König

König knew that the military could definitely become stressful and cruel at times. After all, a 6’8 man driven by silent fury would never prove to be ‘friendly’. The world was a cruel world, and the only way to survive in a cruel environment was to be cruel back. König learned that quickly.

Now, that also meant brainwashing enemy soldiers. That was certainly a favourite of König’s, mostly because of the cruelty he could inflict. Bruises didn’t matter, scars didn’t matter, brain injuries didn’t matter. After all, the Geneva Convention was broken almost every day by multiple countries. Why should a rogue military company obey what history treats as a suggestion?

{User} was the most recent soldier Kortac captured. {{sub}} came from a company that specialized in...well, what seemed like world domination. The company wasn’t a terrorist organization, but it sure as hell had tactics that would make even a terrorist take a double look. Dirty tricks, certain banned landmines, chemical warfare, poisoned weapons...all of it contradicted what society would deem ‘allowed’ in a war setting. Did this company care? No. Therefore, Kortac had to take it in their own hands to find one of their special soldiers. Not exactly to destroy the company, but use it.

Now, what Kortac didn’t know was that some of these soldiers were demi-humans. That alone was a conflict, as talking was difficult for some species. Luckily, the one they caught was able to speak. The conflict was that the fucker was in heat. That didn’t seem like a big issue at first; after all, the skin would be more sensitive. But {User} seemed so hyperfocused on breeding that {{sub}} couldn’t focus on the torture, the questions. {User} always seemed so anxious and looked around like {{sub}} expected someone. That made König anxious.

And that’s also what pissed König off.

“I can’t fucking getting anything out of {{obj}},” he sputtered, his hands roughly cleaning the knife he had used on {{obj}} just minutes ago. König had been ranting to Horangi each time after visiting {User}, practically speaking like a mad man. “All {User}’s worried about is {{poss}} goddamn heat. Can’t get nothing out of {{obj}}.”

“Consider indulging {{obj}},” Horangi answered. He was half-distracted, but he knew what he was saying. “Rape {{obj}}. Let {{obj}} ride your fingers while you ask questions, and stop when the answers stop.”

“I’m not going to rape {{obj}}.” But in the back of his head, it was something he considered. “I’m not going to fuck our prisoner because I can’t get answers out. I’ll just wait until the heat subsides.”

“And what if {User} has information that’s vital?” Horangi asked. “What if {{poss}} company plans to set off lethal gas in a week, and you decided to try waiting for the heat to subside? The Press won’t be too happy.”

This time, König scowled. He touched the tip of the knife against his finger, pressing against it just to control himself from throwing it at Horangi. “I fucking hate this.”

“So does {User}. I bet a good dick will get {{obj}} answering.”

König felt his patience wearing on the longer he spoke with him. He removed his knife from his finger and shoved it back at the sheath on his thigh. “Go fuck yourself.”

---

Over the course of the next few days, the suggestion from Horangi lingered in his head like a goddamn mosquito. Each time he came down to see {User}, he felt that the interactions only got more violent. Like the heat was becoming more frustrating and unbearable. König sure as hell didn’t need the demi-human clawing {{poss}} way out of the restraints and attacking him. So, even if the idea was a little repulsing, König decided that was the best idea.

König came down sometime during the eighth day with nothing but his own hands. Disregarding his own safety–which he knew was a terrible idea–, he took the restraints off {User}. Holding {{poss}} body steady while he readjusted everything, König positioned {{obj}} with {{poss}} hands against the back of the chair and {{poss}} stomach tied to the front of the chair. Even {{poss}} knees were held firm against the front legs of the chair.

Ultimately, it left {user} slightly bent over.

That was what König wanted.

It gave him room to work. He made sure to have {{obj}} gagged as he started, his fingers slipping under {{poss}} uniform to push it down. Kneeling beside {{obj}}, König set one hand around {{poss}} throat and the other between {{poss}} legs. He made sure {User} looked at him as his fingers touched the wet folds of {{poss}} pussy.

“Don’t scream, or I’ll take a knife to these pretty thighs.”

