Inspection
Outwardly, you feel very put together today in your freshly pressed blues – your hair pulled back smoothly into a tight bun, face made up like a Saturday night on the St. Mary’s Strip , rather than for this unostentatious Friday morning. Yet you feel anxious and out of place. Nobody else is wearing them. Their drab uniforms of gray and olive make you a gleaming cornflower blooming over the ragweed. You asked when you first got in, “Did MSgt Miller tell you to wear blues today? No?” And still you haven’t seen him. ‘Strange,’ you say to yourself. He is usually among the first to greet you in the morning, and you can sometimes sense his glances from the opposite side hall. Usually, he makes his presence very known to you. You glance at the computer clock and see that it is nearly noon. ‘Even stranger,’ you begin to wonder, ‘he said just yesterday that he wanted to meet me in the conference room in 15 minutes, and that my blues better look perfect, but I haven’t seen him. Maybe he’s in there now, meeting with the commander or someone else?’
You decide to wait until the last minute. You occupy yourself in one of the various email taskers, checking the time often. A coworker passes your desk at five minutes to twelve and waves his hand in front of your desk quickly before grunting “have a good weekend” as he makes for the door. “Already? but…?” you ask, but your words fall to the floor — the coworker has already walked away and you are left in an uncomfortable silence from which an eerie sense of suspicion arises. Sliding your chair behind, you stand up and look around. The office space is empty, and some of the lights have already been turned off, checked out for the weekend just like the rest of the workers. You check the time again: noon exactly.
You make your way to the conference room, thinking of the oddities which have occurred in your morning so far, asking yourself ‘why was everyone released but me? Why was I asked to come in my dress uniform?’ You find the conference room and you prepare to knock, but you see that the door is open. You lean in timidly only to see the room dark and empty. ‘Must be the other one,’ you mutter to yourself. You walk from one extreme of the rectangle shaped building to the other, peering over cubicles and desks to see if there are any signs of life near the other conference room. On the other side of the sea of desks you see the lights are on. A wavering shadow appears on the floor, and then you see the fluttering of blue fabric just around the corner.
Upon rounding the corner, you’re met by the three anxious, familiar, doe-eyed faces of Hall, Vandy, and Meghan. As the surprise on those faces flushes away, one set of lips begins to move.
“You too?” Hall asks.
“Yeah,” you say, your gaze meeting, in turn, each of those of the girls in front of you, “I didn’t know there would be others.”
“So, you were given at least some info then, right?”
“Not really,” you reply, “Just the time and the place.” You look at the door and incline your head toward it. “Is there anybody in there?”
The young women explain to you that they tried to enter a few minutes earlier, but a voice boomed from the interior, commanding them to wait outside until they were called, so you join their silent reunion. Maybe the owner of this voice heard your arrival, because immediately there is another command issued by it, which you know identify as belonging to MSgt Miller, and it summons all four of you.
The conference room is not very large, nor is it impressive. It is primarily used by leadership for video calls, so in the corners where the cameras cannot see there are towers of thoughtlessly stacked chairs, rugs rolled up and leaned up against the wall, and spare projector equipment making chaos. To the left of the entrance, where the cameras can see, there is a whiteboard hanging on the wall and a podium beside it and in the center of the room is a long, slender table with maybe a dozen chairs around it.
“And close the door behind you,” MSgt Miller says from behind the podium as the group shuffles in, exchanging whispers and uneasy glances. “Stop talking.” This is a command that last week he might have made facetiously, as a stone-faced joke, but today his eyes were gray and grave like the overcast sky just before the touchdown of a tornado, and it drives a feeling of anxiety into the bosoms of your group.
He continues, “alright, all of you, line up. I want four elements, each of you leading an element. Yes, that means side to side,” he gestures to and adjusts his ladies, all over ten years his junior, as a grandmaster does his pawns. Rightmost is you, then Vandy, then Hall, and finally Meghan.
Finally, he asks the question everyone is thinking. “You know why you’re here right?”
You open your mouth, but before a breath is drawn, he steals it away.
“What did I say? You’re in formation. No talking.” He pulls back his broad shoulders tightly and lifts his chin as a gesture of feigned authority. “All of you are here because you were missing during the last annual squadron open ranks, which was more than mandatory because of the recent emphasis on good order and discipline….”
