The Kingdom: Chapter 9 - Hun (Brandy's Story)

[southrook]

CHAPTER 9 – HUN (BRANDY’S STORY)

 

Soaking wet from the rain, I tore through the trees, hurtling over fallen branches and roots. A latex hood with cutouts for my eyes, nose, and mouth encompassed my head, keeping the hair out of my eyes. As frustrating as it was to be naked, collared, ring-gagged, crotch-roped with a rubber G-string, and have my arms restrained behind my back, such hindrances had little affect on my s***d. And thanks to a lifetime of walking outside barefoot, my feet were far too callused to be daunted by the occasional sharp stone or twig.

 

I panted heavily as I scanned my surroundings. I needed to find the unlocking station! Once I could free my arms, I knew this would be a completely different ballgame. Hearing what sounded like the loud of a twig behind me, I instantly ducked and scuttled behind the nearest tree. I held my breath for several seconds, listening intently for any signs of life. Hearing my pursuers through the latex hood was proving to be quite the challenge. Not to mention the torrential downpour that drowned out virtually every other sound in the entire forest.

 

After a few seconds, I inched my head outward to see around the tree trunk. All I could see was rain and heavily wooded forest. I exhaled, standing once more to my feet. Just then, I felt something cold and hard press against the nape of my neck.

 

“Game over,” said a deep voice.

 

Dammit, I thought. I recognized the object pressed against my neck as the tip of a rifle. Unlike most rifles, however, this one did not fire bullets or rounds. Instead, this rifle emitted infrared beams. Sounds harmless, right? Wrong. In any normal setting, being hit with an infrared beam would be as consequential being shined on by a flashlight. But this was no normal setting. The wearable technology I was sporting had basically turned me into a target for laser tag. If an infrared beam were to make contact with any part of my body, it would trigger an electrical response in my collar and butt-plug. Oh, didn’t I tell you? The rubber G-string I was wearing had a built in butt-plug. Fucked up, huh? So, upon being hit with an infrared beam from one of these rifles, 3,000 volts of electricity would be disd simultaneously to both my neck and anus.

 

I sighed and allowed my head to drop forward in a sign of defeat. Statistically, this technique has tested the highest probability of prompting an attacker to lower his weapon. As poor luck would have it, however, the tip of the rifle remained firmly pressed against my neck. Time for plan B.

 

In one swift move, I turned my head to the side and kicked off of the tree in front of me with my dominant foot. The result was me hurtling backwards and colliding ***fully into my assailant. With my head turned, the tip of the tip of the gun slid across my wet skin and beneath my ear.

 

With the weapon no longer aimed at me, I had milliseconds to execute my next move. My assailant had been knocked off balance, but was still on his feet. This needed to change. Without hesitation, I parried left nailed him in the side of his knee with my heel. Crying out in ***, he dropped hard to the ground. Seizing what would likely be my only opportunity to knock him out, I spun and leapt into a tornado kick.

 

No sooner did I leave the ground, my assailant managed to aim his rifle towards me and pull the trigger. Agonizing *** shot through me from my neck and anus, causing me to suddenly lose all muscle function. Instead of rotating my torso and landing the kick at his jawline, I merely collapsed to the ground like a sack of potatoes, twitching and convulsing in the mud. Keeping his finger firmly planted on the trigger, I watched ***ly as he stood to his feet and casually stepped behind me.

 

Dammit, I thought. Did he have to keep the trigger pulled? I was completely powerless as I felt him grab me by the back of my collar and yank me to my knees. Once I was kneeling in a doggie-style position, my assailant finally released the trigger. I moaned in relief as the electric shocks subsided. But though the *** had ceased, the grimace on my face remained as I braced for the fucking that was soon to follow.

 

I gave an involuntary gasp as I felt him tug my G-string to the side and plunge ***fully inside of me. My eyes suddenly shot wide open. Dammit, the cock was huge! Huge and ribbed… Fortunately, the rain had kept my vagina fairly lubricated. Otherwise, a cock of this size would have gone in quite uncomfortably. I clenched my fists beneath the armbinder, digging my fingernails into my palms. I growled into my gag as I felt him slide in and out. In and out.

 

After about a minute of this, I heard a loud whistle to my right. My assailant pulled out of me and released the back of my collar, causing me to topple forward onto the ground.

 

“Bastard!” I yelled, face down in the mud. But with the ring-gag in my mouth, it came out more like, “Aathawd!” I rolled onto my side and laid panting in a fetal position. Wouldn’t you know, he pulled out just as I was beginning to actually get something pleasurable out of it…

 

My assailant straightened up and stood at attention with hands by his side and feet together. I glared at the large black rubber dildo that was strapped to his naval. Why the fuck did it need to be so large? I wondered angrily. After a few seconds, several men stepped toward me through the tree line. In front was an older man in his late 70’s dressed in military attire and a rain-repellent trench coat. I recognized him as General Leonard Hersh.

 

“Congratulations, Sergeant,” he said in a growly voice. “You’ve been claimed. Again.” General Hersh stared down at me the way a dog owner looks down at an accident on the kitchen floor. Despite his reputation as a stoic and emotionless leader, his gaunt face was etched with dissatisfaction at my repeated failures to overpower my assailant.

 

I dropped my head in a mixture of shame and resentment. This was my fourth time being captured this morning. This meant that I had been d four times by a fellow navy seals wearing strap-ons. As debasing as that was, it was far more infuriating to be expected to complete a task that was so implausible. There was simply no way I’d be able to get the jump on an armed attacker while my arms were restrained behind my back! Real field conditions or not, this exercise was fucking rigged.

