The Sex Slave's Final Punishment (BDSM Erotica) (2 page)

They will soon enough, because the guard
begins to caress my pussy. His fingers and thumb are very clever,
surprisingly, and he soon strokes and rubs my clit into what passes
for an erection in my nubile, female body. My toes curl and I feel
a paean of illicit sensation as he oozes his fingers into the folds
between my labia and clit.

Ohhhh.

I long to close my legs. But his fingers dig
in further. Rub, stroke, back, forth. I steal a look at his face,
and he is not looking down at my pussy at all. Rather, he is eyeing
my face. Gauging how I am reacting to his probing. I’m afraid my
face and high color betray it all.

He massages me until I am twitching and
grinding my crotch against the cracked leather seat in ecstasy. I
can’t help myself. My body has its own pleasure havens, and my mind
can scant overrule their natural libidos.

The men are laughing at my reaction. I can
bet they are saying:

“Filthy whore.”

“Skanky American.”

“Fucking cunt.”

One finger dips into my creamy hole. And then
deeper. He’s practically coring my vaginal tunnel. Another finger
joins the first. He’s stretching me. Seeing how much my walls can
and will resist. I tip my head back against the seat. My mouth is
very dry. I feel the stirrings of an orgasm – the familiar
clenching and unclenching of my pelvic floor muscles. I grip my
blouse with my fists and try to stave it off. But his fingers are
very insistent, and as he latches onto my G-spot, I come
explosively.

I cry out, a foreign sound in this humming
cab. And immediately, I feel ashamed. Can Max and Greg hear me
above the fierce rumbling of the engine? Would they think I’m a
wanton hussy when there are other priorities in mind?

There is practically a puddle of my juices on
the seat beneath my pussy. I sink into it as the sweat drips off my
brow. Suddenly, the compartment is too warm. I am panting and
heaving, my large breasts moving up and down my covered chest.
Somehow, I feel more naked this way than if I was totally nude.

But the guard has not finished with me.

He grabs my waist, and from his tugging, he
wants me to get off my butt and straddle his lap. I comply. It is a
most uncomfortable maneuver in the tight space. I manage to bump my
head twice against the roof as I finally get into the position that
he wants me. I am still facing the windscreen and the road. My back
is to him, against his clothed chest. His garment feels scratchy
against my bare buttocks, and his breath is wet against my
neck.

He undoes the fly of his bulging pants. His
crotch has bulged since he started his hand job on me. And now his
cock springs up like a lever to point straight at my open pussy. He
pulls my hips down. I have to balance myself by holding on to the
strip of window ledge. But instead of penetrating my ready and
extremely wet pussy, his cock angles for my open anus, slicked by
my outpouring creams from the hole above.

He slams my buttocks onto his hard rod. It
had seemed so slender in the woods, but when it impales me, I cry
out once again – surprised at the sudden intrusion.

The driver laughs.

The guard’s cock is at its hilt within me. I
can feel his balls rubbing against my buttocks. With a tap, he bids
me to work my hips up and down. In this position, my head almost
touches the roof. But I lean forward anyway and grasp the dashboard
with both hands. It is an extremely difficult maneuver, having
scant little to clutch upon.

I begin to jerk my hips up and down upon the
pivot of his cock. I feel it slide in and out of me, hot flesh
rubbing against hot flesh. My ignored pussy and trembling clit
throb in wanton abandon. How I wish he would caress me there.

He chooses to settle his hands on my hips
instead to guide me. And so I give his plunging cock the working it
desires. I bounce upon his thighs. The valley between my covered
breasts bead with sweat. The driver occasionally glances over at
us, delighted.

Resentment creeps into me. I feel like asking
him:
Is this how you get your kicks? Why don’t you just stay on
the road and concentrate on driving before you get us all
killed?
But I don’t think he would understand me.

I fuck the guard with my well-practiced ass
until I feel his balls tightening. I can hear his grunting
exacerbate behind me. His hands grip me harshly, and with a shout,
he spurts his hot cum deep inside my rectum. It is like a geyser,
jettisoning its sap up and up into the murky depths of my back
passage.