‘I didn’t even know there was one,’ you think. Hall leans forward slightly to meet eyes with you, displaying her expression of defiance and anger. You look quickly at the face of Vandy, which is pale and frightened and then finally at Meghan’s who has flushed completely.
“…and because of your previous records, each of you is facing potentially career-ending paperwork, unless you pass this make-up inspection.”
He reaches behind the podium and takes a plastic garbage bag, quickly whips it loose and pulls it open, and holds it outstretched in front of Meghan’s trembling body. “Put your blues in the bag please.” She looks down at her clothes and then back up at MSgt Miller helplessly. “Yes, what you’re wearing. Remove them and put them in the bag. Now I said.”
Meghan stands in shock, and tears begin to roll down her cheeks, which have gone so red the blood has almost left them entirely. You want to help and call out for it to stop but the air doesn’t fill your lungs and your legs refuse to budge. The same is likely happening to the remaining two girls, who each watch in silent curiosity and dread.
She remains petrified and after a couple more unacknowledged commands, he reaches for her blouse and while attempting to unbutton it, she’s finally capable of animating. She begins to sob and, batting his hands away, she continues deblousing herself. Her fingers are white and numb and they struggle with the buttons. Her tears fall on the light blue fabric, darkening it in spots, like the sprinkling rain on dry concentrate sidewalks. As she finally manages to remove the garment, the sergeant reaches, once again, behind his podium and pulls out measuring tape. When he turns back around, he looks at the topless junior airman in disgust.
“Not what I expected,” he remarks, without emotion. He surveys her visually and circles her closely, without using the measuring tape. “Yeah, interesting. But maybe it gets better once the bra is off?” He stops behind her and traces her spine with the back of his hand, causing a sickly shudder to pass through her, before quickly unclasping the black bra. The poor girl shrieks as the bra falls down her arms, exposing her bare breasts and her body falls forward along with it, desperate and beginning to weep.
“So much for military bearing,” the sergeant quips before redirecting his attention to the tallest girl in the formation. “Staff Sergeant select Vanderbilt!” he calls. A nearly inaudible sound of affirmation comes from your left. “Please take charge of your element… This is embarrassing.”
Vandy breaks rank and rushes to Meghan’s side, gently placing one arm over the sobbing girl. “It’s okay,” she says. “We’re here with you.” But these efforts of consolation are hollow. The fact that they are all there with her which makes it so much worse. “We just need to get it over with. There’s nothing else we can do,” she reasons, mostly to herself.
“Help her out of her skirt and panties,” the NCO orders. “And the rest of you, get out of those uniforms.” “Now!”
You become aware of your own body for the first time since you entered the room. Your burning ears and nose tell you that you’ve turned red like the other girls, but you aren’t scared. You want this. But you’re nervous, you cannot believe that it’s happening. Yes, you’re red, but you’re also hot. Your nipples are hard, and you can feel that you’re already wet. Maybe you’ve been wet since you left your desk to see MSgt Miller.
You watch your hands in front of you begin to work on removing your blouse and skirt and before you know it, you’re standing in your bra and panties, not even understanding why you obeyed without question. You look to your left and see that Hall hasn’t yet moved. You assume the responsibility of undressing her. Hall acquiesces without objection.
MSgt Miller has taken a seat in the back of the conference room and, like a cruel taskmaster overseeing slaves’ work, he scrutinizes his troops as they exercise his will. After a few moments, the girls cease to feel his presence and they find the courage to finish his order. You’ve reformed in the same ranks as before, completely nude this time with all garments including underwear in the provided bags, each girl standing at attention with her arms straight to her side, chest forward, and shoulders back. Only the soft, delicate skin of your backs and behinds are visible to him now.
Now I wonder, can it be that a woman may be unclothed a couple times each day, but is very rarely truly naked? The virgin nymphs who nursed life in wells, rivers, and fountains would bathe naked by day in the earthy waters. Their fair bodies were unclothed, save for their youthful pink breasts which were covered by locks of radiant hair, but one could not venture to say these creatures were naked. They were naked, however, upon being captured and molested by Dionysus, who left them all mothers, or by Zeus, who left them all wanting, or by Priapus, who was endowed in such a way that the greater gods would take pity on his prey and turn them into flowers. Here stand four alluring nymphs, nude for their bare skin, now bumped and perked by the touch of cool air, and naked for their capture by a being who is part Dionysus, part Zeus, and part Priapus all at once.
