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The first time Ghost brings him home, it goes a little differently than Soap has always imagined.
As soon as they arrive, Soap has to brace himself for a flurry of huge dogs pouncing on them barely a few seconds after Ghost unlocks the front door to his house. Namely, two Dobermans—a boy and a girl—and a male German Shepherd, clearly mixed with a wolf, given the fucking size of it. Soap is hardly prepared for it to immediately jump on him, overexcited and so goddamn heavy it knocks the breath out of him. There’s a huge, slimy tongue in his face, paws and claws scratching at his shoulders (because the beast of a dog is as fucking tall as him while standing on its hinder legs, on Mary’s tits); Soap wrinkles his nose and tries to push the muzzle out of the way.
“Oot, ye wretched bastard, git oot mah mug,” he groans, taken aback, attempting to wrestle the wolfhound away from him.
It doesn’t work. What does, however, is Ghost’s large hand clasping around the dog’s black collar and tugging the animal off as he tuts in reprimand.
“Nine, behave,” he says once the dog gets on all fours again, making lapping at his palm its very life mission. His voice is gruff, which is not that much of a surprise in itself, but Soap thinks he either heard a bit of affection in it, or he’s going crazy. “Don’t want Johnny to run out screaming before he’s managed two feet inside, do ya, boy?”
Soap scoffs a little, side-eyeing his lieutenant, now swarmed by the dogs. They’re all wagging their tails so animatedly one could think they would take off in the next second. Bark after bark, pet after pet, and scratch after scratch, they eventually calm down a slight bit and Ghost looks back to Soap. Soap doesn’t even bother hiding his staring. Oops.
“Don’t mind them. You’ll get used to it.”
“Ah don’t doubt,” Soap murmurs, and earns a raised eyebrow at him. He’s about to open his mouth and ask why Ghost never mentioned having a bleeding zoo in his house, but Ghost is faster, reaching out to mockingly pat his cheek and grip him by the chin. Soap quietens, frowning.
“Be good,” he interrupts in the exact same tone he told the wolfhound off. Soap’s face burns.
The dogs are actually well-trained and polite—just a little hyper, Soap guesses. He understands; he’s like that, too, never able to burn off the excess energy. Although Ghost tires him out in the bedroom daily.
He ends up being fond of One the most—the female Doberman, very affectionate, and simultaneously the least crazy out of the bunch. She loves cuddling him on the couch while he watches TV with his coffee in the mornings, and Ghost often joins them by squeezing himself behind Soap and his breathing blanket. His poker face is unmoving each and every time, but Soap knows better. Ghost, in fact, does not do shit he doesn’t want.
Five and Nine… could not possibly be patient enough to last more than three minutes lying on his stomach, but Soap grows to like them both anyway. They’re more of a huge, loud, rowdy nuisance, really, but Soap supposes he does enjoy going on a morning run with Ghost and the whole pack.
“Why are they named like that anyway?” Soap asks one day while cooking their breakfast, with Ghost glued to his back and groping between his thighs. The dogs decided to raid the kitchen, too, following their owner and the scent of food. “I don’t see Two, Three, and the rest a them.”
“It’s short for M4A1, UMP45, and M9,” Ghost shoots without missing a beat, in the same deadpan he’d tell a cocky private to go put a gun in their mouth. Soap is silent for a long, long minute after that.
“...Yer not tellin’ me ye named yer dogs after yer favorite guns.”
“Affirmative,” Ghost breathes out into his collarbone, turning his head to lick at a prominent bite mark on Soap’s neck. It’s like he has a wolfhound of his own.
All in all, it feels very… domestic, as much as Soap loathes the term. He’s sure Ghost also does. There’s no time for domesticity in their lives, but no other term could describe their stay at Ghost’s home this well. The pets only add to it with their constant whining and begging for attention, which Soap helplessly gives in to despite not being a big fan of dogs in general. Ghost’s dogs seem to be an exception.
Well, that’s until Soap is getting his brain drilled out of his head on Ghost’s huge bed, face down in the mattress, arse up in the air. He’s barely coherent at this point, but who can blame him—Ghost forced three orgasms out of him before he even got his fat cock up Soap’s cunt, and now he’s plowing into him so hard the sturdy bed frame started to creak. It’s good, it’s so fucking good not to give a damn about someone catching them red-handed on the base.
Soap hasn’t got a bone in his body to worry about anyone nor anything else other than Ghost, finally—that’s why he yelps in surprise when he feels a hot breath on the side of his face, then a scorching lick to his temple.
“Wha—” he startles, raising onto his elbows to see, only to be met with Five’s black fur and hazel eyes. “Ghost,” he whines with a grimace, drooling a little at the way Ghost’s balls slap against his swollen clit again and again. “Fuck, get him oot, oh fuck, oh fuuuck, I’ll—”
“Back off,” Ghost barks at the dog—he does, shuffling around, but stays to watch Soap get rawed to high hell anyway. Soap sobs, hiding his face in his forearms, feeling it set ablaze. “Just ignore him,” the older man tells Soap, not unlike he speaks commands to his pets. Soap whimpers low in his throat, moving his hips in aborted little thrusts, trying his best to match Ghost’s vicious rhythm. “There you go, kid, c’mon. Cum on my cock.”
