Deck Dogs: Interview 0436-CB

This is an erotic entry set in a purely fantastical alt setting; all characters are over 18 years of age.

Majority of the featured themes include: dom male/ sub female, bdsm, gross humiliation, erotic slavery/service, mild emotional games, exhibition, filthy enjoyment and crude language. If these are not in your interest or deem them offensive, please do not read any further.

For readers, please enjoy the following degenerate tale.

The is a work of absolute fiction.

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[[The following excerpts were compiled from various testimonies and diaries left from the "Deck Dogs" Project, particularly those involving B-Class Comfort Officer [______], Code-named: "CryBaby". Surveying the participants and partakers of the program; these recounts have been recorded to analyze and assess the performance of this 'comfort' unit, assembled to study stress relief within the deployed armed naval forces. ]]

[[Names have been redacted for public release.]]

Collaborated Event Log from Interview 0436-CB:

Assigned Deck Dog: B-Class Comfort Officer "CryBaby" [______]

Handler: SD Unit Officer [______]

Participant: PO2 [______]

Interviewer: Dr. [_________], SD Project representative for the SS [______]

Visit Roster Code: #096-B-SD-CB

**The following is a (flourished) recollection of one Petty Officer [______], Second Class; participant #096 of Project DD.

**Details may suffer from individual's exaggerated narrative during time of recording

[[Begin Log. . . II]]

"Last call!"

The usual round of exchanged glances on the floor, the shit eater grins. Again, the chief officer bellowed out to the squad.

"Last call before swap! Anyone need it today?"

Fuck it.

I threw my arm up, a hearty "Sir!" coughed out of my chest and I waited. I think I heard [____] snort, that asshole. A beat as chief scanned the room for any other miserable degenerate messed up enough to volunteer for 'Last Call'.

I swiveled my chair around as the boot clicks of the chief closed in on my station, putting my arm down as I stood at attention.

"Shift end [______], Number 2 'Kennel' by Dry Cargo; Bay 4."

"Sir!"

It always started once chief left, as soon as that heavy ass door sealed shut and he was out of earshot. These were the days the dipshits in the squad waited for. [_____] started it this time around.

"[______] jumpin' on 'Last Call'! That's the sixth time you sick fuck. You must really like them sloppy!"

The chorus of hearty laughs, my own included out of conformity. Same routine, different day.

"Dry Cargo ain't staying dry after you, that's for sure!" A southern accent shouts from the other end of the floor, [___] maybe?

Well . . . they weren't wrong.

Four hours later, now making my way to the 'kennel'.

Kennel . . .

It was just some converted holding room put as far away from the main compartments as possible, limits noise travel the project rep said. The corridors reeked of wet musk, stale air, and soured cum all the time now.

Approaching a smaller holding room before the 'kennel', I checked in with the on duty handler.

"Back again?" he chided as he tapped a chewed pen to his clipboard. The roster in front of him scrawled full of the other perverts that had passed through.

"Petty Officer [______] , Second Class. . . . reporting for. . Uh . . . I guess "appointment"?"

"Right . . . well you know the rules. Don't leave too big of a mess, keep the noise to a mid, knock when you're done, yadda yadda yadda . . . ." the Handler trailed off, bored.

Pause.

"I can't stress enough the "mess" part [______], Kennel 2 shouldn't need a full sanitation sweep that often."

"Sir . . ."

"You get an hour."

Handler [______] let out a lazy huff, got up from his desk, and lead me to Kennel 2. We approached the door, he knocked once, and unlocked the hold.

"At attention! Comfort Officer [______], last call before shift cleanup and swap out."

In the middle of this small room, this converted holding cell, stood our 'dog' on duty. She was a petite busty brunette with large, dark eyes; an absolute delightful slob of a pervert enlisted as volunteer "stress relief". Key word 'volunteer', those studies always did attract the weirdest wretches. . . .

She spoke right through me to her handler.

"I'll submit the visit roster to Dr. [_________] once we've finished up." Her voice was tired; even Deck Dogs pulled 24 hour duty just like all the other sailors on this floating tin can. No difference there.

The handler snorted again before turning to leave. He growled in my ear as he began to exit.

"I'll put sanitation on standby. [____] is going to chew me out again."

"Apologies . . ." I mutter.

"It's [____] you'll be apologizing to . . . Don't break it this time, not all of the Deck Dogs can last through duty."

"I'll do my best."

"You fuck." He laughed.

Handler [______] exited and locked the heavy door to the corridor shut, a harsh grinding as the pin slid closed.

B-Class Comfort Officer [______], affectionately christened "CryBaby", B-Class because those dogs could take a real bruisin'. Despite the nickname, she really did her job well. There were only a handful of Deck Dogs on our boat, and this one was my favorite of the pack.

Still at attention, her posture perfect, pathetically attempting to hide the clear exhaustion from duty. Stupid bitch always did push herself too hard . . .

I loved 'Last Call'; it was no big secret so I'll just put it bluntly for the record. The Comfort Officers duty was, simply, to get fucked. And let me be clear, I sure had had one hell of shift that day. . . .