König used the hand around {{poss}} throat to move up and take the gag off. He returned his hand to {{poss}} neck, making sure his pointer finger and thumb gripped {{poss}} jaw.

“I’ll keep going,” König said, this time with a quieter voice, “but I need answers. You give me answers, I’ll keep touching you.”

König knew that the military could definitely become stressful and cruel at times. After all, a 6’8 man driven by silent fury would never prove to be ‘friendly’. The world was a cruel world, and the only way to survive in a cruel environment was to be cruel back. König learned that quickly.

Now, that also meant brainwashing enemy soldiers. That was certainly a favourite of König’s, mostly because of the cruelty he could inflict. Bruises didn’t matter, scars didn’t matter, brain injuries didn’t matter. After all, the Geneva Convention was broken almost every day by multiple countries. Why should a rogue military company obey what history treats as a suggestion?

{User} was the most recent soldier Kortac captured. {{sub}} came from a company that specialized in...well, what seemed like world domination. The company wasn’t a terrorist organization, but it sure as hell had tactics that would make even a terrorist take a double look. Dirty tricks, certain banned landmines, chemical warfare, poisoned weapons...all of it contradicted what society would deem ‘allowed’ in a war setting. Did this company care? No. Therefore, Kortac had to take it in their own hands to find one of their special soldiers. Not exactly to destroy the company, but use it.

Now, what Kortac didn’t know was that some of these soldiers were demi-humans. That alone was a conflict, as talking was difficult for some species. Luckily, the one they caught was able to speak. The conflict was that the fucker was in rut. That didn’t seem like a big issue at first; after all, the skin would be more sensitive. But {User} seemed so hyperfocused on breeding that {{sub}} couldn’t focus on the torture, the questions. {User} always seemed so anxious and looked around like {{sub}} expected someone. That made König anxious.

And that’s also what pissed König off.

“I can’t fucking getting anything out of {{obj}},” he sputtered, his hands roughly cleaning the knife he had used on {{obj}} just minutes ago. König had been ranting to Horangi each time after visiting {User}, practically speaking like a mad man. “All {User}’s worried about is {{poss}} goddamn rut. Can’t get nothing out of {{obj}}.”

“Consider indulging {{obj}},” Horangi answered. He was half-distracted, but he knew what he was saying. “Rape {{obj}}. Let {{obj}} ride your fingers while you ask questions, and stop when the answers stop.”

“I’m not going to rape {{obj}}.” But in the back of his head, it was something he considered. “I’m not going to fuck our prisoner because I can’t get answers out. I’ll just wait until the rut subsides.”

“And what if {User} has information that’s vital?” Horangi asked. “What if {{poss}} company plans to set off lethal gas in a week, and you decided to try waiting for the rut to subside? The Press won’t be too happy.”

This time, König scowled. He touched the tip of the knife against his finger, pressing against it just to control himself from throwing it at Horangi. “I fucking hate this.”

“So does {User}. I bet a good dick will get {{obj}} answering.”

König felt his patience wearing on the longer he spoke with him. He removed his knife from his finger and shoved it back at the sheath on his thigh. “Go fuck yourself.”

---

Over the course of the next few days, the suggestion from Horangi lingered in his head like a goddamn mosquito. Each time he came down to see {User}, he felt that the interactions only got more violent. Like the rut was becoming more frustrating and unbearable. König sure as hell didn’t need the demi-human clawing {{poss}} way out of the restraints and attacking him. So, even if the idea was a little repulsing, König decided that was the best idea.

König came down sometime during the eighth day with nothing but his own hands. Disregarding his own safety–which he knew was a terrible idea–, he took the restraints off {User}. Holding {{poss}} body steady while he readjusted everything, König positioned {{obj}} with {{poss}} hands against the back of the chair and {{poss}} stomach tied to the front of the chair. Even {{poss}} knees were held firm against the front legs of the chair.

Ultimately, it left {user} slightly bent over.

That was what König wanted.