 

Hold up... Before I go any further into this story, I should probably introduce myself. My name is Debra Nolan. I’m 26 years of age, blonde, 5 foot 10 inches, and 139 pounds of pure muscle. My code name is Delta November Foxtrot and my mission alias is Brandy Michaels.

 

About a month and a half ago, I was hand selected to join a special operations task *** codenamed Mantis. I was one of 5 women tasked with going undercover inside an international human trafficking syndicate. While I’m hardly a stranger to special ops task ***s, nothing could have prepared me for the training I’d receive for this mission. Over the past month, under the command of General Hersh, I had endured just about every type of sexual stress test imaginable. But given the sexual nature of the role I’d be playing, this particular area of training would prove to be critical. Sexual endurance was essential to success.

 

The objective of this mission was to infiltrate the trafficking syndicate, duplicate data files from their main servers, and then get the hell out. Simple enough, right? I wish I could agree. The fact of the matter is- our statisticians awarded this mission a mere 20% chance of success. Typically, special ops won’t even consider missions with less than 60%.

 

But as you might have imagined, extenuating circumstances played a big role in this particular case. Almost one year ago to the week, technology industries celebrated the invention of AI quantum encryption. In non-geek s***ch, this translates to artificial intelligence-based security software that renders devices and databases virtually unhackable.

 

If you’re someone who’s thinking that this sounds like a good thing, you should probably think again. In eight months from now, the anonymous creator of this software, who goes by Harpocrates, vowed to make his creation open-source and available to the world. When that happens, every criminal on the planet will have been given the gift of electronic invisibility. As someone in the military who relies on data interception to keep the world safe, this poses obvious complications. But regardless of how you feel about the Patriot Act and FISA, a crime wave was almost certainly on the horizon.

 

The announcement of the software’s creation sent shockwaves through Washington. The joint armed ***s suddenly had a hard deadline for making their move against their highest priority criminal organizations. Kicking the proverbial can down the road risked the possibility of watching these cartels and syndicates become virtual ghosts. The clock was now ticking.

 

That’s where I come in. My infiltration into this particular syndicate had begun with my enrollment in a ‘hunger games’ style hunt. Along with roughly 200 other women from across the world, I would be transported to an undisclosed location in the woods, believed to be somewhere along the continental southeastern coast. Here, we would be naked and restrained in similar fashion to how I currently found myself. Wealthy male hunters armed with infrared rifles would proceed to scour the woods, hoping to capture and claim one of us as their own live-in sex slaves for the following three months.

 

As fucked up as that was, it was what happened after those three months ended that had the attention of the United States government. Each year, a plurality of women went missing around the same time of year. The syndicate was believed to be responsible. These women appeared to be meticulously chosen based on their societal footprint. Typically, they were women with little to no family, few savings, and low paying careers. They were people who wouldn’t be sorely missed.

 

Given the fact that candidates were required to enroll one year in advance, we had missed the deadline. My fellow operators and I were ***d to assume the identities of women who had already been enrolled. Upon tracking down as many enrolled women as possible, homeland security began the lengthy process of cross-comparing their profiles with our military databases to locate potential doppelgangers for recruitment into the task ***. I just so happened to match the physical characteristics of a Ms. Brandy May Michaels from Tallahassee. She had attended the year prior and apparently enjoyed sexual slavery so much that she decided to return for round two.

 

But unfortunately for Brandy, she wouldn’t be given the chance. Because, as of last week, she had been moved out of the state and placed in witness protection. We couldn’t very well have two Brandy Michaels walking around, could we?

 

So, here I am. Nearing the end of my training for what was likely the most fucked up special ops mission in military history. Like anyone in the service will tell you, there were days I wanted to quit. Days where I wanted to desert and get the hell away from the madness. But days like today, I just wanted to kick someone’s ass. Days like today kept me focused. Which brings me back to my story…

 

General Hersh knelt down over me and began unbuckling my gag with one hand. “Tell me, Sergeant,” he growled. “How many more times do you plan on trying that move before accepting that it doesn’t work?”

 

“Sorry, sir,” I replied as the gag was pulled from my mouth. I wasn’t sorry. If I had any chance at taking down a hunter, it was gonna be by this attack combination or something similar. It was just a matter of the stars aligning...

 

The general simply stared back at me. Hersh always gave me the impression that he was calculating. He was widely accredited as being one of the military’s most brilliant strategists and had a keen sense for reading people. I guess this was to be expected after nearly 40 years consulting for special ops.

 

“Why did you fall?” He asked me in a lower voice.

 

“Sir?” I asked

 

“I asked you why you fell,” he repeated.

 

I hesitated before answering, “I was shot, sir.”

 

He lifted his hand and rubbed his forehead impatiently. “I get that you were shot,” he replied. “But that doesn’t explain why you collapsed to the ground like a landed trout.” I merely stared back at him. “Have you ever taken a bullet, Sergeant?”

 

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

 

“Where?” He asked.

 

“My left shoulder, sir,” I said, nodding my head toward the scar beneath my collarbone.

 

“I see,” Hersh replied. “And what did you do when you got shot? Did you… fall to the ground? Curl into a fetal position?”

 

“No, sir,” I replied, lowering my gaze. “I carried out the ambush as planned.”

 

Hersh stood up, scratching his chin. “How interesting,” he replied patronizingly. “I think I’d like to see what that looks like one of these times.” And with that, he disappeared back into the trees. “Reset and go again!”

 

I sighed as one of the men accompanying him knelt down and ***d the ring-gag back in my mouth. Dammit. Despite what Hersh was implying, there was simply no way I’d be able to push through a shot from one of these weapons! It wasn’t the *** that prevented me from maintaining my balance. It was the debilitating affects that 3,000 volts of electricity had on your muscles!