I stop moving against his softening cock. I
did not come at all during this anal intercourse. I am too wrung
out and filled with angst. Suddenly, all my worries come tumbling
back in full force, like an avalanche of emotions.

What am I worried about?

Oh yes. We are all about to be executed.

He moves me off his wet cock. I am still
dripping. His sperm leaks out of my asshole as I sullenly take my
place between them once again. The various fluids stain the seat,
which is now slick with a layer of sticky resin.

Try explaining that to your Colonel, I think
in satisfaction.

The guard and the driver exchange jovial
banter as we continue our journey into wherever. They leave me as I
am – half-naked and with my pussy and asshole drying in the air.
Not satiated, the guard pays me no more attention. I am discarded
handkerchief along the wayside.

2

We reach some sort of barracks. Or at least I
think it is what passes for barracks in Ursk. The building is a big
concrete oblong – grey and nondescript and resembling what I would
expect in a Communist land. Only Ursk is not quite Communist, is
it?

The barracks are teeming with guards.
Soldiers. I don’t quite know where one begins and the other ends.
Maybe every first son in the family is a soldier here. So they have
an infinity of men in uniform. Once upon a time, I would have found
that hot.

But not now. There are just too many of
them.

We are loaded off the trucks like damaged
goods. I am still naked from the waist down. Every man suddenly
stops in the tracks of whatever he is doing to stare at me. I
blush, wanting to shrink back into the truck.

It’s not that I’m terribly shy, but the
lewdness of their expressions suggests an animalistic hunger than I
have not seen in American men – the hundreds of men I have fucked.
This is something more primal and intimidating. It is the
collective and palpable hunger of a mob which has been denied.
Taken away from their families in the call of duty.

And I’m a young woman in the midst of all
this pack starvation. I feel like a lamb being thrown to the
wolves.

Max and Greg come out of the truck and eye my
condition. They note, without speaking, the dried stains on my
inner thighs, and the way I am – all ragged and disheveled and
mussed up. Max’s eyes hold a plethora of emotions, and Greg simply
looks pained.

The other truck arrives, but we are whisked
into the building before I can see Mansk and his family being
loaded out.

The front doors open into a large common area
of sorts. Uniformed men drink ale or whatever it is stirring in
those tin flagons. They smoke cigarettes and play some sort of game
with rocks and dice. They talk and laugh congenially.

But all that stops as soon as we enter. The
silence is suddenly and instantly palpable.

I’m Cinderella come to the ball.

My heart plunges to my feet as I realize what
we are about to be subjected to. But of course, I tell myself
logically, you signed up just for this very thing. You wanted to be
fucked and sucked and caressed in every hole imaginable.

So why am I now afraid? Is it the impending
cloud of doom hanging above our fates? It’s like someone telling
us:
This is the script of your life. Game over. You’ve come home
to play with the big boys.

The guard beside me – the one who has so
ceremoniously fucked my ass – turns to me and starts to unbutton my
blouse. He wants me totally naked. I help him shrug my upper body
out of the peasant shirt. My large breasts spring free, and every
eye is immediately riveted to my red nipples.

The other guards gesture to Max and Greg to
do the same. Soon, all three of us are naked in the company of
clothed and armed men. Very dangerous men.

Someone bolts the double doors behind us.

It’s clear what is about to happen.

Men advance towards us from all directions.
It becomes a rush. My arms and waist are seized by purposeful,
groping hands. My ankles are grabbed. I am hauled upwards, and I
lose sight of what they are doing to Max and Greg as my hair whips
around my head and the heated faces of men surround me. I can only
see a sea of dirty green uniforms and pale smiling flesh. The color
of puke, I remind myself.

I surrender myself to whatever will happen.
It’s no use fighting.

I am pushed down onto a table with my legs
spread wide apart. My buttocks are almost dangling off the edge,
but my knees are supported by grasping hands and arms. Belts are
unbuckled. Zippers are pulled down. Cocks hang out – their heads
purple and red.