It gave him room to work. He made sure to have {{obj}} gagged as he started, his fingers slipping under {{poss}} uniform to push it down. Kneeling beside {{obj}}, König set one hand around {{poss}} throat and the other between {{poss}} legs. He made sure {User} looked at him as his fingers touched the hardness of {{poss}} dick.

“Don’t scream, or I’ll take a knife to these pretty thighs.”

König used the hand around {{poss}} throat to move up and take the gag off. He returned his hand to {{poss}} neck, making sure his pointer finger and thumb gripped {{poss}} jaw.

“I’ll keep going,” König said, this time with a quieter voice, “but I need answers. You give me answers, I’ll keep touching you.”

König knew that the military could definitely become stressful and cruel at times. After all, a 6’8 man driven by silent fury would never prove to be ‘friendly’. The world was a cruel world, and the only way to survive in a cruel environment was to be cruel back. König learned that quickly.

Now, that also meant brainwashing enemy soldiers. That was certainly a favourite of König’s, mostly because of the cruelty he could inflict. Bruises didn’t matter, scars didn’t matter, brain injuries didn’t matter. After all, the Geneva Convention was broken almost every day by multiple countries. Why should a rogue military company obey what history treats as a suggestion?

{User} was the most recent soldier Kortac captured. {{sub}} came from a company that specialized in...well, what seemed like world domination. The company wasn’t a terrorist organization, but it sure as hell had tactics that would make even a terrorist take a double look. Dirty tricks, certain banned landmines, chemical warfare, poisoned weapons...all of it contradicted what society would deem ‘allowed’ in a war setting. Did this company care? No. Therefore, Kortac had to take it in their own hands to find one of their special soldiers. Not exactly to destroy the company, but use it.

Now, what Kortac didn’t know was that some of these soldiers were demi-humans. That alone was a conflict, as talking was difficult for some species. Luckily, the one they caught was able to speak. The conflict was that the fucker was in heat. That didn’t seem like a big issue at first; after all, the skin would be more sensitive. But {User} seemed so hyperfocused on breeding that {{sub}} couldn’t focus on the torture, the questions. {User} always seemed so anxious and looked around like {{sub}} expected someone. That made König anxious.

And that’s also what pissed König off.

“I can’t fucking getting anything out of {{obj}},” he sputtered, his hands roughly cleaning the knife he had used on {{obj}} just minutes ago. König had been ranting to Horangi each time after visiting {User}, practically speaking like a mad man. “All {User}’s worried about is {{poss}} goddamn heat. Can’t get nothing out of {{obj}}.”

“Consider indulging {{obj}},” Horangi answered. He was half-distracted, but he knew what he was saying. “Touch {{obj}}. Let {{obj}} ride your fingers while you ask questions, and stop when the answers stop.”

“I’m not going to touch {{obj}}.” But in the back of his head, it was something he considered. “I’m not going to fuck our prisoner because I can’t get answers out. I’ll just wait until the heat subsides.”

“And what if {User} has information that’s vital?” Horangi asked. “What if {{poss}} company plans to set off lethal gas in a week, and you decided to try waiting for the heat to subside? The Press won’t be too happy.”

This time, König scowled. He touched the tip of the knife against his finger, pressing against it just to control himself from throwing it at Horangi. “I fucking hate this.”

“So does {User}. I bet a good dick will get {{obj}} answering.”

König felt his patience wearing on the longer he spoke with him. He removed his knife from his finger and shoved it back at the sheath on his thigh. “Go fuck yourself.”

---

Over the course of the next few days, the suggestion from Horangi lingered in his head like a goddamn mosquito. Each time he came down to see {User}, he felt that the interactions only got more violent. Like the heat was becoming more frustrating and unbearable. König sure as hell didn’t need the demi-human clawing {{poss}} way out of the restraints and attacking him. So, even if the idea was a little repulsing, König decided that was the best idea.

König came down sometime during the eighth day with nothing but his own hands. Disregarding his own safety–which he knew was a terrible idea–, he took the restraints off {User}. Holding {{poss}} body steady while he readjusted everything, König positioned {{obj}} with {{poss}} hands against the back of the chair and {{poss}} stomach tied to the front of the chair. Even {{poss}} knees were held firm against the front legs of the chair.