And I also wonder, is it natural for a man to control four beautiful young unmarried women in such a way? Not even a century ago, a domineering Russian officer would never have been subjected to the temptation of working alongside a group so covetable unless the work consisted in escorting them from a refuge in Prague to the command tent for a celebration of victory. And not just the Russians in Germany, but the Japanese in Korea, the Vikings in the British Isles, the Crusaders in the sacking of Constantinople, and even our own Vietnam vets who took and then left wives in Saigon. The sensual, soft bodies of these girls aren’t fit to fight, but they serve their purpose quite well as the prize for a conquering warrior. And based on this, MSgt Miller will make his inspection.
The silence is disturbed only by the sound of joints being exercised, to the maximum extent allowed at attention, as you recall basic training, where the drill sergeant would leave the formation at attention for an hour or more, and the group would remain in absolute silence, not daring to adjust a muscle. So still and stiff, your bodies begin to ache, but you are all now obsequiously obedient that you bare it for your master.
Looking back would be to disobey the order of attention, so you do not dare turn your head as you hear the sounds of his bootheels draw near. He takes a lap around the group and stops at Meghan once again. He makes eye contact with the timid creature and raises his arms in suggestion. She copies the gesture compliantly, and he reaches around her body with the measuring tape and takes a reading between her cherry blossom nipples. He makes a mental determination and then proceeds to take a handful of additional measurements; under bust, waist, high hips and hips.
He walks to the whiteboard at the focal point of the room and begins to write:
Meghan Lemaire:
Basic Criteria
Appearance: Exceeded most, if not all expectations.
Breasts: Exceeded some but not all expectations.
Ass: Exceeded some but not all expectations.
Fitness: Met all expectations.
Advanced criteria in case of failing standards:
Tightness: N/A
Vocals: N/A
Expression: N/A
Oral: N/A
“Ms. Lemaire. You may take a seat and wait until the end of the inspection.”
Meghan would sigh in relief, if she were capable of filling her lungs at present. Hesitating for a moment, she relearned to walk and found a seat on the side of the conference room and watched the other girls.
Vandy glances quickly to the left and right and assesses the remaining two girls very quickly in the corner of her eye, and suddenly, she becomes very self-conscious. She’s a fine girl — a brown-eyed brunette with a sharp face and a thin, athletic body that performed better in a 5k than in a cocktail dress. In recent years, she had rarely felt ashamed of her appearance. However, given the criteria put forth by MSgt Miller, and the apparent risk of failing these standards, she reassesses herself and digs up an idea that hasn’t hurt her in years. ‘My own mother called me a carpenter’s dream’ she thinks, ‘I don’t have the curves they have.’
Memories begin to flood her mind and she remembers a middle school boy who told her ‘I don’t think of you that way Jessica’ as he confided in her the love for a girl who developed one-and-a-half grades before the other girls. This girl, who was more endowed in the 7th grade than Vandy would ever become, inspired a long-lasting envy in her which conflicted her deeply. She remembers how silly she felt after buying a bra one size larger, believing she had grown, only to feel like a child who wore her mother’s shoes and how she wept, months after the expiration of that bra’s return receipt, upon realizing her breasts would never fill it. But it was not her turn just yet.
MSgt Miller looks Hall up and down, noting her radiant umber skin, bountiful curves and erect, chocolate kiss nipples. He proceeds to make his measurements, just as before, except now taking time to enjoy his work. With a body so sensually enticing, he stops multiple times to pinch and grope, especially at her ass which rendered the measuring tape almost completely insufficient, and giving the occasional grunt to affirm his satisfaction. Of course, he isn’t satisfied because the girl would pass his inspection, he knows she will not, but because he will be able to perform the additional tests. Hall’s face, which was at first in stoic attention, slowly changed to dissatisfaction, even including frequent smiles of defiant disbelief.
MSgt Miller returns to the board to record his assessment.
Briana Hall:
Basic Criteria
Appearance: Exceeded most, if not all expectations.
Breasts: Exceeded some but not all expectations.
Ass: Exceeded most, if not all expectations.
Fitness: Met some but not all expectations.
