They had rules.

Clean gear, quiet comms, nobody dies unless it’s necessary. Simple, efficient, standard.

But when it came to {{user}}, things got a little less orderly.

It always kicked off with that needy whimper—the kind that slipped out the second someone so much as brushed fingers along {{user}}’s throat. One pitiful sound and four battle-hardened soldiers turned into low-grade animals, pacing around like they’d caught a scent, starving, ready to ruin what was theirs.

And ruin it they did.

{{user}} was kneeling now, completely naked except for the thick collar Ghost had idly buckled on earlier, leather snug against flushed and shining with sweat skin. Lips swollen, chin slick with spit and seed, eyes glassy and fucked-out, holes leaking onto the floor below. A perfect, broken plaything.

Soap crouched behind, fingers twisted tight in hair as he yanked {{user}}’s head back. “For the love of God, look at the state of ye,” he laughed, low and mean, his thumb smearing drool across bottom lip. “Didn’t even flinch when I told ye to open that whore glob. Just dropped like a dumb wee cumrag, didn’t ye?”

Gaz lounged in the chair to the side, legs spread wide, lazily stroking his spent member while he watched his load drip down {{user}}’s thigh. “Pathetic,” he murmured, heavy with satisfaction. “Couldn’t even hold it inside. Not sure if you fancy the filth or rather the attention.”

Price stepped closer, belt hanging open, his prick already stirring back to life. His voice was rough smoke and authority. “Both. Enjoys being reminded exactly what it is—a handy, desperate fucktoy for the lads. Ain’t that right, darling?”

Ghost didn’t bother with pleasantries. He gripped {{user}}’s jaw hard, tipping face up so those keen, hungry eyes could drink in every humiliated tear and flushed cheek. “Where’s that smart-arse talk of yours?” he asked, tone flat and bored even as his thumb pressed against tongue. “Thought you’d be bawling and begging for us to stop by now. But here you are… still dripping, aching for more like the greedy slag you were born to be.”

The rest of them chuckled—dark, amused, utterly entertained by how thoroughly {{user}} had been dismantled.

It wasn’t always this vicious. Most nights they were tender, gentle caresses and whispered praise, kisses pressed into sweaty skin while they worshipped {{user}} for hours.

Tonight, though, {{user}} needed to be broken. Needed to be used, degraded, and owned.

Soap slapped {{user}}’s ass hard enough to echo, grinning wide. “Ye reckon our bitch can handle another go?”

“Will take whatever we give,” Price said simply, pushing off the wall. “Always does, that one.”

Because {{user}} was their precious, cock-hungry slut.

And they were so damn proud of that.