Soap’s orgasm hits him like a truck, sudden and hard, and he falls apart staring into the gold of canine eyes.
He tries not to probe too much into it. The dogs come and go, and they all start to linger around the room while he and Ghost fuck. It’s… weird, to say the least, but Ghost doesn’t seem to be very bothered by them. Sometimes, Soap can see his eyes stray towards his pups, a low glint in them Soap has never seen yet. He ignores it the way he ignores the steadily decreasing distance between the dogs and his face.
That’s what Ghost told him to do, after all.
The next thing Ghost does is not as easily ignored, however—the moment he snugly buckles a black collar around Soap’s neck, Soap goes completely blank.
“Suits you,” Ghost murmurs, crossing his massive arms over his chest, their ink swirling in Soap’s confused eyes. The lurid stare Ghost levels him with is downright predatory.
“What,” Soap croaks out, pieces of his mind crumbling underneath the heat Ghost looks at him with, squashed into a flimsy mess of submission and obedience. This should hardly go this way, Soap is the embodiment of insubordination; then again, he definitely doesn’t remember ever getting fucking collared. Let alone by Ghost himself.
“What, Johnny?” Ghost parrots him, smiling under his black balaclava, brows lifting in a mocking challenge. Challenge for Soap to take, only to be brutally beaten at it later. Soap does a double take and stays silent, hands twitching against his sides. “Want to bark this badly? Don’t make me get a muzzle.”
Soap feels like he’s burning alive, standing here in that wretched collar, right in front of Ghost to ogle. Something nuzzles at his hip and pushes a wet snout into his palm—funnily enough, Soap looks down to meet the clever eyes of Nine already cast his way. In the midst of it, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
The collar around his neck perfectly matches the one Nine wears. And by extension, One and Five’s, too.
“Sir,” Soap protests weakly, glancing back at Ghost. Ghost, with the amused, poorly masked satisfaction rolling off of him. The wanker is fucking enjoying this. “I’m nae—”
“A dog?” Ghost finishes in his stead, stealing a glimpse of Nine, who still lingers at Soap’s hip, nosing at the seam of his pants. The wolfhound rumbles, and Soap is embarrassed to admit he’d like to rumble back. “You’re right,” Ghost sighs, sounding a little disappointed. Soap doesn’t like that sigh. “You’re worse than a dog. More of a fuckin’ bitch in constant heat, I’d say.”
The pulse Soap’s cunt welcomes the humiliation with simply cannot be healthy. Nor fucking normal. Soap chews on his cheek, feeling like the leather is melting through his flushed skin, scorching hot and unforgiving. Submit, it etches into it, and so do Ghost’s eyes on him.
“But it’s,” he swallows, throat suddenly dry and scratchy. There’s something about Ghost still making him nervous after all these years that Soap can’t decipher. “It’s the same. As the—”
“As the others’, that’s right,” Ghost confirms for him once more, taunting, referring to Soap as one of his pets. It chips at Soap’s pride, makes him fume and fucking drip. “Don’t like keepin’ my mutts uncollared. Thought you knew.”
Soap’s head runs marathons trying to catch up; he watches Ghost step into the hallway to retrieve his cigarettes from his jacket, lighting one for himself and taking a puff of smoke through his mask. It comes out through the dyed cotton like a cloud, obscuring his starving gaze—only for a second or two. Once it dissolves into thin air, he looks at Soap expectantly, then speaks up again. Just one, short word.
“Heel.”
Oh, fuck.
Soap refuses to acknowledge he likes this. He’s not one of Ghost’s dogs—the tadger has plenty, Jesus Christ. With this thought stubbornly stuck in his mind, Soap is about to reach for the dog collar to yank it off his neck and go back to the kitchen but ultimately stops in his tracks before he can move a muscle. Nine bolts beside him, rushing to fulfill the order, please his owner. The wolfhound sits by Ghost’s leg, quiet, eyes big and pleading, and the mean bastard places a large hand between Nine’s ears to scratch and pet him.
“Good boy,” Ghost coos in his deep lilt, obviously smiling down at the dog at his feet. He glances at Soap next, full of mirth and confidence, and oh, Soap knows now.
He knows what he can get from Ghost. It’s something he’s never gotten from him even once, no matter how much he’s begged for it. No matter if Ghost has a very vivid idea of how much Soap craves it.
All he has to do is get on his knees and act like a dog.
So he does. Shamefully, Soap hangs his collared neck to avoid Ghost’s vicious glare, and kneels on the hardwood floor, wincing when it bites into his kneecaps. Then he starts crawling, feeling the void-like, disturbing eyes on his body, creeping and prickling like a swarm of venomous ants. His pussy steadily leaks through it all anyway, creating a wet, sticky mess in his underwear. Soap flushes in embarrassment, dying to adjust it, take it off, anything.
He reaches Ghost’s leg basically dripping through his jeans, panting like a dog, so aroused his cunt fucking aches and throbs in a hellish rhythm. A soft whine leaves Soap’s mouth when he sits on his heel—God help him—and grinds his sopping cunt against it. Slowly, as not to raise Ghost’s suspicions.
