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Thinking of him was like crossing an endless desert of sand. Dry, coarse grains dug painfully between my toes, making it hard to move forward. The throat-ripping thirst burned within me, much like the meaningless arguments we used to have through the night. Falling helplessly against the massive dunes—as if they were built from piled-up memories of him—was probably not just due to my own weakness.
He was always fierce, resolute, and unyielding. A man who tolerated not a single mistake, he was the object of my deepest reverence, yet simultaneously my living nightmare. Yes, I was afraid of him. I would flinch at his razor-sharp tongue and bow my head to avoid his piercing, cold glare. There were nights I swallowed my tears, paralyzed by the sheer terror of disappointing him. Before his overwhelming righteousness, my immaturity was nothing but a target for reprimand; his very existence was proof of my own powerlessness.
Major Jack Krauser—that was the kind of superior he was to me.
“Ngh... ah..."
Fingers forced their way between my parted thighs, groping deep inside the tightly closed heat. Even as I stretched the wrinkled opening wide with three fingers, a strange sense of emptiness persisted. His hands were so massive and thick that he could easily make me come with just a single finger. No matter how hard I tried to stretch myself open now, I could never replicate the sensation of him thrusting brutally inside me. Even in moments like this, I found my own powerlessness within his shadow. He had soaked deep into me, like a stubborn stain that could never be washed away.
“Haa, ngh…”
The sensation of the sweat-drenched sheets clung uncomfortably to my skin. After a grueling day of training like today, we used to press our unwashed, scent-heavy bodies tightly against each other, losing ourselves in violent sex. He preferred to pin me face down on the bed, crushing me so hard I could barely breathe as he took me. Under his guidance, I gradually awakened to the pleasure of such sadistic acts. Tightening my twitching thighs and shaking my hips beneath his blows, crying out in ecstasy like a complete pervert.
Only when tears and snot ruined my face, and I broke down into animalistic sobbing, would he pull my hair back to finally grant me a breath of air. The liberation of that moment was too intense to put into words. To this day, there were times I couldn’t reach the edge unless I buried my face into the pillows and choked off my own air until my mind went hazy.
Looking at me like this, he would often flash a satisfied smirk, saying I was well-trained. And those humiliating words were the only praise I ever managed to win from him.
The first time he tore through my backside was in the training camp showers. It all started when he found fault with my semi-long hair. The training I was subjected to was so brutally grueling it could move one to tears; after all the daily routines were over, we were allotted a mere ten minutes to shower. Covering ourselves from head to toe in all sorts of dust, mud, and filth was par for the course, yet they expected us to wash it all off in just ten minutes. Looking back now, it was absurd, though not entirely impossible. After all, what was the point of smelling like fresh shampoo in a camp packed with sweating men?
But back then, I was entirely consumed by such bitter thoughts: the fact that I had ultimately failed to fully protect the young girl who escaped Raccoon City with me, and that I had been forcibly drafted into this godforsaken training without a shred of free will. Why hadn't I realized then that no superior would ever welcome a recruit who couldn't even hide his rebellious streak or manage his facial expressions?
‘Playing Girl Scout, Rookie?’
The other trainees had already finished showering and cleared out. I was the only one left, rinsing the remaining lather from my hair, and just as I was about to rush after them, his hand clamped down on my shoulder.
‘We have no use for a soldier who doesn't obey orders. Unless, of course, you plan on using that pretty face of yours to honey-trap the enemy.’
I had never wanted to become a soldier. My dreams and goals stemmed from a sense of justice—a desire to reach out a help to those in plight, just like the helpless child I once was. Even if others dismissed it as mere cheap heroism, I firmly believed that such small acts of goodwill could change things. That was why I wanted no part in being tied to the government, risking my life for missions whose purposes were entirely opaque. I never possessed a grand, sweeping sense of patriotism to begin with, but after escaping Raccoon City, it had vanished completely. Especially so for a government that swept that day's catastrophe under the rug as if nothing had happened, and treated a young survivor as a mere test subject.
But as always, life never goes the way I want it to. And in that moment, I let that rebellious look slip right onto my face.
He stood several spans taller than me, his massive, muscular frame something I could barely bring myself to look up at. Standing under the blazing sun of the training grounds, his blonde hair would glint brightly, piercing my eyes. The intensely colored beret always perched on his head caught my attention from afar, making my heart thud against my ribs. Seeing him fully geared from head to toe in a uniform I had yet to grow accustomed to never failed to wind me tight with tension. So back then, standing before him completely naked was… truly an excess of pressure for a green recruit who had just entered the camp to endure.
Even so, I was possessed by a certain childish defiance at the time. I took everything he said with a skewed perspective, deliberately provoking him with a face full of discontent. Perhaps what he did to me next was nothing more than my own undoing.
‘Turn around.’
‘Major?’
‘Do I have to repeat myself? I have no idea how you managed to graduate from the police academy.’