"You look good today . . . for a fuck toy. Word is you took almost half the damn ship this time, shooting for a pack record?" I sneered, in pure jest really. I always liked starting with good, old fashioned dirty talk.

"You flatter me."

She quipped back instantly with a sly grin; her mouth sure wasn't tired at all.

Eyeing her up and down, her hair tied up in that crappy frayed bun with the few loose strands grazing her neck. She was so small . . . soft.

[[PO2 [______] fell silent for a brief period before continuing with his recount.]]

I took a few steps and closed the gap between us. She didn't move, didn't flinch, didn't twitch, as I hooked my finger under her chin and lifted her face to lock eyes. The anticipation and guilty excitement glimmered in hers. The only thing that ever made her shudder was when you ran your fingers along her cheek, only I knew this secret.

"Still so smooth after 'cock' duty, you really are a great Deck Dog."

"Big praises coming from someone like you." She raggedly breathed out, slightly squirming as my fingers caressed her paleness.

That air of smug in her tone, echoing as my hand slid from her face to her outstretched neck. It was a mosaic of bruises beneath the collar, beautiful. A beat, she gulped air as my fingers cracked and wrapped around her thin throat. Stupid bitch, the squad didn't deserve this much fun.

I rushed her back roughly and pinned her to the walls hard surface. A gurgled squeak as she kept her eyes locked on mine.

"Deck Dogs don't talk while on assignment . . . Let's do a quick use inspection, shall we?" I said, slowly. This dog still needed training, such a brat.

Her eyes fluttered and, using my free hand, I pulled open the front of her uniform. Deck Dogs wear the same NWU as regular officers, how cute.

No bra; her core rhythmically tightened and relaxed, breathing steadily. Still rough from exhaustion as I started playing with her plump breasts; pale white and mottled with large patches of purple-tinted yellow, black, and blue. I tightened my grip on her throat, pinched a hard nipple, and laughed heartily as she whimpered from the sudden jolt.

"You know why I love 'Last Call'?"

She shook her head, guilty moaning escaping her lips as I gave her tit a hard slap. Another few slaps and caresses before I slid my hand down her pulsing stomach and into the front of her loose slacks. She was dripping wet and slick to the touch already. Hooking two fingers under the hood, I cocked her hips up towards myself and forced her to stand on her toes. My hand was still firmly holding her by the neck against the steel wall. I continued to mock her.

"I like having you already broken in and tenderized. You're all softened up, and it just gets me so fucking hard seeing you all used up." Her eyes flashed again with that usual fiery flicker.

I continued to grind my fingers into her trembling groin, tightened my knuckles around her neck just a little more.

"Hah . . . hah . . .ah!"

She kept gasping as she got wetter. A small string of spit started dripping from the corner of her bright mouth, her plump lips parted with every salacious moan.

I laughed again, "Now for some real work for a slobbering bitch. Down, like a good girl."

I let go of her throat and watched her drop rapidly to her knees. The metal of the deck echoed for a beat from the impact. Tits still out, her nipples were solid from the cool draft in the room. She got straight to work, as was the duty of a Comfort Officer, and unzipped the front of my uniform.

We locked eyes once again, her bun practically undone and hair everywhere, as she took the whole length of my throbbing dick into her warm, moist mouth. A genuine pro, my cock was already glistening with ample slobber and sweat. Always eager, good dog.

Her swollen breasts were swaying as she expertly gagged herself. The pleasure traveled through me in waves with every slow bob of her head. I have to admit I got a tad impatient as I grumbled, grabbed the remains of her tangled hair bun, and forced myself all the way into her tender throat with sheer brute strength. I remember the sight of her eyes popping wide open and staring at me, pupils pinned to specs.

Tears welled up and cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink.

Hold.

[[PO2 [______] asks for a cigarette before continuing.]]

There isn't a more perfect moment: the silence that settles during the pause between getting your dick completely in her gullet, and just before she starts snorting for air. She started to tremble after a bit while I kept her choking. Her eyes popped and lashes flapped again, the flare in her face just made me harder. This got me thicker and further cut off her breathing.

Eventually I pulled her head away, long strings of saliva stretched from mast to mouth, as she gasped roughly. Sharp coughs causing the strings to break and spatter on her naked, blotched chest.

God she looked filthy.

I grabbed her by the neck again and lifted her back onto her feet. She gulped deeply as I leaned closer to whisper, twirling some of her spit covered hair around my crotch reeking fingers.

"I'm going to tear up your insides and make you look disgusting."

I smiled . . . . . she smiled.

Shifting my hand from her neck to the back of her head, I forced her to her knees again and plunged all of myself back into her roughed up mouth. Her eyes went classically wide again as I skull fucked her full force. Her tongue running laps around my rigid shaft and I grunting furiously. Deck Dogs were great for pent up aggression. My back tensed up and knuckles cracked as I climaxed the first time, hard.

"Don't spill!" I managed to sputter out before whipping my head back.

Thick globs of pearly cum bubbled at the corners of her lips, and her throat undulated as she swallowed (most of) my early load.

"Good dog." I panted and patted her head.

Another pause, she looked up at me.

Her dark eyes sparkled and lips puckered slightly. This face, the face she made every visit, made at every 'Last Call', got me rock hard again instantaneously.

