Wednesday, November 14, 2012

The Soldiers' Whore - a story

We've been making each other crazy.
Continuing to make each other crazy.
My Master was nearly eaten by a sadistic fit.
And my pussy has been wet and swollen
and TRULY PAINFULLY AROUSED
since Sunday.

And what do we do to ease our suffering?
Inspire more.
Strip our desires naked.
And proffer fantasies.

I got carried away today. I shared 2 strong, old, masturbatory scenarios. And after the second one, my Master offered me a desired reward if I wrote just a few more paragraphs - not what was being done, but what I felt.

I tried.
I really tried.
But it became far more than two or three paragraphs.
And it would not take directiom..
Luckily, in the end, it impressed him.
It wasn't the raw piece of porn he was after.
But he said he admired it.
That it was worthy of me.
Which is one of the biggest compliments he can give.

He also agreed to let me share it with you.

Meanwhile, I do owe him that piece of porn.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The Soldiers' Whore

They are always there, Sir.
Day and night, they are always there.
Day and night, I hear them outside the door.
Shuffling their feet.
Joking among themselves.
Calling encouragement.
Cursing me for having someone else's cock shoved up my bleeding cunt.

I even hear their silence.
which scares me most of all.

Because whatever they feel, they act out with me.
And often what they feel, Sir, is anger.

They stride in looking tough.
It doesn't matter that by now I can see the truth behind their masks.
I suffer all the same.

The stream of men is so steady that usually I don't even make it out of the bed between one and the next. Which is part of my pain. In my body there is real pain. My cunt - how can I call something a pussy that receives no gentleness? - my cunt has been worn thin. Each thrust of invasion feels like sandpaper. I can't... I CAN'T... do I really have to talk about that part? I pretend it's not part of me, I no longer try to see what it looks like, I try so hard to forget that very early morning... a captain broke down the door during the 4 hours I'm granted for sleep... he was so angry that my one-woman whorehouse was closed that he fucked me with his pistol before tearing... they never healed... I scream when I shit... EVERY TIME I SHIT I CAN'T HELP SCREAMING!

They're so angry...

Not all of them. Some of them need softness. Give softness. They stroke my filthy, knotted hair, sometimes bringing a comb on their second or third visit, gently trying to comb out the knots... They try so hard... They try so hard to be gentle... They make me cry. I forget. I forget to keep my walls up. I cry on their shoulders and sometimes, for a minute or two, forget to be afraid.

I should never forget to be afraid.
Because the gentle ones...
They're the most dangerous.
Sooner or later, they snap.

I never know what will set them off.
But suddenly I'm being scolded.
Cursed.
My face is slapped.
Hard.
I hate that more than anything.
With all the things these men do to my body,
I hate those slaps most of all.
They leave bruises.
Such foolish pride.
I'm a whore.
I'm being fucked within an inch of my life.
And I hate for the men to see bruises on my face.

There are plenty of other bruises, of course.
Especially from the officers.
Who knew there were so many sadists in the officer's corps?

I have my regulars, Sir.
The ones who come to beat me.
They can't cum unless they beat me.
Some spank me with their palms.
Hard.
Right from the start.

Do I have to talk about this?
I really hate talking about this...

There are so many men...
So many sadists...
And the others, the ones who just lose control...

It's like my cunt, Sir.
My ass.
It never stops hurting.
My butt cheeks,
my formerly small and tight butthole,
they never have time to heal.
No one gets to see how pale and moonlike my ass can be.
Used to be.

That's one reason I almost never leave the bed, Sir.
Not just because there's no time between one horny soldier and the next.
But... what would I do?
My legs are weak.
And my butt too sore to sit...

It's hard to sleep, Sir.
I can't lie on my back.
And I can't lie on my belly...
They bite my breasts, Sir.
My nipples...

Why is it now that I start crying, Sir?! They were so beautiful, my tits! So soft and sweet and my nipples... I can't wear clothes any more, Sir... I can't stand the touch of the softest cloth, my breasts are so bruised and my nipples so raw and crusted with blood... I'm not a woman! I'm a punching bag! I'm holes! I'm whatever they want to imagine me to be.

And to the officers, Sir.
Those sadistic officers...
I'm a target.

They hurt me...
They're always hurting me...
And I can't even confess to anything to make them stop...


They slap me across the face.
They slap my breasts from side to side.
They... please... do I have to remember?
The pain...
When they punch me full hard in the belly...
And then cum on my body as I lie on the floor sobbing...
They punch me so hard that I fall off the floor.

And then I can't breathe.

If I'm lucky, one day soon one of them will kill me.

So you see, Sir?
The ones who whip my ass?
They're not so bad...

There, Sir.
I've answered your questions.
Was there anything else you wanted?
Do you want me to suck your cock?
Please, sir, if I'm really good,
and suck your cock,
and make you cum...

Could I have a small drink of water?

3 comments:

oatmeal girl said...

Please note: this piece is derived from an old, masturbatory fantasy which is completely unrelated to modern warfare.

Toni said...

Very nice thanks for sharing :)

GenuineRisk said...

This is a tough one, as kink without care frightens the hell out of me. I love the objectification, and the writing is, of course, exquisite, but the drink of water request almost made me cry. I crave objectification and use, but wuss that I am, want them attached to a loving, warm presence, rather than an angry one. You are brave to go to so dark a place, even in fantasy. (This makes e-stim torture seem relatively benign, in my view!) Great work - even if it gives me nightmares!