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Not everyone knows. Not everyone sees the mask—older, threadbare, stitched together along one side with blood red thread and missing a hardplate—and knows what it means. Most just think it’s part of his rotation, one of his many many masks, and in some respects that’s true.
But some know exactly why that is.
He brings it to a meeting the afternoon previous to his plans, listening to the rest of the 141 bitch and gripe about tomorrow’s visiting teams, about having to play nice with both friends and enemies for the sake of some chest candy Generals and their ideas of teamwork. It’s awhile before they notice him fiddling with the wornout sockets of the imprinted skull, falling silent one by one as he traces a finger along the threaded stitch.
Ten minutes later he’s flat on his back over the briefing table, legs spread and cunt leaking onto the polished wood as they take their turns with him. John pets his flank like a treasured pet, watching closely as Kyle carves him open, as Johnny tilts his head back and plunders his mouth with his cock. He takes his hand, asking him to be a good boy and squeeze if he’s sure. They’ll be busy with company tomorrow after all, he’ll certainly be getting his use.
When he squeezes the mocking chuckle makes him clench, his Captain purring about how much of an eager slut he is, about how good he’s going to get fucked. Kyle pants, bent over and trying desperately to keep a lid on it, swearing he’ll be by in the morning to help him get ready. They finish that meeting by each coming in him, leaving him dripping and breathless in more ways than one.
The next morning he wakes up with four fingers buried inside him, gasping as his body rattles through a visceral orgasm, definitely not his first of the hour. He looks down the length of his body to see Kyle smiling at him like he doesn’t have a care in the world, like he isn’t spreading his fingers just to see him writhe.
“G’mornin’ beautiful.”
They get ready slowly, up early enough that they have the time for more than just a few hurried moments, Kyle twining pretty red ropes in intricate patterns around him, chasing them with kisses along their paths as he turns him from a weapon to an artwork, at least under all the rugged exterior. He finishes it with a smile and maybe a few too many teeth, settling the knots firmly between his legs—one against his swollen cock and two more against the plugs spearing him open, just enough to rile and press and tease without being impossible to move aside—before trailing up to pluck at his nipples, making sure the piercings are persistently rubbing against the ropes around them.
“There you go love, have fun.”
He’s soaked by the time he gets his pants on, making a mess of his thighs and the rough inner fabric, hopefully dark enough to hide the stains as it pulls at the ropes, forcing him to be vibrantly aware of them. Kyle kisses the mask as he settles it, tells him where he’ll be most of the day if he needs the harness fixed, and is gone.
For the first hour or so of his day, there’s nothing of note. He runs some rookies through some drills, has a few discussions with some other commissions, nods at a few of their guests as they arrive, easy as can be. Ignoring what’s going on under his gear is simple enough, he’s used to locking himself away inside, but it’s only really a delay on the inevitable. Every indiscreet movement grinds at him, at the creeping high he can feel, the shredded air on his breaths.
Finally a little passel of corporals approaches, eyes all locked on the red stitch as they ask him if they can show him something. He shivers with backwashed pleasure as they pull him into an abandoned meeting room, all of them fumbling and eager as he easily slides to his knees before them. They’re sweet boys, if all a little inexperienced, gasping as he rolls up his mask to take one cock into his mouth, thanking him when he slides off his gloves to jack off the rest. None of them last very long, though the first to go makes up for it by dropping down himself to shove his hands under his shirt and pinch and pull at his nipples until he comes with a muffled grunt. They all salute him before they scurry off after, like they think he needs assurances. It’s cute really.
When they leave he fishes out a marker and jots the four of them down, neat little marks on his wrist.
Johnny yanks him into a storage room less than twenty minutes later and ruts into his hip, bleating pathetically about how good he looks and how much he’s going to fuck him later, still mumbling plans to himself as he drops to his knees and yanks his pants down, not letting him leave until he’s satisfied himself with licking the sweat and slick and cum from his thighs and his cunt, grinning when all it takes to mess him up all over again is to scrub his scruffy cheeks against his cock, turning him red with beard burn and riling him into even higher sensitivity.
When he leaves him, it’s with a wild look in his eyes and a cheeky bite to his words, “Price wants ye t’drop by his office over dinner. He’s havin’ some other brass by t’smoke and bitch. I’ll see ye before then.”
It’s a struggle to walk after that, trying to act like every step doesn’t twinge through him. Worth it to feel it, to see the looks he gets from those who know.
The rest of the day passes similarly, guests and locals both pulling him into closets and offices and abandoned hallways, eyes all knowing, all needing. He sits for a visiting General, knees against his chair, heavy cock down his throat as he works through a briefing folder for the better part of an hour. A massive Staff Sergeant fingers him until he’s aching, then jacks off onto his spread cunt, soaking him in a truly bewildering amount of cum. Two Majors bend him over a bench just inside the gym and recreate a favored landmark, laughing at how he shivers, just waiting for someone to come by.
