[Part I](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/739k30/foxtrot_by_moonlight_sologroupcheat/)
[Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/73ljcd/foxtrot_by_moonlight_pt2_bdsmcheatgroupsmut/)
[Part III](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/75cjrz/foxtrot_by_moonlight_part_iii_cheatbdsmgroup/)
Time moved too quickly and not at all as each of the men took their turn with their prefered hole. Amidst the grunting and slapping of flesh and the gurgling and slurping of saliva there are voices around you carrying on conversations and laughing. Occasionally there is a changing of the guard as one or another man spends himself inside your throat or cunt. Hands mold you to their will in a half dozen positions on the chaise. Orgasm becomes a regular visitor to you as each new man handles you differently. Some try to learn how to get you off, others simply use you for themselves.
You remember being offered and taking water from the piggy on more than one occasion, but you can’t recall how many times or how much you drank. The feeling in your bladder tells you that it was enough. The man in your mouth ejaculates and once he is clear, you wave off the next penis and attempt to speak.
All activity around you halts as the group of men look at you expectantly and you struggle to form a sentence. After three tries you settle for a single word.
“Bathroom.”
The lynx steps forward and starts to speak, but several other men shush him. You hear someone say “Limits, man.” and the lynx steps back and looks at his feet, clearly embarrassed at his own presumption.
Jason, in his hound mask, and the bear appear with their hands outstretched and help you to rise from the cocksman you are currently seated on. Your legs don’t want to work and your knees start to buckle as you put weight on the floor. Jason and the bear immediately support you and then the bear lifts you and hands you to the hound who cradles you in his arms, your useless legs dangling over his arms and your nose and mouth snuggled against his neck with his silky hound ear under your cheek.
You feel the rocking motion of him carrying you across the courtyard, back to the barn. You don’t bother to open your eyes, convinced there’s nothing to see that will be better than the feel of your lips pressed against the slender man’s throat, smelling his sweat and soap. Someone must have held the door open, because the sound of the night and the nature of the light penetrating your closed eyelids changes. Several more steps and a door closes. You feel yourself lowered onto a toilet seat and then the hound releases you and pries your arms from around his neck so he can stand.
You finally open your eyes to see him looking down at you without his mask. His deep set eyes are a swirl of hazel and green and brown set deep beside a prominent roman nose and his narrow face looks like he frowns at least as much as he smiles.
His brows are scrunched with concern.
“I think you are nearly done for tonight, my dear, sweet vixen.”
You look down to see what has him so concerned and you notice your thighs and arms are covered in bruises. Some are shaped like hands, and others outlines of teeth. A sticky mess of congealed sex covers large parts of your body and without the constant stimulation, aches are starting to break through the barrier of endorphins to let you know you were punished while you were pleasured.
“Would you like a moment alone so you can pee and then we’ll see about a bath?”
There is a hint of teasing in the question, but also sincere concern that you be comfortable. He shifts so you can see the massive garden tub behind him.
You smile and shake your head and the tinkling sound of water in the bowl fills the bathroom.
“I have one request from the men that I would like to pass on to you, before we end the evening’s festivities. I understand if you are not able to fulfil it, but I am bound to ask you on behalf of the brethren…”
The deference from the hound is unusual, and you worry what sort of request must be placed before you so carefully. Your fuzzy brain wishes he would just ask for the thing, so it could go be fuzzier. You bob your head, encouraging him to get to the point.
“We have a brother who isn’t comfortable sharing with the group after an incident in service to our country. He lost his legs from the knee down and nerve damage means he can’t rise when a lady is present… and I do not mean out of courtesy. He needs someone to make him feel like a man again. Can you help him, or would that be too disturbing for you… to see his scars and touch them… to touch him without disgust at his inability to perform?”
The thought of a wounded warrior in need of your touch both disturbs and arouses you. The idea of returning dignity to a hero makes you hotter than you thought possible considering the twinges of pain starting to speak through your nerves. Fear of reacting badly to the sight of injuries and hurting the veteran farther makes you hesitate.
The hound continues trying to persuade you to service the service man, anticipating your concerns.
