oh, okay. Thanks for telling me. Tell him I'm not mad, alright? No. No, he's not fired. No, he's not going to have his pay docked, but I do want to have a talk with him about communication. Yeah, thanks for informing me. Bye." The husky hung up, and sighed. "Landon isn't coming."

My tail twitched, annoyed. "Let me guess: he chickened out?"

"If by 'chicken out', he didn't want to risk a Devout car bomb, then yes."

"What do we do then?" I asked her and myself.

"Well," she brainstormed for a singular moment, "I could try and get another of my more dominant boys up here for the little guy, but it could take a couple hours. Hmm, let's see..."

As the minutes rolled on by, with Madam Ella checking her watch and me staring into space, Sullivan somehow decided to take his shirt off. As far as lanky critters went, I couldn't help but discreetly admire the private for having toned shoulders and a fluffy chest. His chestfur alone made me wonder how sensitive those nipples were, and here he was, thinking a handsome boy was going to fuck him into a climax worthy of the Cinderella Club.

Normally, fraternization between soldiers of higher ranks was frowned upon.

_ Fuck it_, I concluded. It's not like I won't have an excuse for it.

_ _ "Madam Ella?" I spoke up to the husky, "Excuse me. I'm volunteering."

Slightly confused, the husky stepped aside from the exit and let me through, allowing me to go around the corner and into an adjacent door leading inside. When I burst inside and closed the door, it startled Private Sullivan to his footpaws.

"S-Sergeant Hammond!" he stammered embarrassedly, trying to cover his chest despite everything. "What a-are you d-doing in here? Am I in--"

"At ease, Sullivan." He nervously sat down on the bed. "I have some terrible news. I'm afraid your partner for this mission has...opted out."

The squirrel stared up at me. "...what?"

My pointed ears started to turn hot, but I didn't back away. "We still need something to upload, and..." gulping, I clenched my fists and fought to relax myself, "...I'm volunteering myself for Operation Huxley."

Private Sullivan looked even more surprised than he did yesterday, his saucer orbs. I could even hear his boner pop inside his pants. What a cute lad.

"Be honest with me as your sergeant," I asked, casually pulling my jacket off to reveal a white, slightly sweaty undershirt that bulged my muscles and chocolate-furred biceps. "Do you find me attractive?"

"Ugh, m-maybe...?" Seeing my face, he corrected himself, "Yes I do, sir."

"Have you ever been with another man before?"

"...yes," he nodded meekly. "B-Back in my hometown, there was this...this friend of mine. We...We were in choir for our church, but...we stopped, since I joined the Army and he wanted to become an ordained brother."

"'Brother'?" I began unbuckling my belt, "You were both Mormons?"

"S-Still am, sir."

I kept my eyes locked with his flushed face when I pulled my pants down, allowing my tail nub to wiggle freely and my crotch some more air. "If you are a member of the Mormon Church, why didn't you join Private Lavern?"

The squirrel's tail twitched. "I...She's more traditional, but I'm not."

When Utah joined the Western Republic, it was mainly due to the Devout States declaring the Latter-Day Saints heretics to their National Church. The Mormons had been slowly pulling away from some traditions, allowing their members more personal freedoms while staying, but most were still engrained into stone.

"Here is my last question, soldier," I asked, finally peeling off my undershirt to allow my musky chest to breathe, "Do you want to have sex with me?"

"Yes." He answered a moment later, having been entranced by my body. "Y-Yes, I do, sir...even though command forbids sexual relationships between different...ranking..."

At long last, my Doberman cock throbbed out in the open air as I kicked my uniform aside. Standing eight inches in length, the black rod I wielded was something of a legend in the Western Republic Army. It brought pleasure to many comrades during my private years, a fellow sergeant back in Salt Lake City, two civilians that would eventually signed up as recruits, and many male escorts lucky to feel it inside them. And now a fellow soldier couldn't stop staring at it or my balls hanging like apples in an orchard.

"Command isn't here, Sleeping Beauty," I grinned coyly. "Now take those pants off, lay back and thank your God. This is your lucky day." I turned to the two-way mirror and said, "Action, madam."

Before the squirrel could react, I knelt on the immense bed and pulled him up with me. Our lips connected in a passionate mini orgasm. He peeped at first, then whined so loudly into my muzzle, then didn't resist when I yanked his pants and underwear off in one fowl swoop, kicking them aside onto the floor. I pressed my hardened, slick member against his slender thighs as I held his paws down, letting him squirm with delight during our kisses.

"Oh!" he broke away, "Oh, Sergeant, I--"

The red light flashed around the room, signaling us to shut up.

