The Sex Slave's Final Punishment (BDSM Erotica) Read Free

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.