“If you would like, I can show you the doctor’s photos of his reconstruction so you can decide if you are up to it.”
You give a tentative nod and your stream of urine dribbles to an end. The hound walks over to the bathroom door and knocks twice and a legal size envelope slides under the door which he bends over to pick up. You take a moment to enjoy the sight of his nude form in motion… the clench of his buttocks and the flexing of his back muscles and then he is standing in front of you with the pictures.
On the glossy eight by ten images is a man with his face blacked out, who must have once stood well over average height. Naked on a hospital bed, his broad shoulders, a deep chest and a bull neck ripple with muscle in the still photo. He had invested a fair amount of his paycheck into turning his torso into a patriotic canvas with flags and eagles and military tributes. Prominently on his left pectoral is a tat of a bulldog in camo fatigues with “125th Support” lettered neatly beneath. Even sedated as he must be for the photo, his abs had defined, tight bundles of muscle.
South of the abs, there were scars. It was clear that extensive reconstruction had been done, but the pelvic area looked as though the flesh were all new and tender… bright pink from grafting against the tan of his upper body. What remained of the man’s thighs looked as though some giant creature had taken bites out of the tissue. It looked as though his entire phallus was a product of reconstructive surgery.
Jason waits patiently while you look at the pictures of the man’s back and the extensive damage there as well. Your heart is in your throat the entire time you flip through the bundle of photos. Finally, you look up at the hound with tears in your eyes.
“I want him,” you say, meaning it with all your heart.
The hound takes the pictures from you and puts them back into the envelope and then plants a paternal kiss on your forehead. “Thank you.” he whispers. “Do you need help to the tub?”
You wipe yourself and flush and then attempt to rise under your own power, surprised that your legs accomplish the goal without much wobble. You set your sights on the tub and hobble across the tile floor, sorely missing the adrenaline in your bloodstream. You rest your butt on the edge of the tub and you can feel the warmth and humidity radiating from the surface of the water. Your aching muscles urge you in, but you check the temperature with your hand first and sigh at the just less than scorch of it on your skin.
The hound offers you a chivalrous hand as you rotate your legs over the edge of the tub and slide into the water. He then picks up a silver bell from the top of the sink and places it on the edge of the tub in easy reach.
“We’ll give you some time to compose yourself. Ring when you are ready for our bulldog.”
With that, he leaves through the only door so you can soak your sore muscles.
Time passes and the aches fade to minor reminders of your evening and before exhaustion sets in, you ring the silver bell and close your eyes, relaxing in the curve of the tub with jets pulsing against your spine. The door opens and shuts.You open your eyes to see a shirtless bulldog in a wheelchair with a towel across his lower body. Amazingly, he is even more muscled in reality than his hospital photos and complete with vivid ink across his broad chest and shoulders.
“Evening ma’am. If you don’t mind me saying, the boys were right when they said the old dog brought in something special tonight. I was watching the show… You are an amazing creature.”
The heat in your cheeks has nothing to do with the warmth of the water.
[^^^my exact feeling while reading this]
“Look here, Mr. Soldier… if you keep talking all sweet like that, I might have to kiss you!” you tease as you crawl across the bottom of the tub toward him, breasts exposed to hungry eyes behind his mask.
“I would like that very much, ma’am.”
The soldier drops his towel on the floor and the maze of scar tissue fascinates you. He pulls the wheelchair to the edge of the tub and hoists himself up onto it. Before he can face you, you wrap your arms around his waist and start to nibble on his ears while your hands became acquainted with the texture of him. The patchwork of scar tissue between sections of the graft spiderwebbed up his gnarled thighs from the and over his hips and groin. You don’t stop your hands where the scar tissue ends
“Your body is amazing,” you whisper into his ear as one of your hands slides up the washboard abs to rest on his sternum between his bulging pectoral muscles. Your other hand keeps tracing the maze of scars across his pelvis and lower abdomen until your fingers find the base of his flaccid replacement penis. “Do you like my hands on you?”