Face the wall. At his curt command, I hesitantly turned my back. I remember constantly glancing at him over my shoulder, failing to grasp the true meaning behind his order. What made me gasp and instantly stiffen my posture, however, was the sharp crack that suddenly struck my ass.
‘Ah…!’
The thick palm striking my flesh made a sound like a clap of thunder, leaving a stinging ache in its wake. In spite of myself, my spine straightened as my glutes twitched in utter shock. I had never received this kind of corporal punishment, not even in my earliest childhood. His hand, encased in a thick leather glove, aggressively struck the rounded flesh.
The humiliation of being punished unfit even for a child was fleeting; the sheer terror of his massive shadow pressing down on me from above metamorphosed, bizarrely, into a twisting heat in my lower abdomen. Was it because I was getting my bare ass thrashed without a single stitch of underwear on? My burning flesh brought forth a strange warmth, and the stinging pain sent a jolting shiver straight up my spine, paralyzing it.
Each time he struck my ass, the way my waist instinctively arched and twitched closely mimicked the movements of masturbation or sex, forcing me to bite down on my lower lip. The metallic taste of blood pooling in my mouth made my mind feel hazy. Desperately trying not to make a sound, I held my breath and dug my big toes into the floor, struggling not to break my stance. The loud cracks echoing through the cramped shower stall made even the tips of my ears burn.
But what utterly broke me, leaving me in sheer disbelief, were the words that came out of his mouth next.
‘Getting hard from this, Rookie?’
As my knees buckled and my legs shook, he whipped my backside fiercely once more, as if to snap me back to reality. The sound of tearing flesh echoed in my ears. The ringing in my eardrums was painfully deafening. But what truly derailed my sanity was the fact that I had actually gotten an erection under his merciless hands. It was exactly as he said. Before I knew it, my cock was semi-erect, twitching in sync with the sound of his palms striking my behind. Even now, it was a memory far too humiliating to recall. I had only been spanked a few times. I had never possessed the slightest interest in that kind of sadistic nature in my entire life; it was a bizarre anomaly.
Remembering about the sensation of his strikes back then, I shoved my fingers into my parted mouth. The fingers that had been jerking my cock a moment ago tasted of pre-cum and slick fluid. By now, this didn't even disgust me. It even crossed my mind that perhaps I had been this kind of degenerate from the very beginning. It wasn't that he had trained me well. Looking back, I felt as though I would have gladly spread my legs for anyone, at any time. He had simply been the one to unlock that door.
He used to degrade my very nature, sneering that I had managed to remain a virgin despite having the face of a whore and a filthy, cheap body. He took pleasure in stripping me anywhere, grabbing and stretching my opening wide, spitting on me, and insulting me. In the beginning, I fought back fiercely and raised my voice against him, but in the end, I always wound up crying beneath him, leaking semen uncontrollably. He knew entirely too well how to break a man—especially me—and my body, forced open by his touch, had become hyper-sensitive. Just standing in front of him would cause my cock to retreat tight against my lower belly from pure tension, putting me in an embarrassing predicament in front of the other trainees more than a few times.
Scraping the roof of my mouth with the middle finger I’d thrust inside, goosebumps broke out across my thighs. Finding even a faint trace of pleasure within a sharp, piercing pain that dug into delicate flesh was always addictive. When my finger reached all the way to my uvula—past the roof of my mouth where his thick dick used to dig in and rub against my urethra—it brought back the vivid memory of his heavily veined shaft brushing past, invading deep beyond my throat.
Strangling and gasping for air, I had clung to his thighs while swallowing his massive member. With the air I inhaled through my nose failing to pass through my trachea, and my eyes rolling back from the suffocating pressure, his scarred hand would smooth back my sweat-drenched hair as if to say good boy. I burned with a desperate longing for that fleeting tenderness glimpsed in those brief moments. Even while pouring out harsh curses and insults from his lips, he never disciplined me half-heartedly.
The first time I took him into my mouth, I accidentally let my teeth graze him. Without a moment's hesitation, his heavily calloused palm slapped my cheek. Though the rigid calluses ingrained across his knuckles scraped against my inner cheek and left a bright red welt, he didn’t pull his cock out of my mouth. He refused to let me go until I was thoroughly buried in his thick pubic hair, drinking in his raw, musky scent. Having lost consciousness from the lack of oxygen, when I finally opened my eyes again, he was sitting erect at my bedside as I lay curled on my side, cleaning his gun. The movement of him deliberately handling the barrel slowly so as not to let the sharp clinking of metal ring out… I think my throat tightened with emotion at that sight.
And even at this very moment, as I remember him, the lump in my throat was so unbearable I could hardly stand it.
“Major, I can’t. I just can’t……”
I wished that if I just parted my lips and stuck out my tongue right now, his steaming hot cum would come pouring out. I missed that humiliating sensation of scalding bodily fluid flooding over my tongue, coating my throat with its thick, heavy scent. The feeling of viscous semen clinging to my uvula and sliding down my esophagus was something that could never be replicated, no matter how many dildos I used to ram down my throat. He had trained me to greet everything with my tongue pushed out first—whether it was his spit or his semen.