 

Once my gag was buckled behind my head, the men standing around me dispersed, leaving me alone in the forest again. I rolled over and sat in an upright position. Leaning back on my enclosed palms, I lifted my face to the sky, allowing the rain to wash the mud away. Based on my previous attempts, I knew that I had roughly 2 minutes to rest before Hersh’s whistle blew again.

 

As much as I resented General Hersh and his impossibly high expectations, I couldn’t help but feel star-struck to be under his command. Hersh was something of a celebrity in the military. During the Vietnam War, he earned the nickname, Hun. The etymology of this name varies depending on whom you ask. The history books will say that it came from his time as a prisoner of war. According to fellow POW’s who were held captive at the same time, Hersh coined a trademark reply for his “interrogation sessions”. When being ***d by his captors, he would answer them with a single word. That word was hơn (pronounced “hun”) which meant “more” in Vietnamese. Instead of complying with his captors’ questions and demands, Hersh simply asked for more. This quickly became a battle cry of resistance. Once Hersh’s obstinacy and bravery was witnessed by his fellow prisoners, they too adopted his catchphrase. No matter which prisoner was being ***d, no matter what questions were being asked, the standard reply was henceforth hơn.

 

The other story for how Hersh got his nickname is a bit darker. Not something you’d expect to read in an honors history textbook. The name Hun came from his alleged ruthlessness in combat. According to some, Hersh adopted a tradition that was infamous to the Huns of Mongol. Dating back to the 15th century, on the day of their birth, male babies were slashed with a sword on both of their cheeks. This was done as a means to make them learn to endure ***. Urban legend has it that Hersh was known to carve the faces of war enemies in similar fashion.

 

But regardless of which backstory was true, it successfully earned General Hersh his place as the unofficial poster child for military bad-asses. And based on my interaction with him over the last month, I would say that he certainly lived up to the reputation.

 

I ended up running the drill another twelve times after that. All twelve times, I was shot, bent over, and d with the giant strap-on dildo. The electricity that accompanied being shot was just too intense for me to fight through. Unless the other girls were part-ox, there was simply no way that anyone would be capable of staying on their feet after such an ***. Despite my greatest efforts, I always found myself twitching in a heap on the muddy ground.

 

Eventually, I was too exhausted to put up a fight. Though I only had experienced one orgasm throughout the entire exercise, it had successfully zapped my energy and turned my legs to jello. Once it was clear that I had digressed beyond hope, I was dismissed for the day. Hersh avoided eye contact with me as he made his leave. I stared after him like an unwanted stepchild as his subordinates released from my restraints and handed me a poncho.

 

Upon returning to base, I spent the next 45 minutes in the shower. For as long as I could remember, the shower had always been my ideal place to decompress. And after a day like today, there was quite a lot to decompress from. Unfortunately, this was a rare luxury for military personnel. When deployed, we usually had to watch our water consumption levels and had to share the heat between everyone in the platoon. The nice thing about this particular mission, however, was my solitude. Since every woman was kept isolated from the others, I didn’t have to share the barracks with anyone. I had all the time and hot water to myself.

 

Eventually, I pulled myself away, got dressed, and made my way to the mess hall. With exception to what looked to be a few data analysts off to the corner, I had the place all to myself. Sometimes, I’d see the other women eating meals, but we were prohibited from sitting with or talking to each other. Since the vast number of protocols for this task *** were solo missions, there was no reason for us to interact. The more we knew about each other, the greater liability we would become should our covers ever be blown.

 

After my meal, I headed up to the roof. This was one of the only places I’d found on the base without security cameras. Aside from the shower, this was my perhaps my second favorite place to relax. The west side of the building also had quite the spectacular view this time of evening. Swinging my feet over the edge of some elevated ductwork, I sat for the next 15 minutes watching the sun set. A bright orange hue ***ted everything in sight and the wind tossed my hair behind me.

 

“How’s it goin’, Foxtrot?” a familiar voice said from behind me, ping out of my daze. I turned to see Staff Sergeant Keith Winters walking toward me. Keith was our immediate commanding officer on the task ***. He was the only other operator we were likely to have any contact with once we entered the field.

 

Keith and I went way back. We both hailed from the Navy and we even served together on multiple special ops teams. But our relationship wasn’t strictly professional. During our second tour together in Beirut, we posed as honeymooners. The reason we played our roles so well was because we weren’t actually playing them. There was little to no pretense in our displays of affection. And on top of our physical and emotional connection, we worked incredibly well together. So well that we continued to be paired up together for future missions. Our fun never interfered with our work and our work only intensified our fun.

 

When we weren’t on missions, we had to be more creative about how we saw each other. Over the course of years, we’d managed to maintain our relationship in secret. But as exciting as that was, there were always days like today when I wished that Keith could just come clean with the world and hold me without *** of getting us both dishonorably discharged.

 

“We calling each other by our codenames now?” I asked.

 

“Gotta get used to it again. Can’t afford to accidentally call you Deb out in the field, can I,” he asked rhetorically as he sat down on the ductwork next to me.

 

“I suppose not… Kilo Whiskey Alpha,” I replied, turning back toward the setting sun.

 

“You alright?” Keith asked, taking a seat next to me on the ledge.

 

“Yeah,” I answered flashing him an unconvincing smile. “Just another day.”

 

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked.

 

“Nah, just more of the same,” I answered. “The sexual exercises, rapings in the double digits. It just… gets to ya after a while, you know?” I gave a long sigh. “Not quite what I envisioned when I signed up to serve my country.”