Advanced criteria in case of failing standards:
Tightness: TBD
Vocals: TBD
Expression: TBD
Oral: TBD
The MSgt is turning from the board, already unbuttoning his own ABU blouse, when he hears Hall exit formation and open the plastic bag.
“What are you doing? You’re not done here yet.”
“Hell yes I am,” she protests. “I’m leaving.”
“You’ve got a record and reputation, Senior Arman Hall. If you leave now, I will make sure you are removed from duty. That’s a dishonorable discharge.”
But Hall has already found and put on her bra and panties. She grabs the bag, which contains the uniforms of each of the girls, and runs to the exit. “I’m sorry guys,” she says as she leaves the room.
“If any of you tell anyone, or corroborate her story, it will be an article 15 with jail time,” he warns. “On the other hand, if you do as you are told, you will find promotions very easy in this squadron. Especially for beautiful, bright young women like yourselves.”
The two girls awaiting their inspection are the most obedient and willing. Although you have been dreaming of MSgt’s touch since his arrival a few months ago, Vandy has been, for years, longing for the touch of a man other than her husband. When you first met, she was a licentious, open-minded bachelorette who was intent on studying the subject of pleasure at the expense of the hearts of her partners. She learned from men, then from women, then both at the same time, but she wasn’t done learning. And then one day, she was presented with a diamond ring and that life abruptly ended.
And she was the airman who never failed. She was too smart, too fit, and too beautiful for the USAF and every test and inspection was an opportunity for her to excel. Today, however, she knows that she cannot compete. With the measuring tape in hand, MSgt Miller continues his inspection, this time with Vandy. He shakes his head as he starts with her petite, delicate breasts and he sighs conspicuously as he pulls the tape around her flat behind, noticing, too, her untrimmed and married pussy.
He finishes his measurements, thinks for a moment, and goes to the board.
Jessica Vanderbilt
Basic Criteria
Appearance: Exceeded most, if not all expectations.
Breasts: Unsatisfactory.
Ass: Unsatisfactory.
Fitness: Exceeded most, if not all expectations.
Advanced criteria in case of failing standards:
Tightness: TBD
Vocals: TBD
Expression: TBD
Oral: TBD
As Vandy reads the assessment, the brown eyes above her blushing cheeks begin to swell, but her body remains proud and erect. She maintains her stoic pose, with her toned arms by her side and her pitiful breasts confidently offered forward.
“This is unacceptable Vanderbilt. I expected better of you. What have you to say for yourself?” he barks.
Vandy remembers this trick from basic training. If she says she is sorry, she will be criticized for failing to provide a solution. But what is the solution? She closes her eyes and thinks for a moment before beginning to speak, she always had a solution for everything, but there was nothing she could do to make her body instantly more appealing to the sergeant. Conflicted, she spits out the most basic military worthless reply “I’m sorry sir, it won’t happen again.” She opens her eyes just to see MSgt Miller’s skeptical expression. She must continue. “I uh,” thinking quickly again, “I will eat a little more and maybe take some estrogen supplements and if that doesn’t work… I’ll have surgery.”
MSgt Miller appears satisfied with this answer and moves on. “Well, I expect you to work on that. But that doesn’t change what you’ve done today. You’ve failed the inspection, but if you pass the auxiliary component, you might not get paperwork. Do you understand?”
Vandy rereads the board and considers, for the first time, the prospect of having sex with MSgt Miller. Throughout her marriage, she has occasionally desired other men strongly, but this desire has always been accompanied by guilt. However, this is a unique opportunity. Here she is the victim, and here she has no choice and the sense of guilt does not pervade. She feels herself become turned on and allows it. She nods. “Yes sir.”
MSgt Miller takes her by the hand and pulls her away. “Keep your eyes forward, Airman Murphy. You’re still at attention,” he calls over his shoulder as they make their way to the opposite end of the room. You hear chairs shuffle then a rustling that you assume corresponds to MSgt Miller’s undressing. You’ve imagined what his naked body looks like a thousand times before, and all your questions would be answered by a slight turn of the head, but you keep your eyes fixed to the board ahead of you. You want to be obedient.
“On your knees now. That’s it.”
Later Vandy will describe to you how, at this moment, she peered around MSgt Miller and looked to Meghan with her unquiet, pleading brown eyes and saw the girl, who must have enjoyed seeing the behind of MSgt Miller’s hard, muscled body, lying back in her chair and rubbing her young, shaven pussy, perhaps fulfilling a secret voyeuristic fantasy.
