Wooooo boy, was that ever a lot of fun.  A good ole time, listening to her scream and yelp, fighting off those sporadic and badly aimed kicks, smelling blood and sweat and skin.  Reminded Billings of a few little... diversions he'd taken for him self while out on assignment.  After the Marines, of course.  See, he hadn't lied, he'd actually been a battlefield butcher for the Jarheads for a while, before certain leanings and indiscretions had been discovered.  Well, sometimes such things could be swept under the rug, but not all the time, and Billing's had been some that just weren't going to be buried.  After being drummed out of the Marines as quietly as possible, mercenary work was really the only thing that could pay the bills.  Less safe, sure, and often bloodier.  All of which suited him fine.  And, as long as it didn't get in the way of a job, whatever a merc did on his own time was his own business.<br/><br/>Once she finally passed out he'd taken a few moments to just look at her, naked and fit on the bed, all sorts of brutal thoughts just dancing through his oft-unbalanced head.  Cover her ass, eh?  Yeah, that could be done, eventually.  First, though, he grabbed himself the cracked remains of a permanent marker and delicately drew "Fuck" on her left ass cheek and "Here" on her right, figuring the next fools who got their hands on her might want to know exactly where would hurt her the most, especially after that bike in the dirtpipe.  That done, he wandered out to grab the bike and pry off a wheel, then clip down the spokes with into sharper metal spikes, each about an inch in length.  Those went with a handful of old fishing weights and line, which he used to braid her hair rather inexpertly into about two dozen little braids, each one studded with woven-in bent metal spikes and a couple of lead weights tied with fishing line, really all sorts of knotted and tangled up in the braids so they'd make the hair move about.<br/><br/>Just to make sure she stayed under while he worked her back was covered with an old towel, letting each of the cruel soon-to-be lashes rest on the faded brown material until he'd nimbly set her up to scratch and batter the shit out of her shoulders every time her head moved.  And then it was time to get what was coming to him, his price for saving her life.  Not that she'd probably see it that way, which really only made things more enjoyable for him.  After allowing a few hours of sleep for the both of them, him in the chair and her in the bed, he'd stomped over to her, gathered up the braids in the towel to keep the surprise for later, and then gripped the yoke on her right side and flipped her out of the bed to land on her back on the floor.  Before the clatter of wood and bells could still he'd moved to straddle her, shoving a rusty leather-wrapped O of metal into her mouth the moment she opened it, then tightening the stained leather straps behind her head, wrapping and knotting them firmly enough to dimple her cheeks and crack the corners of her mouth.<br/><br/>"I know who you are, you know," he rumbled in that pleasant voice, though the wild light in his eyes betrayed the lust and anger and madness that seethed behind those blue eyes.  "You've cost me.  You've cost a lot of people, but I don't care none about them.  I care about the marks you've stolen from under me.  You're the only one who's ever snaked me like that, little bitch, and for that you get to live.  For that you got some healing that means you might live to make it back to your people."  Strong, calloused fingers nimbly worked his fly, drawing down the zipper and popping the button, his sweaty cock popping out from the confines of loose boxers.  "For what you cost me, though, there's a price to be paid.  For the help, for what you stole out from under me.  Ain't gonna be taken from your cooter though, looks like that's been worked over enough, and I ain't riskin' rust flakes in my cock from taking your ass.  But these tits and that mouth, they don't seem like they're worse for wear yet."<br/><br/>That said her strained and stretched sports bra parted under his knife, letting her tits flop out... at least until he dropped his cock between them and grabbed them tightly, visciously pinching her nipples even has he smashed her funbags around his length.  "Oh fuck yeah.  Been achin' for a woman for some time now.  Lucky for me, I got just what I needed."  Hips rolled as he thrusted against her chest, deep and hard pushes, stretching and grinding against the soft mounds, staring down at her the whole time he worked her chest.  Pre-cum dotted her skin, welling from his blunt head, while he grunted and strained and sweated atop her.  From time to time he'd let go of a tit and stab his fingers into her mouth through the ring gag, testing to see how much she could move her head.  Not much, which is good.  Eventually he got tired of fucking the tits and slid back, grabbing her hair and the yoke to drag her into a sitting position.<br/><br/>Probably not better for her, though, because he simply gripped either side of her skull and pushed his cock through the wide ring gag, burying his cock in her throat, holding her in place while he used her mouth, balls slapping against her chin, holding his cock deep in her throat so she gagged and choked on it.  "You puke on my dick and you'll regret it, cunt.  Got it?"  Tits were good, but her mouth was better, and it wasn't long before he thickened, breathing heavy, body trembling... and then he came, forcing his cock as deep into her throat as it would go, holding her there as he drained himself into her mouth and throat, only eventually remembering to let her breath.  "There we go," he murmured shakily a minute later, after wiping his saliva-and-cum soaked cock between her tits.  "That about evens us up, I think."  A single flip, flop was fitted over her damaged and wrapped foot, at towel tucked around her waist, and she was dragged out to the door of his lair, pushed out into the street, jagged hair left to dangle against her back.<br/><br/>"Don't come back here.  I see you or any of you folks again, Patrics or Battery folk, and I kill you.  Unless you want to fuck again.  I always got some trade for that."  Stone and wood grated as he vanished back into his lair, leaving her net clean and bandaged wounds, a flip-flop, and a towel for dignity and use of her body.  Along with the hair and a mark that'll ensure the next jackal fucks her ass raw and bloody, but that'll be a special surprise...