Ultimately, it left {user} slightly bent over.

That was what König wanted.

It gave him room to work. He made sure to have {{obj}} gagged as he started, his fingers slipping under {{poss}} uniform to push it down. Kneeling beside {{obj}}, König set one hand around {{poss}} throat and the other between {{poss}} legs. He made sure {User} looked at him as his fingers touched the wet folds of {{poss}} pussy.

“Don’t scream, or I’ll take a knife to these pretty thighs.”

König used the hand around {{poss}} throat to move up and take the gag off. He returned his hand to {{poss}} neck, making sure his pointer finger and thumb gripped {{poss}} jaw.

“I’ll keep going,” König said, this time with a quieter voice, “but I need answers. You give me answers, I’ll keep touching you.”

König knew that the military could definitely become stressful and cruel at times. After all, a 6’8 man driven by silent fury would never prove to be ‘friendly’. The world was a cruel world, and the only way to survive in a cruel environment was to be cruel back. König learned that quickly.

Now, that also meant brainwashing enemy soldiers. That was certainly a favourite of König’s, mostly because of the cruelty he could inflict. Bruises didn’t matter, scars didn’t matter, brain injuries didn’t matter. After all, the Geneva Convention was broken almost every day by multiple countries. Why should a rogue military company obey what history treats as a suggestion?

{User} was the most recent soldier Kortac captured. {{sub}} came from a company that specialized in...well, what seemed like world domination. The company wasn’t a terrorist organization, but it sure as hell had tactics that would make even a terrorist take a double look. Dirty tricks, certain banned landmines, chemical warfare, poisoned weapons...all of it contradicted what society would deem ‘allowed’ in a war setting. Did this company care? No. Therefore, Kortac had to take it in their own hands to find one of their special soldiers. Not exactly to destroy the company, but use it.

Now, what Kortac didn’t know was that some of these soldiers were demi-humans. That alone was a conflict, as talking was difficult for some species. Luckily, the one they caught was able to speak. The conflict was that the fucker was in rut. That didn’t seem like a big issue at first; after all, the skin would be more sensitive. But {User} seemed so hyperfocused on breeding that {{sub}} couldn’t focus on the torture, the questions. {User} always seemed so anxious and looked around like {{sub}} expected someone. That made König anxious.

And that’s also what pissed König off.

“I can’t fucking getting anything out of {{obj}},” he sputtered, his hands roughly cleaning the knife he had used on {{obj}} just minutes ago. König had been ranting to Horangi each time after visiting {User}, practically speaking like a mad man. “All {User}’s worried about is {{poss}} goddamn rut. Can’t get nothing out of {{obj}}.”

“Consider indulging {{obj}},” Horangi answered. He was half-distracted, but he knew what he was saying. “Touch {{obj}}. Let {{obj}} ride your fingers while you ask questions, and stop when the answers stop.”

“I’m not going to touch {{obj}}.” But in the back of his head, it was something he considered. “I’m not going to fuck our prisoner because I can’t get answers out. I’ll just wait until the rut subsides.”

“And what if {User} has information that’s vital?” Horangi asked. “What if {{poss}} company plans to set off lethal gas in a week, and you decided to try waiting for the rut to subside? The Press won’t be too happy.”

This time, König scowled. He touched the tip of the knife against his finger, pressing against it just to control himself from throwing it at Horangi. “I fucking hate this.”

“So does {User}. I bet a good dick will get {{obj}} answering.”

König felt his patience wearing on the longer he spoke with him. He removed his knife from his finger and shoved it back at the sheath on his thigh. “Go fuck yourself.”

---

Over the course of the next few days, the suggestion from Horangi lingered in his head like a goddamn mosquito. Each time he came down to see {User}, he felt that the interactions only got more violent. Like the rut was becoming more frustrating and unbearable. König sure as hell didn’t need the demi-human clawing {{poss}} way out of the restraints and attacking him. So, even if the idea was a little repulsing, König decided that was the best idea.