You begin to hear the familiar sounds. Gulping, heavy breathing, stroking. But they are quickly cut short by the sound of gagging.
“I’m sorry sir… You’re too…”
“Come on girl, Cody said you were good at that”
“Yes.. well.. He’s much small–”
Her sentence quickly turns to more gulping, breathing, and inevitably, gagging.
“That’s enough.”
You hear more shuffling of feet and then a grunt of exertion, before the conference table moans softly as it begins to support Vandy’s weight. For a moment there is a sound of rubbing wet skin.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes sir.”
There’s a gasp. Then there’s a high-pitched scream quickly ended by a hand covering the screaming mouth. You aren’t sure if Vandy silenced herself or if MSgt Miller did it for her, but you still hear her screaming behind the hand.
“I’m only halfway in. It can’t be that bad. Let me get it all the way in, then you’ll like it.”
The table creaks as MSgt Miller forces himself the rest of the way into the girl. Her screaming immediately intensifies before becoming syncopated and rhythmic as it breaks into a sob.
“Move that hand away. I want to see your face.”
The moment her mouth is left uncovered, the room echoes with the sounds of her anguished moans. This seems to get a rise out of MSgt Miller, who begins to fuck her steadily now.
You recall that this isn’t the first time you’ve heard Vandy have sex. In the dorms, back in training, you were her neighbor. One night, you were in bed with a boy with whom you were quickly becoming bored. He was on top of you, kissing you desperately, but you weren’t feeling it. You were thinking that, in a moment or two, you would push him away and tell him he ought to go to bed, his own bed, when he suddenly lifted his head to speak.
“Do you hear that? I think Cody is giving it to Vandy.”
You both stopped for a moment and listened to the clatter of a rocking bed frame, compressing springs, and a soft, pleasure-filled moan. You heard a low, encouraging voice and then noises ramped up slowly, gaining intensity. You could hear there was some pain in the voice of the girl, but there was also immense pleasure.
“He must be pretty good,” you think out loud, “and big.”
Your boy responds, failing to notice you were speaking to yourself, “I’ve seen him in the showers before. He’s huge.” He continues kissing your body, and you now feel sufficiently turned on. “Let’s see if we can make them notice us.”
That memory is past, whatever is happening behind you now, as you stand naked facing the board, is not the same. These are not pleasured, loving moans. This girl is not being made love to, she is being fucked and it hurts. But in these vocalizations, there is desire. It is too much for her, and that’s exactly what she has been longing for.
Five or more minutes pass and these vocalizations have evolved slowly, from mostly pain, to nearly all pleasure. All the while, MSgt’s rhythm has remained constant and powerful. Suddenly, Vandy’s breathing becomes labored on the off-beats and at last she begins to orgasm.
“Good girl… Yeah… Go on…”
As the breathing calms, MSgt slows his tempo. And he continues to slow, but not completely stop, as her breathing returns to normal.
“Well, it was close, but you pass.” He announces unenthusiastically.
The table groans, some chairs slide on the carpet, clothes are gathered and adorned, and you remember that your time is coming soon.
But then, the door swings open and the stomping of heavy boots enters the threshold. You listen as two men begin to speak.
“What’s going on Miller? I’m sorry I’m late.” You instantly recognize the voice. It belongs to MSgt Koefner, your first crush at this base. He was a good guy at heart, everyone in the flight called him Dad because he was a mentor to all, not to mention his classic nineties mustache that was most definitely out of regulations. If anybody disliked him enough, they would call him out on it, maybe even threaten to give him paperwork for it. Fortunately, everyone liked him enough and so the mustache has survived the entire time you’ve been stationed here.
“Ah, no big deal. I just started without you. I figured you were meeting with Chief.”
“You know how he is. He does not stop once he starts talking. Where are you at?”
“Just got finished with Senior Airman Vanderbilt and Senior Airman Lemaire. Hall walked, of course. Did you see her?”
“Yep, saw her as I stepped out of the elevator. That’s why I was so late actually. She just needed it to be explained. I mean, in other squadrons they get a much worse deal. But do they ever wonder why promotion rates are so high for females?”
“Right. Just evening the playing field. It’s give and take.”