The soldier shivers in your arms, but doesn’t say anything. You press your breasts against his broad, tattooed back and rise from your crouch, sliding your erect nipples up either side of his spine, delighting in the sensation of skin on skin. Your hands slide up his torso and you use his shoulder as a prop to step over the high edge of the tub and kneel on the tile with your cheek pressed against the inside of his thigh, rubbing like a cat greeting an old friend.
After rubbing a few times against each of his legs, you start to kiss and lick up what was left of his left thigh until your mouth reaches his balls. Gently, you tongue one of his fake testicles into your mouth and open your eyes. You wrap one hand around his flaccid member and look up to catch the Bulldog’s eyes, but they are closed and tears are dripping from his chin under the mask. You release his ball from your mouth.
“Hey…” you whisper.
The Bulldog’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath and finally makes eye contact.
“I’m sorry I am not a whole man. This was a mistake. I need to leave.”
“How are you…” you bend back down and lick his scrotum, maintaining eye contact with him, “not a whole man?” Another lick.
“Any man who can stand…”
You kiss the underside of his shaft and smile.
“…on his own feet..”
Your mouth wraps the sides of his soft cock and you pull away, tugging him with your mouth until he falls out.
“…after having his legs taken…”
You inhale his whole soft cock and balls past your lips and look up at the tearful puppy with adoration in your eyes and slide a finger into his ass. Your tongue teases and kneads the smooth skin of his new scrotum in your mouth for several seconds, moaning your delight at the feel and taste of him before you let go of him and pull your finger back.
“… is a giant, not a man.”
The bulldogs eyes widen in surprise and all of his muscles flex as he falls backwards into the tub, groaning deep in his throat before it is turned into a sputtering cough as he hits the water, the stumps of his leg sticking up over the edge of the tub as he scrambles to prop himself up in the water with his arms.
“Holy shit!…. Holy fucking shit. I swear I just fucking came from that…” the bulldog shouts as he yanks off his mask and drops it in the water.
The door to the bathroom bursts open and the hound and several of his minions burst in to see what the screaming is about. The stare at you on your knees and the unmasked, sputtering bulldog in the tub with expectant eyes.
The bulldog, with his slightly hawkish nose dripping from his brief immersion runs a hand across his forehead to push back his black hair longer than regulation and laughs. “I didn’t know that was even an option!”
“I’m glad you liked it,” you say, with your most coquettish grin creeping across your face.
You hear a throat clear behind you and turn to see Jason looking at you with a puzzled look.
“Prostate massage,” you supply with a shrug, and the hound stifles a chuckle and covers his smile with his hand briefly before chivvying everyone but you and the soaked bulldog out of the room and closing the door behind him.
You rise to your feet and help the bulldog climb out of the tub and dry him off with towels from the vanity cabinet and wrap yourselves in plush white terrycloth robes before he climbs back into his wheelchair. The entire time he makes his gratitude for what you did absolutely clear with his enormous grin, though he doesn’t say another word about the incident until he kisses you hand on his way out the bathroom door. Even then, all he says is “Thank you.” with his mouth. His eyes recite poetry about you in a language you wish you understood better.
You follow him out into the central room of the old barn and see all the myriad of animals who played with you for the evening, still masked, but no longer naked, each dressed casually except the Hound, who was wearing grey silk pajamas and no mask at all. They are standing in a half circle around the door, and as you step through they break into applause. Your first instinct is to hide your face and retreat back behind the bathroom door, but the bulldog tugs the pocket of your robe and pushes you into the center of the applause.
The hound steps forward and takes your right hand in his left and then tilts your head up so he can look down into your eyes. “You were everything I hoped and more. Thank you.”
After the night of debauchery, his chaste kiss seems impossibly sexual for a mere peck on the lips that lasted a fraction of a second.
“If you want, we can take you and your car home… but I’ve confirmed with the sitter that your husband is home with the baby and she told him you were at a work party and may stay at Jen’s tonight… so you are free to spend the night with me, if you like.”
The thought of going anywhere farther than a few steps suddenly seems an impossibility. You wrap an arm around his waist under his silk top and look up into his hazel eyes. “Where do we sleep?”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/76r2rp/foxtrot_by_moonlight_part_ivconclusion