When his violent hand pets through his mohawk and grips, Soap is sure he wasn’t successful.
“My good girl,” is the low praise that slithers towards Soap through the haze of smoke and his own excitement. “Knew you’d be the sweetest pup for me.”
With a deep pulse of his cunt and a pitiful moan, Soap has nothing of his pride to salvage. Encouraged by a gentle stroke to his hair and a tug on his collar, Soap rocks himself to orgasm against his own heel and the firm seam of his jeans. He cries out as he cums, drooling and going fucking cross-eyed for a good moment, and comes to Nine licking the tears he shed off his face.
It all spirals fast from there. Too fast.
He’s not allowed to take the collar off—he has to ask for permission first, and back it up with his reasoning for it. Not like Soap even wants to, not with how Ghost treats him when it’s around his neck. The older man pets his head and neck, talks to him in the softest tone Soap’s ever heard from him, and constantly praises him for listening to his orders. ‘Good girl’, ‘Sunshine’, ‘Love’. Soap is positive a part of his brain melts a little when these are spoken to him. Maybe Ghost really wanted to make a dog out of him; Soap doesn’t think about it much anymore.
His brain remains useless when he’s fucked in the collar, too. Ghost shows him his place is on the floor, completely bare save for the leather, and Soap only takes and obeys, drooling onto the wooden planks where his face is pressed against. Just like a dog.
Ghost really puts his heart into reminding him of that fact. “Wet fuckin’ bitch,” he grunts above him, tugging on the black leather around Soap’a neck and effectively choking him in the process. Soap whines, rocking his hips into Ghost’s, seeking more stimulation on his abandoned clit, continuously throbbing when his airways are cut off. “Good for nothin’ but gettin’ fucked, aren’t ya? You in heat, doggie?”
Soap moans like he’s been hurt, all raspy and high-pitched, then freezes once Ghost whistles.
“Sir,” Soap slurs, boneless, only able to squeeze around Ghost’s cock like his life depends on it. “Dinnae—shite, oh fuck,” he interrupts himself when Ghost grinds deeper into him as if he’s trying to reach his bloody cervix. Maybe he is. Soap tries again, just for the sake of his dignity: “Dinnae call them over, please, sir.”
As soon as Soap finishes speaking, the locked door to their bedroom is scratched at, quiet huffs and barks coming from outside. Ghost laughs under his breath, then pulls out of Soap’s cunt with a nasty squelch. The load he’s stuffed it with minutes ago starts leaking out, lazily trickling down Soap’s thigh, and Jesus fuck, he’s never felt so dirty in his life before. He’s about to stand up, but Ghost beats him to it with a clank of his belt. His combat boot stomps on Soap’s nape, trapping him against the floor. Fuck.
“Stay.”
It’s non-negotiable. His voice doesn’t leave any space for Soap to brat out, so he doesn’t. He stays down with a sob, arse up in the air, his pussy dripping with cum and slick, so painfully empty Soap is almost tempted to reach back and plug himself up with his own fingers. He knows better than to do it, though.
Ghost walks over his sprawled body, heavily stomping towards the door. Soap can’t see from where he kneels beside the bed, but he hears the telltale click of the lock.
Paws and claws lightly scrape against the floor once the door opens, and Soap closes his eyes, whimpering when they circle around him. It’s totally silent if not counting the dogs’ breathing—why are they so excited, Lord above—and in the midst of it, Soap prays in his loud mind that this is a sick joke, that Ghost will chuckle and tell them to back off. It’s safe to say he lives in a fool’s paradise, his heart enclosed in futile hope.
“Go on,” he hears Ghost speak. Not to him. To the dogs.
A snout nudges between his open legs, sniffing and huffing, and Soap wants the ground to swallow him whole. He sobs out; why, he’s not even sure anymore. The cock-hungry ache in his cunt doesn’t subside, and the humiliation of it all rips through his body like fire. Soap presses his forehead to the floor just as a rough tongue swipes against his clit, lapping up towards his messy labia. The dog meticulously licks Ghost’s spunk off of it, and Soap has to bite down on his forearm to keep himself from swaying his hips back onto the dog’s snout.
“Sir,” he whines, trembling when the animal fucking continues, paying no attention to Soap’s obvious distress. The others crowd him between them, dwarfing his form with their bulk in this position. They nose along his sweaty skin, give a nip or two, and lap at his flushed shoulders and ears the same way the dog busy with his wet cunt does. ”Lt, please,” he repeats weakly, begging for a goddamn miracle.
“What’s wrong, puppy? Thought you’d like the company of your kind, no?”
Soap tightly clenches at Ghost’s condescending voice, blocking the tongue that’s trying to squeeze into his cunt. The mutt is stubborn, however, growling lowly—Soap instantly knows it’s Nine, because of course it is, the bloody wolfhound can’t listen to a word he says. The sound is enough of a warning for Soap to relax, though, to let him in. And the dog doesn’t waste any time. He’s instantly pushing inside, bossy, scraping at Soap’s walls with the harsh texture of his tongue. Soap cries into his forearm, hating it. Hating how good it feels, how well Nine stretches him out.
