The Soldier on the Bus

Leigh continued to have his way with me on Monday's after school.  He dominated and manhandled me, but wasn't too rough.  I liked being the bitch of this otterish, thirty-something soldier. And he seemed to like fucking me.

Ben joining us a couple of weeks ago had been a surprise.  He was around forty, handsome, and manly.  Well groomed, he looked, and dressed, like you imagine a drill sergeant would, and he showed little mercy.  Ben used me hard during our threesome.  At first it was painful and shocking, but as I got used to it, it felt good, it felt right.  Apparently, I really enjoyed being used by men, both the pleasure and discomfort.

I was waiting for my connecting bus near Leigh's place on Wednesday, when a car pulled up.  Ben leaned over to the open window.

"Get in," he said, simply.  When I hesitated, he pushed the door open, and said, "Come on."

He was alone, and I wasn't sure what to think, but got in the passenger seat, and closed the door.

"Where's Leigh?" I asked him, as he pulled away.

"Just me, today," he said, as if there was nothing unusual about him, a man who I'd met once, and who'd fucked me senseless, picking me up off the street.

"What?...," I stammered, still unclear and a little wary.

"I had fun the other day," he told me.  "Thought I'd take you home, and have you to myself."  He glanced over at my uncertain face.  "You do want me to rape that hot little arse of yours again, don't you?"

I was a little scared, both at the use of the word 'rape', and Leigh's absence from whatever would happen.  Leigh had constrained Ben a bit during the threesome, and I wasn't sure how far Ben by himself would go.  The incredibly manly combination of Ben's smell and his old fashioned after-shave wafted over me as he slapped his meaty hand on my thigh, and I got hard instantly.

"Yeah," I said without thinking, because the truth was that I did want him to 'rape' my arse, again.

"Outstanding," he grinned wolfishly, and massaged my hard on.  "Knew you were a total whore."

The drive to Ben's place took about ten minutes, during which his free hand didn't leave me, exploring my mouth, tits and crotch.  He placed my hand on his bulge, and I dutifully worked him to a girthy erection. From the car to his flat, I was propelled forward by a firm hand in the crack of my arse.

Inside, he ordered me to strip.  I started to undress, but I must have been too slow.  Ben slapped me hard across the face.  I looked at him in shock.  

"Hurry up, bitch," he said, menacingly.  "Leigh isn't here to protect you.  If you're going to be my whore, you need to jump to it."

I hurried up, and stood there shivering a little while he got undressed.  I was scared and excited in equal measure, and so turned on as he revealed his hairy body.  He came over, and I rain my fingers through his beautiful chest hair.  He swatted them away, and slapped me again.

"You do as you're told, and nothing else," he said.

"Okay," I replied, uncertainly.

Whack!  He slapped me harder this time.

"Yes, what?" he asked.  I stared at him dumbly.  "Yes, Sir," he stressed.

"Yes, sir," I said quietly.

He grabbed my head, and ate at my mouth, his heavy five-o'clock shadow rasping against my face.  I went slightly limp, letting him take control, and sucking hungrily on his tongue.  One of his hands found my tits, and I squawked as he twisted them in turn.

Next, he grabbed a handful of my hair, and pushed my head up against his chest.  The feel of his fur was fantastic.  I took his erect nipple in my mouth, and suckled.  His smell, his hairiness, the sheer manliness of him was intoxicating.  I wanted him to own me.

Ben spat on the fingers of his other hand, and shoved them into my arse.  I cried out, and he pulled my head up by the hair to look into my pained face.  He smiled malevolently, and pushed harder into my strained hole.  My expression, a mixture of pleading for mercy, and for him not to stop, obviously excited him, and his tongue went deep into my mouth.

Once again I was propelled forward by his hand, in rather than on my arse.  In the bedroom, he shoved me onto the bed, and climbed up onto me.  His fur rubbing against my smooth body was one of the most erotic things I've ever experienced, and I reveled in the weight of this virile man pressing down on me.

Ben kissed me urgently, uncaringly.  My face was already feeling raw with pash-rash*.  How would I explain it?  He worked his knees under my legs, and ground against my bare arse.  He held my wrists together over my head with one paw, and the other roamed my body.  My senses were overwhelmed by his assault, the bruising physicality of it.

Suddenly, he was off me, and he flipped me over to my stomach.  He rummaged in a draw, and returned with a couple of pairs of handcuffs and rope.  My eyes must have betrayed my alarm.

"I like my whores, helpless," he simply said, and proceeded to handcuff each of my wrists to a corner of the bed frame at the foot.  While he tied my ankles to the bedhead, I noticed his wardrobes all had mirrored doors.  In this position, I could watch everything he did.  And more importantly, Ben could watch my reaction to everything he did.  He hoisted my hips up off the bed so he could stuff a couple of pillows under my midsection.  I was definitely helpless, and gulped nervously at the thought of what he was going to do to me.

Ben knelt with one knee on the bed, and twisted my head so he could fuck my face.  I gagged and spluttered against his cock, deep in my mouth.

"Look at me, whore-boy," he ordered.  I looked over at the mirrors, and our eyes met.  My face was a picture of pain and distress; his leered back at me, the corners of his mouth upturned.  He brutally assaulted my mouth, forcing me to keep his gaze the whole time.  It was painful and degrading, and I was really getting off on it all.