“Well, we don’t have to worry about her. She passed by default. The girl was so tight, I couldn’t even get it in. But the head was enough, she’s a real pro.”
“She probably finally got a good look at that ugly stache and just seized up.”
The men’s laughter boomed through the conference room.
“Anyway… I was able to get the girls’ clothes from her too. So, who’s left? Who’s up there? …. My favorite Airman!”
You wobble a bit as the strength in your legs is sapped. You’ve been at attention for over half an hour and being acknowledged by MSgt Koefner casts about you a heat wave that begins at your toes and moves upward, leaving your face and ears feverish. Then you feel very cold, realizing that there is another set of eyes inspecting – evaluating your parts.
As you begin to sway, you feel four large, warm hands grasp your hips and back. You allow yourself to collapse into them and the men support you.
“Feeling alright Murphy?”
You nod, then plant your feet firmly and pull yourself back into position.
“It’s the home-stretch,” MSgt Miller says. “Sucks to be last, but you can take it, can’t you?”
“Yes,” you say. The men are standing in front of you now and you finally see MSgt Miller’s body. His chest is broad and strong and covered in light brown hairs which reflect the dim light in such a way that you can easily see the definition of his muscles. His plaid boxers have struggled and failed to contain his penis, which is still mostly erect and runs over a quarter of the way down his thigh. “I can take it sir.”
“I only have one measuring tape Derek,” he tells his partner.
“No problem. You can have the final say. I’ll just judge with my eyes and hands.”
With that, the men put themselves to work measuring and assessing: MSgt Miller handling your breasts with the measuring tape, and MSgt Koefner wrapping his large, virile arms around your waist. As they labor over you, you feel MSgt Miller’s long cock occasionally caressing your thigh and from behind, MSgt Koefner endeavors to learn if your pussy is freshly shaven with quick, furtive fingers.
Suddenly, MSgt Miller leans in to speak to you, allowing his hard body to touch yours and his cock to rest firmly on your thigh. He whispers, “I think you’re beautiful.” A faint gasp escapes your wanting lips. Then he gives you a sly wink as he pulls away and goes to the board.
Sarah Murphy
Basic Criteria
Appearance: Unsatisfactory
Breasts: Unsatisfactory.
Ass: Unsatisfactory.
Fitness: Unsatisfactory.
Advanced criteria in case of failing standards:
Tightness: TBD
Vocals: TBD
Expression: TBD
Oral: TBD
MSgt Koefner lips mouth curls into a smile under his black mustache. “Well, I thought she was perfect, but you’re running the show here.”
MSgt Miller regains his NCO disposition and speaks to you again with authority. “Senior Airman Murphy. You have failed the inspection. Come with me.”
Each man grabs one of your hands and together they lead you to the table and lift you onto it. MSgt Koefner begins to undress slowly. “Go ahead Justin. I still have meetings after this, and I don’t want to wrinkle my ABUs.”
MSgt Miller pulls boxers down, lets them fall down his legs and steps out of them, proudly displaying his ten-inch cock. He strokes the bald shaft, starting from the base, and moving one, then two, then three, then three-and-a-half hand lengths to the modest head, reminiscent of a modern rocket. You begin to consider the possible thrust and payload of such an impressive structure.
He lifts your pale legs and pushes you into position. You find yourself lying on your back, widthwise along the table, with your ass nearly hanging off one edge and your head resting an inch or two from the other. Then, he lets your knees fall to the side, providing access to your pulsing, pink pussy. You feel light-headed and wonder if all your blood is down there. You can’t think, you can only crave him.
He lays his throbbing, erect cock across your stomach to display his size. You sit upright, bracing yourself with your elbows on the hard wood table to admire it and you’re shocked to see that the tip of his beautiful member rests just above your belly button.
“Are you ready, Airman Murphy?” He asks.
It’s your moment. You decide to be honest. “Sir, I’ve been ready for months,” you confess.
Your boss’s boss laughs. “I thought so.”
With immense happiness you gaze into his gray eyes and you wear a smile so large that it fatigues the muscles in your cheeks. Then it goes in.
Your face subtly changes. Your cheeks continue straining as you grit your teeth and you instinctively slam your hands onto the table to brace yourself. The pain is so great that you don’t hear yourself scream.
Then he pushes it further in.