Once, I had even been forced to drink his piss. The memory of what I had done wrong to deserve such a punishment was hazy, but the exact sensation of the moment he burst his bladder over my tongue remained vividly scorched into my mind. I remember thinking how utterly mortifying it was—kneeling like a human toilet right against his crotch, mouth gaped open, waiting for the urine to spill out. Little did I know that the moment the yellow stream finally erupted from his urethra, and the hot piss scalded my tongue to flow past my throat, any semblance of dignity would be completely wiped from my mind.
Now, I was beginning to choke. My own fingers, pitifully thin compared to his massive member, poked at my uvula, making me gag. When will I ever be able to stop thinking about him?
Rookie. Hearing my name from his voice was an extreme rarity. He merely used that cliché moniker to degrade me, to cage me in. Even when I committed not a single error, and he would thrust into me, spanking my behind in sheer satisfaction. I had no idea how many other trainees had passed through his hands. Did he teach them, tame them, just like he did to me? There were moments it felt like stripping a naive recruit stark naked and playing with them was his true calling. Whether he took their bodies after breaking their spirits with cruel words just as he did to me was something I could never know.
As his absence grew deeper, I found myself uselessly projecting this displaced resentment, scraping together absurd reasons just to lash out into the void. He had turned my body into something that erected so hard my lower abdomen ached at the mere thought of his name, and then he just vanished. I missed that bastard so convergence-shatteringly much.
‘What a good boy, Leon.’
You’re doing a damn fine job. On those incredibly rare occasions when I diligently sucked his cock—a thing too massive to even hold with both hands—and spread my ass cheeks to take every bit of him, that praise would drift down to me. When it did, I would feel a swell of pride without an ounce of shame, shaking my hips and clinging even tighter to his crotch like a well-praised bitch.
He was the one who made me this way. The earlier myself was a human being who understood the concept of shame. I was never the type of pervert who would happily groan with his face buried between a man’s thighs, spreading my legs anywhere… The Major had ruined me completely, ruthlessly. And now, he was gone, a ghost I could no longer find anywhere.
—Major Jack Krauser has been designated as KIA (Killed in Action).
I couldn’t tell how much time had passed. At first, he was listed as missing, but later—without even an attempt at a search—he was officially processed as dead. I was utterly sick and tired of the government’s slipshod administrative handling. Even as I received the news with a hollow calm, I couldn’t process a single thought. What was I even doing the exact moment I was told of his end? The memory of that day was so terribly blurred that no matter how hard I tried, not a single sharp piece of recollection would surface.
—Did he leave any final words?
—A will is standard procedure before deployment, but…
It was a stupid question. Any soldier would of course draft a will before heading into a mission. Clinging to the person delivering the news of his death and rambling such foolish words was a humiliation I would have to keep buried alone until the day I died. But I couldn't help it; I had firmly, foolishly believed that he would have left me at least a single word—that he would have carved out a single line in his will meant only for me. As if I actually meant something to him.
—My apologies. There were no separate messages left for you.
I stood frozen on the spot for several minutes. It felt as though my time was still perpetually trapped in that room. If I closed my eyes, the sensation of the coarse sand digging between my toes was still vividly real. I never wanted to experience that feeling again—the sensation of my heart drying up and crumbling into dust. Even though I had never admitted he occupied such a massive portion of my life, my vision blurred from the scorching thirst.
And now, as if proving his absence, I am left in a room that has grown bitterly cold. I finally began to reflect on my long-standing weakness, the very thing he had so cruelly trampled and degraded.
The brutal reality—that there were no final words left for me, not a single line of consideration—bizarrely brought back the reality I had long forgotten, the very purpose of my life that I had pushed deep down into my heart. My petty sense of justice, my hypocritical heroism, everything he had tried to choke out of me while holding me by the throat… The bizarre shackles of subjugation had ended, just like this, hollow and dry.
Granted, the sadistic pleasures and the marks engraved upon my flesh would remain as unerasable scars. But even if he had trained me to be an excellent soldier, a loyal military hound, he had ultimately failed to swallow my core. He had to fail. Right now, even though I was lying here alone with my legs spread, helplessly reminiscing about the past where his hands used to touch me, I chose to believe that it could never truly devour who I was at my core.
I pulled my fingers out from my twitching backside and harshly wiped the slick, sticky fluid onto the sheets. In the quiet stillness, as I let out a long exhale to steady my ragged breathing, my phone—thrown far across the bed—began to ring with an irritating buzz. Claire was the only one who ever contacted me for personal matters, but even with her, we hadn't heard each other's voices in months due to our chaotic schedules. Therefore, it was bound to be a call summoning me for a mission.
The last emergency situation I had caught was about the President’s daughter being abducted. The spit that drenched my behind and the tears that tracked down my cheeks had already dried up. I felt a profound sense of relief at the fact that there was a path ahead of me that I had to go forward.
I no longer walk upon that desert of sand. In a reality where he is gone, I finally begin to move on.