Someone’s dick pushes into my pussy hole. But
I am unable to see who, because someone else clambers over me.
Someone with big ass cheeks slithers over my face and thrusts his
thick cock into my mouth. I take it in and suck it, but he’s not
content with that. He begins to fuck my face, cramming his thick
thatch of pubic hair into my nose. He smells of sex.

Someone gropes my tits. Hands snake across my
belly, my sides, my hair, my legs. Is there no part of me that is
not caressed and prodded and pinched and tweaked? The overwhelming
smorgasbord of sensations drives me to almost delirium. I should
lose myself. I should give it to whatever I’m trying not to
feel.

There are endless moans around me, like a
chorus of ghosts. The fucking in my pussy and mouth is frenetic.
The cock inside my pussy spurts, and I feel the trickle of semen
once again watering my vagina. The cock withdraws, and another cock
swiftly takes its place. My fuckers are faceless.

The cock in my mouth discharges itself – its
wielder crying out into the ceiling above me. The ass cheeks take
themselves off, and I gulp great lungfuls of oxygen. This is
immediately replaced by someone else’s cock. How systematic they
are. How organized, like the strict military regimen they profess
to be.

In, out. Back, forth. Genitals rubbing
against one another. Orgasms exploding and subsiding. My vagina and
mouth are filled with different flavors of semen. I’m overflowing.
I’m an empty vessel for other people’s collective seed.

Then I am pulled off the table. I go flying,
buoyed by many hands. I am on the ground. Someone flips me around,
and I’m straddling someone else who is completely naked. I am
pushed down onto his penis, my pussy hole a velvet purse around his
girth. Flesh tightening around tight flesh. My breasts quash
against his chest, and someone’s pincer grip is around my right
nipple – scissoring the tender flesh, squeezing it.

Someone’s dick enters my asshole. My neck is
craned upward and my chin is roughly raised. A cock smashes into my
mouth, worming itself in without mercy. I am triply penetrated.
Three cocks are pistoning in and out of me, almost in unison. I am
nothing but a vessel in triplicate. My own climax builds despite me
not wanting it to.

Sperm gushes. My climax spurts magma piles
all over. I have no time to think about what is happening to Max
and Greg, but I think they are been fucked in all orifices too.
What they are doing to us is immensely dirty. And gratifying. They
have reduced us to our basest selves.

I am picked off again. Pressed down on the
back against the floor. Another cock replaces the one which has
left. And more. And more. And more.

Somewhere between the nineteenth and
twentieth round of fucking, I pass out from the pleasure and pain
and enormity of it all, or maybe it was the lack of oxygen to my
brain caused by overcrowding bodies.

I will never know.

3

When I come to, we are naked in a dungeon
cell. It’s cold and the walls drip with moisture. Moss covers the
stones in patches, resembling bloodstains which have spread. I
would not be surprised if someone told me those really were
bloodstains, and the moss has decided to seek nutrition from this
dark, barren place from where it is most concentrated. And nothing
is more nutritious that the drip of our blood into these ancient
stones.

A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling.
There is practically no draft in here, and the door is iron-bound
wood and opaque. Nothing indicates what time of the day or night it
is, or how long we have been in here.

All three of us are bound in a precarious
manner.

Greg is strung upon a rack which consists of
two horizontal boards and two vertical iron beams. His body is
threaded in between these boards. His wrists and ankles are bound
to the beams. He looks twisted and stretched upon this seemingly
medieval torture device. A rusted iron rod has been placed in his
anus, and it juts out like a stiff tail.

Max is beside him. He is mounted on another
rack, but in a different bondage position. He is tied to a
horizontal beam, but his legs are split at the crotch and stretched
almost impossibly wide to be tethered to either end. I’m not sure
this is a position he relishes. He is upright, and his balls grind
against the rough wood of the beam. His wrists are manacled to the
beam’s underside.

As for me, I am in a seated position, but in
a torture device of some sort. It surrounds me like an iron cage.
Leather straps are wound around my body, leaving my breasts and
private parts unencumbered. My wrists are locked within the cage.
My knees are bent, and my pussy envelops a synthetic dildo that is
attached to a machine.