She cracked her smile . . . that fucking smile.

I had dragged her a mild distance from the back wall by then and, without any warning, grabbed both of her shoulders and knocked her onto her back. Her legs splayed out from the force and allowed me to bend her in half easily, pinning one massive forearm across her sternum and both thighs. Completely exposed and curling her body into a little, fleshy ball of 'fun'

Towering over her contorted frame, I pulled her uniform slacks down, revealing her beaten ass and tender, gushing cunt. The bitch blushed!

Her body rattled for a second, "Guh, please. Slow down this time."

"The fuck you just say, Officer?"

The absolute nerve of her.

Her eyes dilated as I jammed three fingers in, she was burning hot inside.

"Haah! Ah! I'm sorry!"

Third knuckled, I swirled around in there and really made her squirm. On her back, legs tangled in her rumpled clothing and frazzled hair. I continued digging my work dirtied fingers deeply into her and just mocked her.

"You're still on duty, no talking out of line."

I looked at her, catching her gaze between her calves and thighs. It was incredibly fun to watch her eyes slightly roll back whenever I hooked my fingers up toward her belly.

. . . Now.

[[PO2 [______] paused (rather awkwardly) for effect here before continuing.]]

I pulled my fingers out and thrust my aching cock into that wet hole. There was a loud squelch and we both yelled out in unison. Pretty sure I heard someone beat on the door and yell, "Quiet down you fuck!"

I was now bracing myself with one hand on the back wall and the pinning arm, moved, was now holding the back of a single, supple thigh. Like a good dog she kept her legs bent upward.

I drilled into her pretty violently. She gagged slightly as I ground and stirred her squished innards. Those looks of sickly pain flashed across her face. She tried to sputter out something between pumps.

"Ah, ah . . . I . . . ugh! I . .!"

I just kept pumping away, watching her face spit out jumbles of sounds. A sinister smile streaked across my face.

"You what?! What's wrong Deck Dog? Getting tired?!"

I pulled out quickly, spat on her dirty slit and jammed myself back in. This made her gurgle and spit loudly, deep moans escaping her crushed lungs.

"I'm gonna throw up! Oh god, my stomach! I'm gonna throw up, please, slow down!"

Her hands go to cover her panting mouth, the cum from earlier dribbling out between her fingers. Those dirty guts, and knowing her, there's a lot more 'semen' aboard.

I kept fucking her hard. Nothing but a hole to work out all of that stress you get while deployed. Her insides were hot, and I could feel her stomach contract and spasm as I tore her to bits. Her thighs splattered with juices and my cock shining wet. My nails were digging heavily into her soft thigh, creating light crescent grooves.

I exploded, filling every nook of her insides.

She kept her eyes locked to mine as strings of cum splattered out between her clasped hands, her stomach convulsed as loads of cum forced its way back out.

Absolutely disgusting, bad dog.

I pulled my slathered dick out and stood up, letting her legs fall forward and stretch out on the cold flooring. She laid there for a period, raggedly breathing as sperm trickled out of her mouth and from between her thighs. The cum around her legs caused her to wince as they glazed the C-shaped welts left from my nails.

She then coughed roughly, spat, and sat up. Surprisingly still smug as she wiped the regurgitated pearled drool from her cheeks, she motioned towards the locked entryway.

"Do me the honors, will ya?"

"Least I could do." I fired back as I stuffed my satisfied dick back into my, now stained, slacks.

I made my way to the door and knocked a few times, clearing my throat.

"Requesting cleanup and laundry!"

Ironic; barking orders at a Handler. Those guys were dicks, but they kept these freaks well trained. Handler [______] appeared after a while with a towel and clean uniform for the mess on the floor near me.

"Thanks . . ."

He didn't answer immediately, rather steered his gaze past me and eyed his Deck Dog, sniffing sharply before looking back to me. At first I thought he was angry again but, instead, he let out a satisfyingly messed up chuckle.

"Damn it [______], you sure do a number on equipment when you're in here. I give [____] thirty seconds before he tears into me for the mess again. You get a half hour for cleanup, that dog's done for the next few days."

"Sir!"

Both I and Comfort Officer [______] responded as Handler [______] left, closing the door again. I handed the towel and uniform to Officer [______] and stepped off to the side as she changed.

I took that time to eye her over again while she was fully naked, her body just a patchwork of use. Bruises, bites, cuts, and scratches littered her all over. Just about everywhere; on her breasts, on her legs, and especially on the roundest parts of her ass and thighs.

Raw and seemingly unaffected, she toweled off (most of) the cum and donned the clean uniform. She had a habit afterwards, whilst she re-tied her hair, of kicking her used clothing into a bundled heap of sweaty and sticky. If it wasn't for the tinge of purple around her thin neck, she'd look like any other shit sailor on this ship.

We didn't say much until she took her leave . . .

[[After another brief pause]]

[[Dr. [_________]: "Did she say anything before you ultimately parted?"]]

(I couldn't help but laugh first before answering.)

"She said, 'Congrats on the engagement.'"

Such a bitch, the perfect 'Deck Dog'.

[[End Log . . . II]]