You try to pull your hips up and away from him to stop the pain, but you can’t slide your body on the surface of the table. You’re locked in position. You think for a second to cover your mouth, but remembering what he said to Vandy, you keep your hands fixed to your side.
He pushes it all the way in.
In intimate conversations between friends, you held in high regard men who could “hit the wall” as you put it. You found it pleasurable for two reason. Firstly, the completeness of being filled up in every dimension. Nearly all men can reach the sides of the vagina, but very few can find the end of it. And secondly, and more importantly, the pain and unique experience of the penis encountering an internal organ it has no business accessing. MSgt Miller is not just hitting the wall, he is pushing it about two inches deeper into your body, pressuring some of your other internal organs.
“Yes… so good… sir… more…” you manage to say between your blood-curdling cries. You want him to enjoy your body, even at the expense of your health. You need him to stop, but you want to let him keep going.
You continue encouraging him and he begins to reach the same rhythm you heard as he was fucking your companion. He takes advantage of the position and rubs your engorged clit with his thumb. The remainder of his large hand rests on your lower stomach, which adds even more pressure to the area. His other hand holds your thigh in place so that he can maximize his penetration into your delicate body. The pain isn’t so bad now and you open your eyes to watch him work. His chest and shoulders are gleaming, and his hair is slightly damp with sweat. He controls his breath like a marathon runner, timing his breaths with his deep thrusts, which each consistently begin with the tip of his cock just crossing the threshold of your body, and end in some previously uncharted region of your gut. The whole ordeal diminishes in pain, and is replaced, tenfold, in pleasure.
Pleasure to you is a trip across a river and a man is your tour guide. First you take his arm and he walks you down the beach slowly. When you reach the shore, you stop to bathe in the sun. He watches attentively, gently applies the tanning lotion, and learns what you like – what to do or say to make you smile. Then, once you’ve built the courage, you head down the bank and wade the shallow waters. A wise man will have you cross at a ford – he will find the easiest way for you to cross, but a powerful man might pull you with him, fighting the currents through the widest stretch of water to deliver you to the other side, where pleasure and elation call home. In either case, he may not succeed. You may wander up and down the banks and find no adequate ford, or he may not have the stamina to pull you safely across, allowing the current to sweep you back ashore. Miller does neither. He loads you into a muscle car and speeds through the Tunnel de Détroit-Windsor at 120 miles per hour. In a matter of minutes, you have crossed this river more times than you can count, disorienting you in such a way that you cannot decide if you are coming or going.
Suddenly, you feel a hand on the back of your head, which guides it back down to the near-edge of the table. Looking up, you see MSgt Koefner’s kind, dark-featured face. You see a large, virile body with untrimmed dark hair. And, just above your mouth, he holds his thick, heavy cock. It isn’t nearly as long as MSgt Miller’s, but it reminds you of something. You hardly wish to admit it, even to yourself, but the immense girth reminds you of a baby’s bottle. You stare innocently into his face, even as you continue to huff and groan from the assault on your lower half.
With one hand he holds your chin open and still, and with his other he feeds his monstrous cock into your mouth. Your jaw shifts and clicks as you gag slightly. Your mouth is silenced, and the labored breathing and moans escape through your nose. “Mmmm… Mm..” is all you can say, but you wish you could say “daddy… daddy.”
He strokes your check. “That’s my good baby girl.” He rocks softly and gently fucks your mouth, petting your face and neck. “You’re doing so well.”
The two men continue to fuck you in what now appears an old pagan ritual. And the Gods have seen the sacrifice and blessed your fortune. At this point, you have orgasmed countless times. As for the men, first it is the rocket which, after a prolonged countdown, has finally achieved lift-off. You feel his penis pump into you and you are quickly filled up with his semen. It begins to drip out of you, but the man continues to fuck you slowly. MSgt Koefner ejaculates soon after, but his comes at a slower and more manageable rate. You suck daddy’s bottle down to the last drop.
The men are tired and dress quietly. The girls do not move. Vandy and Meghan remain in their chairs, where they had sat and fingered themselves as they watched you be conquered. You lie on the table, aching, still out of breath, and still filled with semen.
“Upon further review, you all pass.” MSgt Miller announces officially. “You’re dismissed.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/mabkq6/some_erotic_friend_fiction_i_wrote_for_military