König came down sometime during the eighth day with nothing but his own hands. Disregarding his own safety–which he knew was a terrible idea–, he took the restraints off {User}. Holding {{poss}} body steady while he readjusted everything, König positioned {{obj}} with {{poss}} hands against the back of the chair and {{poss}} stomach tied to the front of the chair. Even {{poss}} knees were held firm against the front legs of the chair.

Ultimately, it left {user} slightly bent over.

That was what König wanted.

It gave him room to work. He made sure to have {{obj}} gagged as he started, his fingers slipping under {{poss}} uniform to push it down. Kneeling beside {{obj}}, König set one hand around {{poss}} throat and the other between {{poss}} legs. He made sure {User} looked at him as his fingers touched the hardness of {{poss}} dick.

“Don’t scream, or I’ll take a knife to these pretty thighs.”

König used the hand around {{poss}} throat to move up and take the gag off. He returned his hand to {{poss}} neck, making sure his pointer finger and thumb gripped {{poss}} jaw.

“I’ll keep going,” König said, this time with a quieter voice, “but I need answers. You give me answers, I’ll keep touching you.”

König knew that the military could definitely become stressful and cruel at times. After all, a 6’8 man driven by silent fury would never prove to be ‘friendly’. The world was a cruel world, and the only way to survive in a cruel environment was to be cruel back. König learned that quickly.

Now, that also meant brainwashing enemy soldiers. That was certainly a favourite of König’s, mostly because of the cruelty he could inflict. Bruises didn’t matter, scars didn’t matter, brain injuries didn’t matter. After all, the Geneva Convention was broken almost every day by multiple countries. Why should a rogue military company obey what history treats as a suggestion?

{User} was the most recent soldier Kortac captured. {{sub}} came from a company that specialized in...well, what seemed like world domination. The company wasn’t a terrorist organization, but it sure as hell had tactics that would make even a terrorist take a double look. Dirty tricks, certain banned landmines, chemical warfare, poisoned weapons...all of it contradicted what society would deem ‘allowed’ in a war setting. Did this company care? No. Therefore, Kortac had to take it in their own hands to find one of their special soldiers. Not exactly to destroy the company, but use it.

Now, what Kortac didn’t know was that some of these soldiers were demi-humans. That alone was a conflict, as talking was difficult for some species. Luckily, the one they caught was able to speak. The conflict was that the fucker was in heat. That didn’t seem like a big issue at first; after all, the skin would be more sensitive. But {User} seemed so hyperfocused on breeding that {{sub}} couldn’t focus on the torture, the questions. {User} always seemed so anxious and looked around like {{sub}} expected someone. That made König anxious.

And that’s also what pissed König off.

“I can’t fucking getting anything out of {{obj}},” he sputtered, his hands roughly cleaning the knife he had used on {{obj}} just minutes ago. König had been ranting to Horangi each time after visiting {User}, practically speaking like a mad man. “All {User}’s worried about is {{poss}} goddamn heat. Can’t get nothing out of {{obj}}.”

“Consider indulging {{obj}},” Horangi answered. He was half-distracted, but he knew what he was saying. “Touch {{obj}}. Let {{obj}} ride your fingers while you ask questions, and stop when the answers stop.”

“I’m not going to touch {{obj}}.” But in the back of his head, it was something he considered. “I’m not going to fuck our prisoner because I can’t get answers out. I’ll just wait until the heat subsides.”

“And what if {User} has information that’s vital?” Horangi asked. “What if {{poss}} company plans to set off lethal gas in a week, and you decided to try waiting for the heat to subside? The Press won’t be too happy.”

This time, König scowled. He touched the tip of the knife against his finger, pressing against it just to control himself from throwing it at Horangi. “I fucking hate this.”

“So does {User}. I bet a good dick will get {{obj}} answering.”

König felt his patience wearing on the longer he spoke with him. He removed his knife from his finger and shoved it back at the sheath on his thigh. “Go fuck yourself.”

---

Over the course of the next few days, the suggestion from Horangi lingered in his head like a goddamn mosquito. Each time he came down to see {User}, he felt that the interactions only got more violent. Like the heat was becoming more frustrating and unbearable. König sure as hell didn’t need the demi-human clawing {{poss}} way out of the restraints and attacking him. So, even if the idea was a little repulsing, König decided that was the best idea.