Ghost walks up to the heap of dogs on the floor, then crouches right next to Soap’s raised arse.
“Looks like you’re enjoyin’ yourself,” he mutters, amusement dancing in his tone, and Soap really wants to curse at him. Unfortunately, he’s a bit preoccupied getting tongue-fucked by a dog. “So wet for him,” Ghost continues, reaching out to flick Soap’s swollen clit, from where a ridiculous amount of slick dribbles onto the ground, creating a puddle of mess. Soap spasms, getting an extra inch of tongue forced into his pussy. “You really like this, huh? Should just leave you with them to have fun together.”
Soap’s muffled moan rings in his own ears, and he’s sure there’s no fixing him anymore.
“Yeah? Don’t even need your owner, eh, doggie?”
Nine flicks his tongue inside Soap just right, his snout pushing into his skin, teeth catching onto his clit, and—
“Uh, uh, fuuuck,” Soap stumbles over his whines, shamelessly grinding onto Nine’s tongue, followed up by the dog’s grunt and a squirt of wetness onto his muzzle, the floor, everywhere. Soap convulses, slobbering all over himself, eyes unseeing and rolling back into his head.
“Messy bitch,” Ghost reprimands, far, far away, because—because Nine is still excitedly licking into Soap’s sensitive cunt, paying no attention to its throbbing, to Soap’s shaking. It’s too much, Soap wants to cry, but can’t bring himself to voice anything. Ghost does, though. “Nine, stop. She’ll piss herself if you keep that up, silly dog. C’mon, boy, up you go.”
Nine’s snout disappears, leaving his poor, worn-out pussy alone. Soap feels it clench miserably around nothing, shivering when the cold air hits his insides. He whines, the dogs above him whine, and Ghost, the evil fucker, laughs at the pathetic image his quivering form must paint. Heavy boots stomp around him again, but Soap can hardly focus on them. There’s silence, and he floats in it, brainless and dopey, before Ghost speaks again. Soap doesn’t hear it very well.
After that, the door clicks, and another tongue licks into his cunt, and—oh. Ghost really left him there with the dogs.
Both One and Five end up having their turn with his pussy. They push him over onto his back, nudge his legs open, and stubbornly have a go at his limp body, so thoroughly used-up Soap thinks his cunt must’ve gone numb.
At some point, Nine laps at his reddened cheeks, then… brings his crotch down and starts humping his face. Deliriously, Soap can see his cock through the tears in his blurry eyes, all angry and red, peaking out of its sheath. When the wolfhound growls and ceases his movement, he can’t find the strength in his body to move out of the way. The dog cums all over his face, the fluid watery and almost clear, nearly waterboarding Soap with the sheer amount of it. He chokes when the spunk floods his mouth, tearing up for what feels like the thousandth time today.
Soap isn’t sure how long they spend like this, but he drifts off a few times, awoken only by a snout or two bullying his aching clit, forcing moan after moan out of him. Closing his jelly-like legs proves to be useless, too, because the dogs just nip at his thighs and press them to the floor with their body weight.
Filthy, exhausted, fucked out of his mind—that’s how the dogs leave him when Ghost comes to collect them what seems like a few hours later.
Soap barely registers getting picked up from the puddle of various bodily fluids he was laying in, but doesn’t object a thing—not even when warm fingers sneak into his sopping cunt, not even when he smells the musk of Ghost’s uncut cock, when he feels it rest over his eyes.
He wakes up the next day, sore and confused, but Ghost is immediately there to stroke his cheek and praise him for being such a good bitch. Soap, like the sorry fuck-up he is, preens under the affectionate gestures, and decides it wasn’t all that bad.
Hasn’t Ghost always tested his limits, anyway?
This… dog orgy is not the only instance of Ghost dooming him to his perverted debauchery—rather, it’s the very start of it. The animals join them during sex almost daily, and Soap always ends up licked by them till he’s sniveling for them to stop, till he’s pushing at their muzzles so his cunt can get at least a fucking second of reprieve. It should be disgusting, and maybe Soap should be furious at Ghost for letting his little monsters do that to him. Yeah, he should. He’s not, though, and he doesn’t want to know what that says about him.
When Soap thinks it can’t get even worse, it does. One time, after Ghost briefly fucked him and then let the dogs in to play with Soap—like it was just to warm Soap up for them, God fucking dammit—he sits on the bed and starts jerking himself off. That’s new, because he usually simply leaves or quietly observes. It’s not the case now. Soap, smothered by Five’s dick in his face, hears Ghost whistle and vaguely sees One obediently sit between Ghost’s spread legs, right in front of his weeping cock he languidly strokes.
“Go on,” Ghost murmurs then, peering down at his girl, watching her… lower her head to lap at his dick. She copiously drools around it, flicking her tongue over his cockhead, while Ghost’s palm spreads the spit all over his length. “Fuuuck yes, you’re my sweetest little girl, aren’t ya?”
What in the bleeding fuck.