 

“I get it,” Keith replied, looking intently into my eyes. “I mean, I, I don’t get it. I can’t even imagine…” Keith looked genuinely sympathetic as he struggled to find the right words to comfort me. Unlike most military guys I knew, Keith was an empath. His big heart was one of the things that attracted me most to him. And his thoughtfulness had a way of prompting me to confide in him like I’d never been able to with anyone else.

 

“But what you’re doing,” he continued, “-what you’re going to do for all those women… Well, you know how proud I am of you.” I felt Keith rub my back softly, sending tingles down my spine. It was downright depressing how starved I was for human touch. Depressing and pathetic.

 

“So, you ready for your trial?” He asked, changing the subject.

 

I groaned in dread, craning my head back to stare into the darkening sky. “As ready as someone can be for a trial that could start at any moment and consist of literally any task,” I replied.

 

Before being cleared for deployment on special ops task ***s, every operator was expected to complete a trial to be assigned by the joint commanders. You could be the toughest, smartest, and most experienced soldier in history. But if you failed your trial, it almost always resulted in your reassignment. Trials were chosen on a person-by-person basis and most-often catered to a particular area of weakness. While I’ve never personally failed any special ops trials, I’ve also never faced any trial that involved sexual activity. Judging by the training I’d received so far for this mission, this was certain to be expected.

 

“Do you know what’s being planned for me?” I asked.

 

“I have no clue,” Keith replied shaking his head. “Sorry.”

 

“Ugh,” I said, cracking my knuckles. “Hersh doesn’t like me. I just know he’s gonna throw the kitchen sink at me.”

 

“Hersh doesn’t like anyone,” Keith replied, chuckling. “But I wouldn’t worry about it. You’ll knock it out of the park like you always do.”

 

I laughed sarcastically. “You clearly didn’t read today’s report,” I replied, turning to face him. “I bombed today’s exercise. Hard.”

 

Keith gave a frustrated sigh. “Deb, how many times do I have to tell you? These exercises aren’t designed to be won. They’re meant to prepare you for the worst and build your endurance. That’s all.”

 

“So, how are the other girls doing with it all?” I asked.

 

“They’re doin’ well,” he replied vaguely.

 

I waited for him to elaborate, but he simply stared off into the distance. “That’s all I get?” I asked, cocking one eyebrow. “Who’s the frontrunner?”

 

Keith shook his head, playing dumb. “Frontrunner?”

 

“Oh, come off it,” I pressed him. “Which one of us are the commanders betting on?”

 

“Everyone’s got their own strengths,” Keith deflected. “Charlie can outrun a gazelle, Bravo could bench me stone cold. And Houdini would have had nothin’ on Echo.” I tilted my head in confusion. “The woman has to be the most gifted escapologist there is,” he clarified. “Although a little creepy to watch,” he added. “Double-jointed people weird me out.” He turned his head to face me. “But my ***? I’d put it on you any day and twice on Sunday.”

 

“Yeah, right,” I replied dismissively.

 

“I’m serious,” he insisted.

 

“Is that why you chose me last for this mission?” I asked.

 

“I didn’t choose you initially,” he explained, “-because I wanted you nowhere near any of this.” He shifted in his seat. “For obvious reasons.”

 

“So what changed?” I asked.

 

Keith hesitated before answering. “I ended up coming to the conclusion that I wanted this mission to succeed. And there was simply nobody I trusted more to get it done,” he answered.

 

I sighed, unsure of what to say. Keith’s words were sweet and thoughtful as usual, but they also managed to add even more weight on my shoulders...

 

“And who knows?” he added. “If the stars align, you could be in and out of there in less than 7 days.”

 

“Ugh, don’t even say it,” I said rolling my eyes. “There’s no way protocols 1 through 5 will be viable. I’m just not lucky enough for that.”

 

“You never know,” Keith said smiling.

 

I sighed and laid my head against his shoulder. I’m not sure I would have had the mental fortitude to do this mission without Keith’s support. Obviously we all had access to the military psychologist, but nothing beat being able to unload and vent to the person I cared most about. I almost felt guilty to have Keith while the other girls had no one.

 

Keith kissed the top of my head and stroked my hair. “A lot of women are gonna end up owing their lives to you,” he said softly. “I mean it.”

 

The two of us remained seated on the rooftop until the sun was completely set. Once it was dark, Keith gave me a small kiss on the lips before leaving. I would have stayed there with him all night if I could have.

 

Eventually, I stood up and headed back to my barracks. Watching the sun set had put me in the perfect mood for bed. Despite it only being just past 20:00, I decided to call it a night. I slipped into my nightwear and climbed into bed. No sooner did my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light.

 

I slept like I was getting paid for it for several hours until I abruptly awoke to the sound of footsteps. No sooner did my eyes open, I felt a hand clamp down over my mouth. I emitted a muffled scream and tried to sit up, but several more hands pinned me down to my bed. It was dark, but I could make out at least four hooded figures dressed in black standing over me. I struggled and kicked, but as strong as I was, I was no match for this many aggressors.

 

With my arms pined to my side, I was turned ***fully over onto my stomach. The hand over my mouth suddenly released and I opened my mouth to scream. But as I did so, a large ring-gag was swiftly shoved into my mouth. I cursed myself for making it so easy to be gagged.