Sullivan winced in slight embarrassment, but I grabbed initiative by grabbing his ass and licking at his neck. His cries erupted throughout our corner of the world, causing my dick to leak more at the sound of a pleasured twink. He clawed at my back, acting like a female canine in heat about to cum, but we were only getting started.

I gestured for my squirrel to position between my legs, allowing him to worship me while I relaxed against a pillow. Although he was clearly intimidated by my size, no doubt wondering if he could fit himself onto it later, nobody on this Earth would've stopped the squirrel private from lunging his lips around my mancock. The boy wasn't half-bad, to be honest, clearly taking the time to explore/swallow ever inch without neglecting the needs of a commanding officer.

Laying back as he suckled on my cocktip, seeing the private arch his back while I deepthroated him, it pulled me into a haze that made me forget we were in a war. It made me forget about the fact an enemy was out there who wanted to punish us for this here act. If they couldn't brainwash us or work us to death in a forced labor camp, it was rumored the Devout would drug us into a comatose state nobody would wake up from. It certainly terrified me on paper, but the sight and pleasure of Sullivan's body outweighed any fear. It was something worth fighting for.

Before either of us could cum, I had the squirrel on all fours and raised his bushy tail up high. His squeaks as I teased his tailhole rang in my ears as an orchestra, especially when I inserted three lubed fingers and properly rubbed his prostate.

I couldn't wait anymore. Neither of us could, which was why we yelped in pleasure when my cock finally entered past his rosebud. I slowly pushed my larger hips forward until I carefully hilted the slender squirrel, nibbling on his ear until the critter quit biting on his lip and let out a nice, erotic moan.

It required every ounce in me not to fuck him ruthless into the bed. One, we needed to have a long recording that didn't require looped audio, and two, we both wanted this to last.

The private pushed his hips back towards me, letting my length go deeper into his depths. More than once, I prodded the prostate, causing Sullivan's cries to grow louder. My paws fondled his ass without limit, spreading his cheeks for my thick cock. I thrusted so hard, I partially feared the bed would break under us, but it was these sensations took center-stage first, since we were both lost; me in his tight rosebud and him on my Doberman rod.

Soon, we bellowed as one and climaxed as one, our sweat and cum mixing together.

When I collapsed on top of him, my teeth nibbling on his smooth neck, I already imagined Madam Ella's dumbfounded smirk behind the window. However, we were too wrapped in this beautiful afterglow to notice anything different.

"Aaaaaand that's it, Sarge!" she told us via in-room speakers. "We got the audio for Operation Huxley and you got to third-base with a recruit. We all win. See you back at Evanston, and don't worry, boys: since this is classified, I won't be telling a soul."

The husky madam disappeared soon-after, leaving us panting and cuddled together in that room. I sighed and stared down at Private Sullivan, who somehow drifted off to sleep and curled closely to my bare chest, dividing us by his bushy tail that tickled my nose.

Heh, he really was a Sleeping Beauty. "You did a good job, soldier," I smiled, pushing it aside to wrap my larger arms around him. "You did good."

***

As I watched another sunrise from my bedroom, seeing sunlight peek over the nearby hilltops leading to the Rockies, I could already hear the Lockheed departing from Burns Field. I imagined the pilot controlling it high in the air towards the drop point, the cargo carrying seven different audio recordings of sex and eight recordings criticizing the Devout government.

Deep inside the Disputed Zone, it was rare to find another wandering soul, apart from wildlife. Against popular opinion, we didn't patrol all of it. We patrolled the populated areas and targets along the border, since any invasion would always go there first. The D.S.A did the same, but with greater-than-or-equal paranoia, making me imagine how fast and sneaky our Lockheeds needed to be in order to fly close enough to their side and drop the cargo.

I imagined the Devout colonel stationed in Casper, Wyoming. From what we've managed to learn from our satellites, the town's population mostly consisted of infantrymen and enough tanks to raze a city off a map. They also spent more time rebuilding the churches than the barracks. Pity this Sunday morning, they wouldn't get to relax for church service. Instead, they'd be forced to cover their ears as loud sex sounds bellowed over the hills, and any attempts to tamper the device would cause a self-destruct sequence. If the one tampering were smart enough to see the countdown clock, they'd have a whole two minutes to get out of dodge before it exploded.

And while we were making the enemy moan internally, trying to cover up the fact the sexual sounds were revealing their repressed desires, they wouldn't notice any defectors or spies taking advantage of the distraction. When your neighbors are playing sinful noises and illegal thoughts on a loudspeaker all along your border, spies seem like the least number one priority right then and there.

Colonel Wyatt told me how, before going dark, a spy of ours said they had something that could change the tides of this stalemate of a war. The Devout States were planning something huge, and it involved our Canadian brothers to the north. Whatever it was, I hoped they'd manage to cross over here soon and tell us.

Because now, I had one more person to fight for.

---

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