The realization hits Soap hard, and he hysterically whines against the mutt’s cock slightly dipping into his mouth as he properly mounts him. Down there, Nine harshly licks at his clit again and again, and Soap can’t help but fall off the edge to the thought of Ghost training his dogs to participate in sexual activities with him. Of course the crazy bastard would do that; Soap doesn’t understand why he hasn’t figured it out earlier, when he knows quite well just how morally twisted Ghost is.
“Yer a monster,” Soap accuses later, after Ghost lets the beasts outside and comes upstairs to give Soap a bath. The collar snugly hugs his neck throughout it, and Soap is reminded this is still a form of entertainment for Ghost.
The older man chuckles, and Soap, with a scowl plastered to his flushed face, decides he’s been too upbeat for his own sake lately. “And you’ve come to that conclusion only now?” In the midst of saying this, Ghost tugs on the leather of Soap’s collar to make space for his soap-lathered palm. Soap, completely against himself, is unable to stop the whimper that leaves his mouth. It’s enough to have Ghost leering at him, to have fire licking at his abdomen again.
“No,” he grunts, frustrated with his own body, frustrated with Ghost. “Just never expected dogs to get involved in yer deviations.”
“Yourself included?” Ghost quips with a mean smile behind his balaclava. Soap grinds his teeth together, slowly relaxing into the warmth of Ghost’s palms seeping into his tired muscles.
“Dinnae tell me ye fuck her, too,” he swiftly dodges more material for humiliation. Or rather, tries to, very ungracefully. And Ghost never misses an opportunity to thoroughly savage his taunts.
“Wanna watch, doggie?”
Soap swallows over the bile in his throat and the hot throb in his cunt.
In contrary to Ghost’s ominous foreshadowing, he does not fuck One. Nor does he fuck Soap, for that matter. It’s almost as if he deems it enough to stroke himself till finish with the aid of One’s clever tongue. Once his fat load disappears behind it, and she licks his dick clean, he’s just content to watch Soap get wrecked on the floor. His cock and balls limply hang between his legs as he does, occasionally nuzzled by One’s snout, and Soap often wishes he was in her place instead of getting tongued by the boys for hours.
He misses getting fucked by Ghost, he soon realizes, and, in a way, it’s even more humiliating than succumbing to his perversions. He misses being split open on his cock, misses the warmth of his spunk clogging his cunt. Misses the nights before Ghost replaced his spot at his feet with a fucking dog.
If Ghost insists Soap is one, can’t it be him in One’s stead?
Naturally, Soap doesn’t tell Ghost all that. He gets off, Ghost praises him for playing nicely with his boys, then acts sweet and affectionate with him the entire time Soap is collared. Despite the thoughts about Ghost’s cock plaguing his mind, Soap really doesn’t complain. For a while.
His tipping point turns out to be Ghost petting One’s hind leg and reaching behind to fumble with her pussy while she and the both of them are cuddled up on Ghost’s spacious sofa. To Soap’s seething horror, the dog doesn’t shy away from the touch, rather happily accepts it and presses closer to the man.
“Sir,” he begins, then halts right away. Ghost doesn’t stop to hear him out, and Soap isn’t even sure what to say. One huffs and whimpers, resting her muzzle against Ghost’s massive bicep, and Soap, all reason blinded, plasters himself against Ghost’s other side, nosing against his neck when he lets him. “Lt, please.” He captures Ghost’s free wrist with his thighs, grinding against it—he should be playing with his cunt, for fuck’s sake.
“Somethin’ you want, greedy girl?” Ghost mutters against Soap’s hair, moving his thumb over the insides of his thighs in excruciating pace. Soap thinks he’s about to cry.
“C’mon,” Soap whispers, pawing at his crotch. Ghost rumbles humorously, unbothered. At least he didn’t ignore him, Soap thinks bitterly. “Just this once, please. Without ‘em.”
“You poor thing,” Ghost mocks, and Soap burns helplessly. The trapped palm painfully squeezes around the meat of Soap’s thigh, and Soap knows it’s a warning. The only one he’ll get. “I leave your silly pussy empty for more than a few days and what, you suddenly can’t function anymore?”
“‘S not like that,” Soap lies, dragging his tongue along the line of Ghost’s jaw. “Want ye for myself.”
Ghost turns his head to him and brings his clothed lips to Soap’s temple. The kiss is the very catalyst for the hope in his chest, blossoming from nothing and nourished by a simple touch. Ghost doesn’t really share the sentiment. “It’s not a competition, pup,” he breathes out, accompanied by the wet squelch of One’s pussy. “All of you mutts are equal, hear me?”
Soap does not pout. He doesn’t.
Nonetheless, Ghost lets him fish his cock out of his sweatpants, and doesn’t scruff him when Soap unceremoniously sits on it. Doesn’t push him off when Soap hunches over him and drools at the stretch, when he grinds his clit against Ghost’s firm abdomen and trembles through his orgasm. Doesn’t complain when Soap furiously rides him and his tight cunt milks an orgasm of his own, either.
Instead, Ghost leisurely observes Soap do whatever he wants, propped against the sofa’s armrest, all the while he continues to finger One’s sweet cunt open.
Predictably, Ghost doesn’t treat him to the luxury of his cock for a good while after this. Soap is almost inclined to believe he just enjoys it when Soap begs him for it, begs to have his pussy filled to the brim with it, to have his cervix bullied until Ghost breeds him full.