 

As the ring-gag’s straps were being buckled behind my head, my arms were being ***d behind my back. Each time I managed to squirm out of someone’s grip, another set of hands was quick to grab me and hold me steady. As I struggled, I could feel ropes being wrapped around my arms and chest. Was this an exercise? An actual ***? Perhaps it was the start of my trial. I hated not knowing what was going on. Perhaps more than even being bound and gagged, I fucking hated being in the dark…

 

After a minute of struggling and hollering uselessly into my gag, my arms had been secured tightly behind my back into a box-tie. My nightwear and undergarments had been cut off and I was now wearing a collar. With my bondage complete, I felt my attackers release their grip on my upper body. I panted heavily, silently fuming at how easily they’d overpowered me. Maybe had there not been four of them…

 

Suddenly, I felt a hand on the small of my back followed by one of the most unpleasant feelings a girl can ever feel. Something cold and hard suddenly made contact with my anus and began forcing its way inside.

 

“AAAAAUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!” I wailed into my gag. I instinctually clenched my fists and tossed my head back and forth in a fit of rage. I had not agreed to this! Up to this point, I had always been briefed on what would be happening to me. What my objective was. What the fucking deal was! This time, I was finding out in real-time. None of my attackers had breathed a word since entering my quarters. As ***ed as I was to be getting forcibly butt-plugged, the continued silence of my attackers made it immeasurably worse.

 

Once the plug made its way past my sphincter, the *** subsided. I felt a rubber G-string being pulled between my legs and over my hips. I exhaled in frustration as I heard a buckle clasp shut beneath my abdomen, locking the G-string in place and trapping the butt-plug inside.

 

I was then tugged to my feet by my bound arms. I grunted as I was roughly walked across the room to the door. As I walked, I attempted to yank my arms away from my assailant’s grip, in an attempt to convey that I was perfectly capable of walking unassisted. But that only prompted my captor’s hand to grip me even tighter.

 

I was walked outside where there was an open-air Humvee parked by the entrance of the barracks. The outside lamps were dark, but sky was fairly bright from the moonlight, allowing me to see where I was stepping. The three black-clad figures climbed inside the vehicle, and the last one walked me up to the rear bumper. Then, he reached down and flicked a switch on what appeared to be a rearview camera of sorts. Once a small red light appeared, the he released my arm, walked to the driver seat of the car and climbed inside. I stood there confused as to what I was supposed to do next.

 

“Uhl, ot ahell?” I asked. That’s gaglish for “Um, what the hell?” The vehicle started and began to drive away. Seriously, what the hell? Approximately 2 seconds later, I had my answer.

 

All of the sudden, my asshole was pelted with electricity, causing me to leap out of my skin. It wasn’t nearly as strong of a shock as I’d experienced earlier, but it was plenty strong enough to scare the fuck out of me. Then, I felt another zap. And another. And another. And another! A steady pulse of electricity was coursing through my ass. And with my hands secured in a box-tie roughly a foot above my G-string, there was absolutely no way to stop it. To make matters worse, each zap seemed to be getting stronger and timed closer together. I looked up at the Humvee, desperate for any clue as to what was happening and how to make it stop. Suddenly the Humvee skidded to a stop and revved its engine.

 

That’s when I realized what was going on. The rearview camera-looking device on the rear bumper must have been a proximity sensor. I was expected to keep up with the Humvee! Desperate to stop the *** in my ass, I sprang into action, racing forward. Surely enough, as I got closer, the electric shocks became less intense and spaced further apart. Fuck, could they really not have just given me instructions? This silence shit was for the birds!

 

Once I got within 10 feet, the Humvee started forward again. To my relief, the electricity subsided. I made a mental note that 10 feet appeared to be the magic distance. But I quickly grew worried. The Humvee was picking up s***d. And when I say s***d, I mean a lot of s***d… Within 15 seconds, I found myself racing at a near sprint.

 

I panted loudly as I tore after the Humvee. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to carry on at this s***d. Normally, I’d have lasted about two minutes at this pace. But normal circumstances did not have me butt-plugged and barefoot with my arms restrained behind my back. The collar around my neck wasn’t helping my circumstances either. Though I’d become well acquainted with wearing a collar over the past month, it was especially infuriating to have one strapped snugly around my neck when I was breathing heavily.

 

The collar had also been weighted in order to closely resemble the one I’d be wearing on the mission. Upon my arrival, I’d be fitted with a collar that was not only equipped with electro-shocking hardware, but contained nearly a half pound of biometric sensor technology. According to an intercepted prototype that Research and Development had managed to reverse-engineer, the collars that were used by the syndicate had a myriad of biological sensors built into them. They measured a wearer’s heart-rate, *** pressure, oxygen levels, levels, and even temperature. The collar also included a state of the art electrodermal activity sensor which, when combined with the all the other data, was capable of determining a wearer’s level of *** and discomfort. A transmitter at the back of the collar was tasked with sending all of these readings seamlessly to an external source.

 

In a setting where I was told that “safe words” would not be required or even acknowledged, it was at least a relief to know that my vitals and *** levels would be monitored by someone behind the scenes. Unfortunately, given the endurance that I’d built over the past month, my threshold for *** was now undoubtedly higher than most. I often wondered how that would affect my readings…

 

After about 45 seconds of sprinting, I could feel myself losing steam. With each step, I could see the Humvee getting a little bit further away from me. But there was nothing I could do. I was running at a full-out sprint. The proximity sensor, however, took no sympathy. I suddenly felt a powerful zap to my anus. I shrieked and struggled to maintain my balance. Gritting down on my ring-gag, I pushed myself to run harder. Shit shit shit! After about four zaps, I was able to catch up to the Humvee’s ten-foot perimeter and end the *** on my asshole.

 

But my victory was short-lived. Because as soon as I caught back up, the Humvee picked up s***d as it drove down a hill. Motherfucker! I used the elevation to my advantage and tried to match its s***d. But almost immediately, I found myself back outside the ten-foot perimeter again. My fingernails dug into my palms as my ass was pelted with more electricity. I did my best to ignore the ***, but it seemed to worsen with each step I took.