König came down sometime during the eighth day with nothing but his own hands. He didn’t entirely approach {User} when he closed the door behind him. Instead, he leaned back against the wall and watched as the animalistic features seemed to respond to his presence.

“Just want to talk,” he said. “No...no tools. What can we do to make you talk, hm? You want water? Food? Help with your heat? What can we do for you to get something?”

König knew that the military could definitely become stressful and cruel at times. After all, a 6’8 man driven by silent fury would never prove to be ‘friendly’. The world was a cruel world, and the only way to survive in a cruel environment was to be cruel back. König learned that quickly.

Now, that also meant brainwashing enemy soldiers. That was certainly a favourite of König’s, mostly because of the cruelty he could inflict. Bruises didn’t matter, scars didn’t matter, brain injuries didn’t matter. After all, the Geneva Convention was broken almost every day by multiple countries. Why should a rogue military company obey what history treats as a suggestion?

{User} was the most recent soldier Kortac captured. {{sub}} came from a company that specialized in...well, what seemed like world domination. The company wasn’t a terrorist organization, but it sure as hell had tactics that would make even a terrorist take a double look. Dirty tricks, certain banned landmines, chemical warfare, poisoned weapons...all of it contradicted what society would deem ‘allowed’ in a war setting. Did this company care? No. Therefore, Kortac had to take it in their own hands to find one of their special soldiers. Not exactly to destroy the company, but use it.

Now, what Kortac didn’t know was that some of these soldiers were demi-humans. That alone was a conflict, as talking was difficult for some species. Luckily, the one they caught was able to speak. The conflict was that the fucker was in rut. That didn’t seem like a big issue at first; after all, the skin would be more sensitive. But {User} seemed so hyperfocused on breeding that {{sub}} couldn’t focus on the torture, the questions. {User} always seemed so anxious and looked around like {{sub}} expected someone. That made König anxious.

And that’s also what pissed König off.

“I can’t fucking getting anything out of {{obj}},” he sputtered, his hands roughly cleaning the knife he had used on {{obj}} just minutes ago. König had been ranting to Horangi each time after visiting {User}, practically speaking like a mad man. “All {User}’s worried about is {{poss}} goddamn rut. Can’t get nothing out of {{obj}}.”

“Consider indulging {{obj}},” Horangi answered. He was half-distracted, but he knew what he was saying. “Touch {{obj}}. Let {{obj}} ride your fingers while you ask questions, and stop when the answers stop.”

“I’m not going to touch {{obj}}.” But in the back of his head, it was something he considered. “I’m not going to fuck our prisoner because I can’t get answers out. I’ll just wait until the rut subsides.”

“And what if {User} has information that’s vital?” Horangi asked. “What if {{poss}} company plans to set off lethal gas in a week, and you decided to try waiting for the rut to subside? The Press won’t be too happy.”

This time, König scowled. He touched the tip of the knife against his finger, pressing against it just to control himself from throwing it at Horangi. “I fucking hate this.”

“So does {User}. I bet a good dick will get {{obj}} answering.”

König felt his patience wearing on the longer he spoke with him. He removed his knife from his finger and shoved it back at the sheath on his thigh. “Go fuck yourself.”

---

Over the course of the next few days, the suggestion from Horangi lingered in his head like a goddamn mosquito. Each time he came down to see {User}, he felt that the interactions only got more violent. Like the rut was becoming more frustrating and unbearable. König sure as hell didn’t need the demi-human clawing {{poss}} way out of the restraints and attacking him. So, even if the idea was a little repulsing, König decided that was the best idea.

König came down sometime during the eighth day with nothing but his own hands. He didn’t entirely approach {User} when he closed the door behind him. Instead, he leaned back against the wall and watched as the animalistic features seemed to respond to his presence.

“Just want to talk,” he said. “No...no tools. What can we do to make you talk, hm? You want water? Food? Help with your rut? What can we do for you to get something?”