Being subjected to the merciless tongues of Five and Nine every single day, he almost does beg. On the verge of breaking, sniffling and incoherently babbling for something bigger, Soap is ready to crawl over and present his weeping cunt to Ghost. He doesn’t get to, though—Ghost is faster.
“Roll over, sunshine. Arse up,” he tells Soap once he’s coming down, legs spread open, cunt throbbing. “Chop chop, doggie, don’t ya want somethin’ different?”
Soap, like a literal dog, perks up at the words; if he had the ears for that, he’s sure they would stand on alert right now. Flushed down to his bare, filthy chest, he scrambles to obey, pressing one cheek to the ground and kneeling on his mauled knees. Ghost is right behind him, nudging a booted foot against his elevated hips, and Soap, like the fool he is, grows hopeful again.
“Fuck me? Please?” he can’t help but ask, giving the older man the biggest puppy eyes he can muster. Ghost is unfortunately pretty immune to those. Perks of having three (four) dogs.
“Nah, I’ll give ya somethin’ better.”
Soap frowns, not understanding. He can hardly imagine anything better than getting railed senseless by Ghost.
His confusion is quickly resolved, though: Ghost backs away, making space between Soap’s thighs, and Nine immediately walks up to him from behind. He sniffs at Soap’s sensitive labia, but otherwise waits. For Ghost.
“Mount.”
Soap sobs out, squeezing his eyes shut. He should’ve known. He should’ve fucking realized Ghost has them trained perfectly to the last, minute detail. It’s too late to collect his own dignity, anyway. He feels the fur pressing against his skin, feels the hot, huffing breath on his collared nape. The wolfhound envelopes him with his heat, and Soap burns from it, burns from the shame. And yet, none of it stands a chance against the fire Ghost sets him on.
“Excited, yeah? Does my little bitch think the boys’ knots can satisfy her sloppy cunt?”
Oh, Hell’s fucking bells. Soap forgot about the knots. He struggles to articulate his thoughts but his mouth is filled with something akin to cotton candy. Although, the lack of verbal reply doesn’t deter Ghost. He pats Nine on his flank, then stomps away in a mocking rhythm. Soap can taste it on his tongue.
“Go on.”
Nine shuffles on his hind legs, grinding against Soap’s arse, and Soap whines, long and drawn out. Ghost’s little beast is relentless, trying to find his cunt; Soap is torn between hoping he won’t find it at all and praying he hurries the hell up. After a few agonizing seconds, Nine proves not to be completely mindless, because his prick slides against Soap’s dripping pussy once, twice, and it suddenly pops inside.
“Uh,” Soap mumbles, hips shifting against the intrusion and—and it’s not that bad. He expected something bigger, at least on par with Ghost’s ridiculous cock, but this? This feels average at best. He experimentally clenches his tired cunt around the dog, and is rewarded with a low growl, a deeper push inside. It doesn’t fill him right.
“What, puppy?” Ghost asks, mockingly sweet. It’s like he’s reading his goddamn mind, always knowing better what Soap needs. “Not enough for you?”
Soap tries not to die of embarrassment. There’s a dog dick up his cunt and he could use something bigger.
“It’s alright, love, it’ll get better,” Ghost continues, lurking behind them. To Soap, mortified beyond his limits, this is anything but alright. “Give ‘im a little thrust.” Soap works up the courage to do so, pushing his arse back, meeting the wolfhound’s groin. “Sweet fuckin’ girl you are, hm?”
Soap is in the middle of nodding along to Ghost’s scorching praise when Nine pulls back and immediately rocks forward. The movement jostles Soap across the floor, not very gently. Soap doesn’t want gentle. The dog does it again, and again, and… Soap feels something different nudging into his walls. Confused, he tries bucking into the wolfhound the best he can, and—fuck, he yelps instantly, tears welling up in his eyes. The wolfhound’s cock grows in length out of nowhere, splitting his cunt into what feels like two.
“Fuck, Ghost, fuck,” Soap drawls, spit seeping out of his ajar mouth. Ghost chuckles from behind him, clearly amused; Soap doesn’t care. He’s fucked straight into the puddle of his drool as Nine thrusts into him with the newfound girth of his dick once more. The dog clumsily yanks Soap’s hips back with the grip his front paws keep on them, and Soap thinks he’s about to lose it.
“Good?” Ghost asks, met with enthusiastic nodding and whining for more, no more shame obscuring Soap’s desperation. “I know, puppy, I know,” he coos, sitting down on the bed. So it happens that Soap’s face is directly in front of him now. “Dogs don’t show their pricks until they’re balls deep inside a bitch. Seems he likes it,” he follows up with an explanation, nonchalant, reaching out to pet the wolfhound between his ears.
Ghost looks unfazed, which is infuriating in itself, given the incoherent state Soap is in while Nine plows away into him. Soap sees the outline of Ghost’s hard cock beneath his thin sweatpants, though, and can’t help thinking his mouth is very empty.