 

Once I reached the bottom of the hill, I was about ready to collapse. I think it must have showed because the Humvee had slowed down significantly to allow me to catch up. I trudged after it, desperate to lessen the intensity of the electricity pulsing through me. But the driver appeared to be toying with me. Each time I got close, he’d step on the gas and go faster, keeping me just outside of the ten-foot perimeter. Whoever were my captors were fucking sadists!

 

This continued for another two minutes until we arrived at a warehouse that resembled an airplane hanger. I recognized it from the first day I’d arrived on base. Once the Humvee finally came to a stop, I fell over onto the ground in exhaustion, my upper body collapsing in the dirt.

 

The black-clad figures jumped out of the vehicle and walked over to me. Bending over me, I felt them unbuckle my G-string and pull it off of me. Moments later, I winced in *** as I felt the butt-plug pulled from my anus. Damn, it was almost as uncomfortable coming out as it was going in!

 

Still not speaking a word, the figures grabbed me by my upper arms and hoisted me to my feet. Barely able to keep my balance, I stumbled along, allowing them to guide me to the door of the building. The figure in front pressed his thumb to a scanner next to the door which prompted a beep and series of clicks. Pulling the door open, the five of us entered inside. The fact that I’d been led to a secure level-3 facility almost certainly meant that this was part of a training exercise.

 

I exhaled in relief as my feet made contact with the smooth concrete floor of the warehouse. As callused as my feet may have been, they were in a serious amount of *** after that run. I wasn’t running on grass or sand, mind you. I had just run a mile on a mixture of dirt and pebbles.

 

The warehouse was dark and appeared to be empty. I was walked to the back of the large room where I saw a black device sitting on the floor with a pink dildo protruding upwards at its center. I recognized the device as a sybian. A sybian, as I’d recently come to learn, was a vibrating saddle that a woman would sit atop of in a kneeling position. More than just a regular vibrator, sybians were capable of ungodly intense vibrations. Far greater than what any woman could possibly find pleasurable.

 

In a typical kidnap scenario, I imagine I’d have struggled, kicking and screaming as my captors led me toward an ominous sex toy. But between my sheer exhaustion and near certainty that this was a Hersh-sanctioned exercise, I resolved myself to going quietly. Based on my previous experiences with the sybian, I knew I’d need my strength…

 

Without incident, I lifted one leg over the sybian and squatted down, cautiously descending onto the dildo. As soon as I felt the tip of the dildo against my pussy lips, I felt a hand on my shoulder pushing me downward. With my leg strength nearly depleted, the dildo plunged into me in one swift shot, causing my eyes to bulge wide in discomfort. Bastard!

 

My ring-gag was unbuckled behind my head and pulled from my mouth. I tilted my head to the side and cracked my neck, slowly feeling my resilient spirit returning to me.

 

“You assholes gonna tell me what the hell’s going on, now?” I asked, still panting from my run. The black-clad figures ignored me and proceeded to strap my ankles and upper calves to the side of the sybian. “Of course not,” I answered myself.

 

Within seconds, I was locked to the sybian with no hope of lifting myself off. Without saying a word, the four of them walked away in silence and exited through a door to my right, leaving me alone on the floor of the dark warehouse.

 

As soon as the door closed behind them, the overhead lights of the warehouse turned on, nearly blinding me. I closed my eyes and turned my face away from the bright lights.

 

“Welcome, Sergeant Nolan,” echoed a loud growly voice over a loud speaker. The voice belonged to General Hersh.

 

Squinting into the light, I looked up and saw a large rectangular window about 30 feet in front of me. Standing behind the window was General Hersh and 6 other commanders. All eyes were on me, naked, bound, and straddling the sybian.

 

“You’ve been brought here to complete your trial,” Hersh said into a microphone in front of him. My heart to drop in my chest upon hearing the word trial. “Upon completion, you will be cleared for deployment. Failure will result in your immediate reassignment.”

 

My heart rate, which had slowed over the last couple of minutes, was suddenly racing again. This was it. Nearly three months of grueling training under the most unconventional and deviant regimens imaginable came down to one singular trial. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach…

 

“You will be shown a series of images. After each set, you will be asked detail-oriented questions about those images. Failure to answer these questions may result in your immediate failure,” Hersh explained. “As you study the images, the vibrating device you are seated upon will be active. It will be up to you to maintain your focus and concentration in spite of your physical distractions. Understood?”

 

“Yes, sir,” I replied, my voice sounding more timid than I’d anticipated. I was confused. I’d always heard that trials were designed to cater to a soldier’s weaknesses. Memory recall had always been a strength of mine. More than a strength, even. I had a photographic memory. Surely, they knew this. The only way they would have missed it is if they’d lost my records. Even with a sybian vibrating between my legs, this trial was sure to be a cinch…

 

“Very well,” Hersh replied. “In a moment, the device you’re seated on will be activated. After two minutes of run time, you’ll be shown three images. You’ll have 15 seconds to study each image. Once your time expires, the device will become inactive and we’ll proceed with our inquiry. Any questions?”

 

“No, sir,” I answered, shifting my weight and leaning forward in preparation.

 

“Alright,” Hersh growled. “Let’s begin.”

 

Suddenly, the large window in front of me turned from translucent to solid white and the sybian between my legs roared to life. Startled, my mouth instinctually shot open. Holy hell it was intense! The vibrations were so violent that they caused my entire body to shake. I exhaled slowly. ‘Mind over matter, Deb,’ I told myself. You’ve got this. Over the past couple of months, I’d become quite gifted at fending off orgasms. Obviously, I wasn’t always successful, but I was certainly more in control than I was when I started my training a month ago.