A little after lunch Johnny and Kyle find him again, pulling him back to quarters to clean up at least a little and get a brief nap in. It ends with Johnny once again rutting into his hip, Kyle’s mouth sucking a bruise so high on his jaw everyone is going to see it, but he can hardly complain, especially considering Johnny about implodes when he sees how many tallies are gathered around his limbs and doesn’t let him go back out without a few new marks of his own.
The operator who yanks him into the lockers by his mask scoffs at 141’s favorite cumdump, pull to scream, free use slut and so on, but he certainly gets his use out of it.
By the time his summoning to John’s office rolls around he’s hanging together by a thread, marked up and more than a little raw and loving it. The pleased look on John’s face when he knocks and steps in is enough to make his head light, obediently following as he waves him over to his desk with a casual introduction to the four or five other officers in the room. When he steps around the side a hand slides into place against his back, tugging him even closer with the ropes harnessing his hips.
“Strip down and hop up pet. These lads need a little break.”
The flush over his body deepens as he fumbles out of his clothes and spreads himself over the desk, letting John pull him back to rest his head against his shoulder as the first one—another Captain maybe a few years older than John with whiskey and smoke on his breath—approaches, eyeing him up like choice meat.
“Pretty cunt you’ve got for yourself Price,” Like he’s not even there. He clenches, eager, “He know any tricks other than what’s on the box?”
“Old friend swears he can make ‘im squirt every time he fucks his ass.”
A brief thought about killing Nik the next time he sees him flits through his brain, only to get soundly ejected by the rope holding his plugs in place getting pulled aside, the one in his ass tossed into a random corner. The sound of spit hits his ears, and then there’s a cock in him yet again and all that matters is clinging to John and panting desperately into his neck.
He’s not sure how much time passes then, probably more than he should lose, but that doesn’t matter with the sheer variety of cocks fucking his ass, laughing at him when he writhes and occasionally swatting his thighs or hips when he gets too rowdy. The mockery, the joking about Johnny’s writing, the way they treat him like a prized hound after a long hunt more than a decorated Lieutenant, it gets him clenching and whimpering and softly grinding his hips, trying to make himself all the more enticing even when he’s so worn he can barely think.
Finally, when they’ve all had their fill, John takes pity on him. He collects the plug and cleans it off, sliding it back into his gaped hole and going to play with the one above it instead, petting him as he bucks, cooing as he whines, pulling the plug out just to its widest point before shoving it back in, grinding it, making him sob and keen and finally beg for him to fuck him, loud enough to get a few hoots and hollers from the others watching.
John doesn’t bother to slick himself up, the cunt he pulls the plug free from is wet enough as is, barely clinging to him as he grabs him by his hips and fucks him like a toy, takes his own pleasure while the man below him comes hard enough to soak them both.
He loses consciousness, somewhere after that. Comes back to himself curled up on the couch John keeps in his office, still sitting on his cock but with no one else still in the room. There’s new tallies on his thigh, right in his line of sight as he opens his eyes. The clench he gives makes a chuckle reverberate in his ear.
“Back with me pet?” At his quiet whimper, a broad hand reaches up to cup his neck, “Satisfied? There’s a very eager Sergeant waiting back at quarters if you’re ready.”
He thinks about it, shifts forward a little to rest more wholly on John and take in his warmth. The words come slowly, from beyond the cotton in his head, “Time’s it?”
“Just past 0800.”
Early enough, but he feels the exhaustion setting in. He nods, letting John help him back into his clothes, unable to feel any shame over how he leans into him as they trek back home.
Johnny is kept from tackling him into the bed only by Kyle’s hand firmly in his mohawk, holding him in place until John can take over.
The ropes get unceremoniously cut, the plugs set aside to clean, his body wiped down but for the indelible evidence that will stay for days. Water is slowly fed to him, most of a protein bar, and then there’s nothing for him to do but settle back into the bed, feeling used and wonderful as Kyle worms a pillow under his hips and crawls up, letting him settle his head into his lap, his cock gently tapping at his lips.
John lets go of Johnny and he’s at his cunt in an instant, hot tongue lapping at his puffy used holes, pulling and tugging at his gaping mess, barely able to react after such a day. Fingers sliding into him, one after another, prepping him for one last ride.
He drifts off as Johnny slides home, panting and borderline feral, Kyle gently rocking into his mouth, John’s hand playing gently with his sore chest.
He doesn’t dream. A perfect sleep.