“Now, do I need to call One over?” Ghost muses, staring down at his debauched face with eyes so black Soap is about to drown in them. His neglected clit throbs, and he tries to pick himself up onto his elbows. Well, he would do so, if only Nine didn’t take this personally. He growls, putting more of his body weight onto Soap’s back, effectively pinning him to the floor—as if he’d ever think of escaping.
“Sir, please, help me,” he whispers, embarrassed to admit he’s so boneless he can’t even fight the wolfhound off his back. Very unbefitting of a sergeant, if Ghost’s click of tongue is anything to go by.
Ghost doesn’t help him for a good while. He sits on the bed and lets Soap stew in his humiliation as Nine ruts his cock into him, merciless and uncaring. Soap thinks he cums again in the meantime, but he can’t be too sure—it doesn’t take long until he can’t form a thought in his clouded mind.
It’s only when the dog falters that he attempts to blink the delirium away. “Uh?” Soap questions, needily nuzzling at Ghost’s foot. The man tugs on his collar just as Nine growls, his thrusts slowing down to a maddening pace, and with a click next to his ear, Soap realizes Ghost put a fucking leash on him.
“C’mon, girl, up,” Ghost muses, jerking the leash upwards; Soap chokes, tearing up, heaving and gagging when the leather presses into his windpipe. Spit dribbles down his chin, joined by tears and snot soon enough. Ghost hums contentedly, dragging his limp upper body towards his crotch, where his hard prick was taken out of his pants. “He’s gonna knot you soon, and we don’t want you being too loud, do we?”
Soap whines, humping the air as he tries to fuck himself on Nine’s cock. Why did he stop? It was so good, this is barely enough. His overworked pussy clenches, trying to spur the dog on—uselessly. The beast nips at his shoulder and buries himself to the hilt, till the fur tickles Soap’s sticky arse. Something smacks his face, drooping and catching against his tongue. He’s jerked up again—oh, more, he’s moved up and down the dick in his cunt like that—then his drooling mouth is put directly onto Ghost’s prick. Yes, yesss, Soap eagerly licks around the cockhead, under the foreskin, covering it in his saliva and snot.
He barely manages to properly fit Ghost’s dick between his lips when his cunt tightens around… something.
“Mmph, uhnn,” Soap moans around a mouthful of cock, suddenly uncomfortable; the stretch is too sudden, too fast, why is it so big? The wolfhound behind him doesn’t care in the slightest, just pulls away to rock into his bitch once again. Soap’s pussy puts up a fight, even though it’s futile; Nine only presses harder, forcing more and more of himself inside, until— “Hnngh—!”
“Good grief, you nasty bitch,” Ghost sighs above him, right after a warm splatter of urine hits the floor. “Can’t even control your fuckin’ bladder. Bad girl. Do I have to potty train you?”
A sob rips through Soap’s chest. That’s all he can do: cry and piss, stuck at both ends by cocks. The hissing sound of it rings in his ears, loud, leaving nothing to the imagination as he continues to relieve himself. Nine huffs, paying it no mind while he fucks his bulbous knot in, and in, and in, stuffing Soap’s cunt full of it, full of his virile spunk.
There’s little relief after Nine finishes cumming inside him. The trail of piss slowly subsides into nothing, but Ghost forces Soap’s head down with the leash, until his nose is buried in Ghost’s pubes. That alone would be fine, if only the fucking dog stayed still and didn’t try to break free. The knot is still in place, tightly lodged inside Soap’s cunt, and his walls squeeze onto it like they don’t want to ever let go, stretched and plugged so fucking good. Nine doesn’t share his view, however.
“Mmph,” Soap whimpers, reaching behind with his arm to grab at Nine’s thigh, to keep him there. The dog growls and barks, restless, then pulls—hard. Soap fucking shrieks. “Ngh, mmn! Nhhn—!”
The knot is forced outside with a loud pop, a gush of wetness following through, and Soap yowls around the cock in his mouth in distress. The wolfhound is quick to back away and lick at the irritated skin, at Soap’s swollen labia. He cries, hands flailing and trying to put pressure on his cunt, which now pulses in burning pain, leaking the dog’s watery cum. Desperate to keep it in, Soap plugs his pussy full of his fingers but it doesn’t have the desired effect. The load still escapes from between them, too thin to cling to his walls. It trickles down his trembling thighs, joining the puddle of piss on the floor.
His miserable moans prove to be enough stimulation for Ghost, too—he releases with an angry grunt, jerking the leash Soap is on, and floods his mouth with warm load, this time wonderfully thick, bitter, everything Soap yearns for.
The warmth of his large hand suddenly hooking around Soap’s collar is a reminder. A reminder about what he is: one of Ghost’s little mutts.
Surprisingly—or not; Soap doesn’t really know if Ghost just managed to brainwash him, or he was just always fucked up like that—he finds he doesn’t really mind. Both Nine and Five have a go at him every few days, bitching his cunt and mouth alike. Ghost occasionally joins, or brings him into his lap when he’s all fucked-out and disgusting, which is nice in a way. He gets to warm his cock during these moments, something Soap hasn’t done since they left the base for their mandatory leave, and oh, if that doesn’t make his entire day.