 

As the seconds passed, I felt my heart rate quicken and my breathing become more labored. I squinted and stared at a stain on the concrete floor in an effort to maintain my focus. After a minute, I could feel my resolve slipping. The vibrations were just too damn intense! To my *** frustration, I could feel my body betraying me and inching closer and closer to climax. I clenched my fists and took a deep breath. ‘Steady, Deb,’ I told myself.

 

"I, Delta November Foxtrot,” I whispered to myself, “-do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.” Reciting the military oath of enlistment was a technique that Keith had shared with me to help me keep my wits in tense situations. As cheesy as it sounds, it’s proved itself to be a lifesaver on several occasions. I desperately hoped that this be one of those occasions… “-that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders-”

 

Suddenly, the white window in front of me changed to a widescreen photograph of a diner. It was go time. I studied the picture, taking note of even the most trivial of details. The number of people, the number of men versus women, their ages, sizes, outfits, the location of the exits, the time listed on the wall clock, the specials listed on the menu board- no detail was too small or insignificant. Literally any question might be asked.

 

After 15 seconds, the picture changed to a photograph of a time square. I studied the billboards, vehicles, visible license plate numbers, pedestrians, their ages, sizes, outfits, etc. Lastly, the picture changed to a photograph of a crime scene with multiple bodies lying on the floor. I could feel an orgasm rapidly approaching. Eager to put it out of mind, I squinted my eyes to slits and zeroed in on the image in front of me.

 

Then, all at once, everything stopped. The sybian turned off, the image disappeared, and the large rectangular window became translucent again, revealing Hersh and the commanders looking at me intently.

 

“Image one,” one of the commanders to Hersh’s right said into a microphone. “What time was the picture taken and where?”

 

“12:41pm in Waverly, Nebraska,” I replied.

 

“What were the servers holding?” he asked.

 

“The dark-haired server was holding a coffee pot, and the light-haired server, a notepad and pen,” I answered.

 

“Image two,” the man continued, not looking up from the clipboard he was reading from. “What type of vehicle is closest to the camera?”

 

“A police horse,” I answered.

 

“How many remaining seconds are listed on the cross-walk display?”

 

“Four,” I replied without hesitation.

 

“Image three,” the man continued. “Which investigative body possessed control of the crime scene?

 

I closed my eyes in contemplation, “SAPD,” I replied.

 

“What were the victims’ causes of death?”

 

“The two females showed lacerations to the neck and the male had a gunshot wound to the head.

 

Hersh suddenly leaned forward to speak into his microphone, “The next set will begin with three minutes of stimulation prior to three images at 15 seconds each.”

 

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

 

“Begin,” he added before the window turned back to solid white.

 

I groaned as the sybian roared back to life again. Shit shit shit, I thought as I clenched my fists and toes. "I, Delta November Foxtrot,” I breathed out loud “-do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States-” It had only been a few seconds and I was already slipping into ecstasy. I continued reciting the creed and started over once I reached the end. I was teetering on the brink of orgasm. But my resolve was strong.

 

After several minutes passed without orgasm, I had successfully surprised myself. I felt like it could happen at any moment now. I continued s***d-reciting the creed over and over until the white image finally changed to a photograph of a grocery store. The next image after that was a photograph of a train station. The last one was a photograph of a professional basketball game.

 

And then, the sybian ceased and the window turned translucent again. I slumped over panting. I’d made it. Barely, but I’d officially made it through another set without cumming.

 

“Image one,” the commander said into his microphone. “What are the contents of aisle 6?”

 

I hesitated before replying, recalling the signs hanging over each aisle, “Cereal, pancake syrup, canned milk, and coffee,”

 

“What color shirts are the employees wearing?” he continued.

 

“Green,” I answered.

 

“Image two,” the commander continued. “Which gate does the Kensington train depart from?”

 

“Um… eleven,” I replied.

 

“Which advertisement is highlighted on left-hand side of the terminal?” he asked.

 

“Anheuser Busch,” I answered.

 

“Image three,” he pressed on, “How many basketball players are wearing knee braces?”

 

“Two,” I replied.

 

“Is the player who’s taking the shot right-handed or left-handed?” he asked.

 

I closed my eyes, attempting to see the image again in my mind. “Right handed?” I said in question form.

 

Hersh suddenly leaned forward and spoke again into his mic, “The next set will begin with four minutes of stimulation and you’ll have only ten seconds to study each of the three images.”

 

I threw my head back, groaning.

 

“What was that, Sergeant?” Hersh growled.

 

“Yes, sir,” I replied loudly, still staring up at the ceiling. I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to pull this next one off. Once I climaxed, I knew that my mental faculties would rapidly deteriorate. I also knew that having my first orgasm would open the floodgates for more to follow…

 

Suddenly, the sybian sprang to life again and the window turned white. Holy shit! The pitch of the roar was a noticeably higher than it was before which meant that the sybian had been set to a stronger intensity. Motherfuckers!

 

I closed my eyes and screamed through my teeth, "I, Delta November Foxtrot do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution-” And that’s all I made it through before experiencing the most intense orgasm of my entire life. My body contorted and and trembled uncontrollably as I wailed through my clenched jaw. Dammit! Dammit! DAMMIT!!! My trial had suddenly gotten much more complicated...