Sometimes, all thanks to Soap’s rotten luck, Ghost chooses One over him. Those are Soap’s worst days, where he’s forced to listen to Ghost’s low growls and One’s dragged-out whines as Ghost indulges in her cunt. Jealous over a fucking dog—this is probably the lowest Soap has ever stooped. Then again, it’s not like he can help it. It’s not like he can just sit there and wag his metaphorical tail while Ghost leaves him leashed to the post he installed specifically for this, covered in cooling bodily fluids and snuggled by the boys. Not while Ghost has fun with his only girl on the bed. On the bed, which is off limits for Soap whenever he’s fucked. Ghost has told him he’s too filthy, too often soiling whatever surface he’s railed on for the bed. Which, okay, Soap is not about to refute, but this? This is blatant favoritism, even if Ghost never says so.
Seething, gagging for Ghost’s attention, even when smothered by the territorial males—that’s how Soap bitterly watches One take Ghost’s very human cock.
“Two knots not enough for you?” he hears Ghost mimic his question from the other night one time, bottoming out inside One with both of his hands enveloping her midriff. She pants, clearly pleased, and Soap flinches at Ghost’s rough, insulting tone. His cunt pulses, reminding him of all the cum sloshing inside him, now plugged up: courtesy of Ghost, as per usual. “I think you ought to be taught how to share, puppy.”
“Yer just biased,” Soap mumbles into Five’s black fur. It’s meant to come out accusatory, but Soap thinks he sounds like a wet cat. So does Ghost, judging by the amused snort he produces.
“I wouldn’t be if you knew your place.”
Soap frowns, getting smacked in the face by Nine’s wagging tail. At least some individuals are particularly happy today, having knotted Soap’s pussy till he was crying for a break. “‘S with the dogs, oan the floor.”
“You say that now, but you’re still a brat,” Ghost muses, leisurely fucking into One. He doesn’t spare Soap a glance, too fixated on watching his dick disappear in her hole. “Still haven’t trained this human greediness outta ya, have I?”
Soap doesn’t know what to answer to keep Ghost from punishing him, so he doesn’t. A rueful scowl dances on his face as he involuntarily steals glimpses of Ghost’s livid stare, anyway. It’s gone the next day when Ghost shoves his face into One’s pussy, yanking him there by the collar and not letting go, though. ‘Getting-along training’, he called it, and Soap could not possibly refuse it even if he tried.
It works, somehow. Soap should be mad it does, but Ghost was right—One makes the sweetest noises whenever he plasters his mouth to her cunt, enough for Soap to feel better about the whole ordeal, about Ghost picking her over him at times. Whenever she looks at him with big, glossy eyes, Soap can understand why Ghost is so head over heels for her.
Soap is quick to give in once she comes over to him by herself, followed by the boys. He reminds himself he should probably feel some kind of shame, regret—it’s not Ghost initiating it like he always does, after all. He doesn’t order Soap to present his cunt for knotting, nor does he tell him to play with One’s pussy. No, Soap goes willingly, maybe even eagerly, and he doesn’t need Ghost’s command this time. In fact, he doesn’t think about him at all, too busy fucking himself back on Five’s inflating knot. Too busy pawing at his own clit to hear the front door open, too busy drooling all over One’s cunt and licking it off of her to notice the heavy steps come up from behind.
“Well, what a cute surprise,” Ghost’s gnarly words cut through the silence, filled only with squelching noises and quiet whines. Soap feels himself flush hotly and clench around the cock inside him. Ghost was not supposed to be back home this fast. “All my pets havin’ fun without me, hm?”
At this point, Soap might just embrace it. Ghost may have started it, that’s true, but ultimately it’s Soap enjoying a dog’s knot up his cunt, isn’t it?
Just like all those times before, Ghost crouches down beside Soap; nevertheless, it’s quite different now. Ghost reaches out to pet through his hair, then tugs on his collar. Soap smiles dumbly, leaning into the touch, into the heat of Ghost’s palms, and—and immediately freezes, paling faster than he’s ever had before.
The sadistic tosser unbuckles the collar and slowly, carefully slides it off his neck.
“No,” Soap stammers, lips trembling. Tears spring into his eyes despite how much he tries to hold them back, and promptly run down his face. “No, put it—please, no,” he tries, hyperventilating, because he can’t, please, this isn’t right, nonono, put it back—
“No?” Ghost echoes somewhere far away. The clink of the tag hanging off the collar is stupidly loud in Soap’s ears. “You used to be pretty stubborn about not bein’ one of my mutts, Johnny.”
“Nooo, Ah’m yer dog, one of them, please put it back, please, will do anythin’, please—!”
The leather against his skin is grounding and warm, so warm. It fits around his neck like a glove, and it’s right, it’s perfect. It calms down his hysterics, aided by the hand Ghost places on his head. The dogs silently cling to him, licking, and Soap licks back without a second thought, finally comforted.
“My perfect little bitch,” Ghost rumbles above him, and Soap couldn’t agree more. That’s where he belongs: at Ghost’s feet, obedient and good, everything Ghost decides he is.
When Soap arrives back on base, trailing behind Ghost, it’s with leather snugly resting against his nape.