 

The orgasm lasted for what felt to be 30 seconds. By the time it was over, I felt like I could have collapsed. It was as if all of my energy had suddenly vanished. But the worst part of it all was the continued relentless *** of the sybian. In my personal opinion, one of the worst sexual ***s imaginable was being over-stimulated post-climax. After an orgasm, everything becomes far more sensitive and raw. Even minor stimulations quickly turn from pleasurable to ***ful.

 

I opened my eyes to make sure the next image hadn’t appeared yet. To my disappointment, the window remained white. I could tell that my climax had had already done a number on my mental state. I honestly had no idea how much time had passed and how much time I had left. I took a deep breath and attempted to compose myself. Get it together, Debra, I thought to myself.

 

With the help of my military creed, I was able to hold out for another couple of minutes before being rocked by another mind-melting orgasm. This one was less intense, but equally as psychologically taxing. And given the fact that I was ***ful of missing the next image, I had to orgasm while keeping my eyes open. This, I came to realize, was more challenging than it sounded…

 

On the heels of my second orgasm, a photograph of a boat dock appeared, followed by a photograph of a carnival, and lastly a photograph of a chessboard. Fortunately, my orgasm had subsided just in time for me to concentrate and I was able to direct my full attention to the images in front of me.

 

Then, the sybian stopped vibrating and the window became translucent again. As I had been before, I was asked two questions per image, to which I answered semi-confidently. And once again, without telling me whether or not I was correct, Hersh leaned forward and spoke into his mic.

 

“Alright,” he said. “The next set will begin with five minutes of stimulation that leads into questions from the images you’ve already seen.”

 

I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to stop myself from screaming at him. How the hell did he expect me to be conscious after five more minutes of this?

 

“Yes, sir!” I shouted, bracing myself for the sybian to spring back to life. A moment later, that’s just what happened. I abandoned my military creed in favor of screaming insanely at the ceiling. Moments into the set, I climaxed again, sending my body into another convulsive fit. I continued shrieking in the hopes that it would help keep me alert.

 

At this point, my orgasms were lasting no more than a few seconds and were occurring at a faster frequency. This, I’d come to learn over the past couple of months was the result of over-stimulation. Eventually, my orgasms would become what are called “micro-orgasms” and grow so close together that they’d be indistinguishable from each other.

 

By the end of my five minutes, I was a total wreck. My body was slick with a coat of sweat, my hair was matted against my forehead, and a pool of cum had accumulated on either side of the sybian. But as distraught as I was, my anger was what was keeping me upright. This wasn’t a trial. This was fucking MADNESS. The commanders were nothing more than a bunch of sadists.

 

Finally, the window became translucent again and the commander with the clipboard leaned into his mic to ask his questions. But to my shock, the sybian didn’t stop…

 

“In the photograph of the diner,” he began, “-how many customers are standing?”

 

“Um, aren’t you gonna turn this shit off?” I shouted at him as I came down from another orgasm.

 

“I repeat, how many customers are standing?” he asked, not taking his eyes off of his paper.

 

I threw my head back and groaned, “Two!” I shouted. This was fucking ridiculous.

 

“In the basketball game,” the commander continued, “-how much time is left on the shot clock?”

 

My eyes suddenly rolled back in my head as another micro-orgasm hit me. I moaned as my body quivered uncontrollably.

 

“How much time is left on the shot-clock?” he reiterated.

 

“I don’t know… 6!” I replied loudly. “6 seconds!”

 

Without missing a beat, the commander continued to his next question. “In the photograph of the chess board, which chess piece is located on space G8?”

 

I’m not sure if it was the orgasms, the unfairness of this trial, or the commander’s ugly-ass face, but I suddenly lost all interest in complying. I was done. Once I answered these questions, they’d probably just up my next set to six minutes and go again. At some point enough was enough. And I had officially had enough.

 

Panting deeply, I simply stared back at the commander in silence.

 

“Which chess piece is on G8?” he repeated, lifting his gaze from his clipboard.

 

I said nothing. I knew the answer the answer was a knight. But I had officially reached my limit. I was done with this shit.

 

Another orgasm hit me, causing my body to convulse. But my rage allowed me to keep my eyes focused steadily on the commander and maintain my glare. For the next ten seconds, nothing happened. Everyone behind the window simply stared at me as I doubled down on my new vow of silence.

 

“Last chance, Sergeant,” the commander said. “The chess piece.”

 

I’m not sure what prompted my next reply, but it came out of me without thought or premeditation.

 

“Hun,” I said softly through gritted. Nobody reacted.

 

“Come again?” the commander asked.

 

Taking a deep breath, I shrieked, “I said HUUUUUUUUUUUN!!!!!”

 

All of the suddenly, the sybian turned off. My chest heaved up and down as I remained glaring at the commanders through the window. The moment the sybian had fallen silent, a sense of regret began to wash over me. I had failed. My temper had gotten the better of me and caused me to fail my trial. Months of hard work and dedication had been wasted. As angry as I was with the commanders, it suddenly paled in comparison to the anger I had for myself. How could I have done that?

 

But after what felt like an eternity of silence, something odd happened. I saw something that I’d never actually witnessed before. Hersh’s lips had curled upward into what looked like a faint smile. The sight was quite frankly unseemly. General Hersh was smiling…

 

Hersh suddenly leaned forward to speak into his mic. “You have successfully completed your trial,” he said in his growly voice. “Best of luck out there, Brandy Michaels.”

 

I was s***chless. I had passed my trial. Not by answering the questions correctly, but by refusing to answer them altogether… Just as Corporal Leonard Hersh had done all those years ago in a Vietnamese prison. My training was complete. I may not have been the frontrunner of the group, but Hersh believed that I was ready. And that was good enough for me. My next stop: the hellhole affectionately known as the Kingdom…