Having had enough of my mouth, Ben got up on the bed beside me.  He reached a hand around, and insert his fingers into my mouth.  I was drooling saliva from the face fucking, and I sucked on them, and covered them in my spit.  I was right in guessing this was what he wanted.  Still looking intently into my eyes, he took the slicked hand, and shoved it into my hole.  I grimaced and tried to stifle a cry.  He dug into my arse savagely, and enjoyed my discomfort.  When I finally howled, he stuffed his other hand in my mouth, and treated it the same as he was treating my arse.  He held me fast between his hands, my anguished cries muffled by his hand.  He virtually lifted me off the bed, skewered between his thick, hairy arms.  I moaned and gasped.

When he finally withdrew his hands, I slumped down on the bed, and whimpered.  Before I knew what was going on, a large, red ball appeared in my face, with straps attached.  It was a little smaller than a billiard ball I suppose.  I'd never seen anything like it before, and had no idea what it was for.  Ben yanked my head back by the hair, and took advantage of my mouth falling open to shove the red ball into my mouth.  He deftly buckled the strap behind my head tightly, so the ball was lodged hard in my mouth, stretching the corners of my mouth.  I was having my first experience of a ball-gag.

"I like my whores quiet, too," he told me, looking at my dismayed face in the mirrors.

I tried to protest, but the ball-gag muffled and distorted my words.

"What's that, whore-boy?" Ben asked. "You want me to rape you, now?"  That wasn't what I'd said, but I realised that was what was going to happen.  I grumbled incomprehensibly some more, and he snorted a derisive laugh.  "Come on, you fucking whore.  We both know, you're loving this."  And he was right.  

He got behind me, eyes still on mine in the mirror, and the rough fingering - or more accurately handing - of my arse resumed.  I moaned against the gag, and strained at the bindings, spurring him on.  My face fell forward on the bed, but he jerked it back with a handful of my hair.

"You keep looking at me, whore-boy."

I obeyed, and he released my hair.  Then he squatted between my legs, parted my arse cheeks, and buried his face in my crack. He ate at my hole, and pushed in with his tongue, and the gag prevented me from articulating the extraordinary sensations I was experiencing.  his five-o'clock shadow, grazed at the inside of my cheeks.  I never conceived of pash-rash in my arse before.  I wouldn't need to explain that to anyone but my doctor.

I'd relaxed my head against the bed, but it was pulled up roughly again by the hair, as cool air flowed over my hole.  Ben's eyes were again on mine.

"What did I say, whore-boy?"

I whimpered and looked into his face obediently.  His hand still clenching my hair, he drove his cock straight into my arse to the hilt.  I screamed into the ball-gag.  Fortunately it was more from shock than pain.  Practice with Leigh, and Ben's savage fingering, meant I was reasonably loose.  None-the-less, I had little time to get used to Ben's girth, as he immediately pounded away at me.

Every time my head sagged, he would pulled it up roughly.  I was to look into his eyes for every stroke.  He was loving the look of thrill and torment washing across my face.

I thought he'd had my arse as hard as he could.  That was before he rose up on his hands and feet, and started slamming into me, hammering me against the bed.  I grunted into the gag, but was loving every minute of it.  My prostate was firing lightening bolts through my body, and I was delirious.

I was gasping with pleasure constantly, and Ben told me continually what a whore I was.  How I was loving his cock.  That I was only good for being used.  I was in dazed ecstasy at the combined verbal and physical assault.

Even Ben couldn't keep up this pace for long, and he returned to kneeling for the finale.  Hands firmly grasping my upraised hips, he pounded into me with three massive strokes, punctuated by, "Filthy... Fucking... Whore!"  Then held my arse against his crotch, and yelled, as he unleashed a massive load into me.

Thoroughly spent, he collapsed onto my back.  I panted through my nose, but relaxed, loving the feeling of his body on mine, again.  It was so hot that he'd taken so much pleasure in using my body, and his hairy warmth against my back was my reward.

Ben must have dozed while on top of me, because he jerked awake a short time later, and realised he was still on top of me.  He removed the ball-gag, and kissed me languidly and at length.  I sucked hungrily at his tongue.

Gazing into my eyes more tenderly than he had up to now, he said, "You are one sweet little whore."

I smiled in appreciation, and he grinned back.

"I suppose, I better get you home," he said.

He untied and uncuffed me, and I got up unsteadily.  He led me to the bathroom, supporting me a little.  We took a shower together, him gently soaping my body and rinsing me down, frequently holding me against his manly, hairy body.

As Ben scrubbed my arse, lust must have taken over again, and he shoved me against the tiles.  A hand pressed me against wall, and his cock in my arse pinned my body.  His pounding didn't last long this time before he tensed inside me, and gasped his orgasm.

Again satiated, he turned me around, held my wrists to the wall above my head with one hand, and stroked me with the other.  While he pleasured me, he alternated between kissing me deeply, and gazing into my eyes.  I came all over him.

He washed me down again, and drove me home.  As I got out of the car, he said, " I'll be back whore-boy."

* For a while pash-on (a word play on passion) was the Australian equivalent of snogging.  It fell out of favour some time ago, but the term pash-rash lives on.  It means a face (or other parts) rubbed raw by a guy's stubble.  I love a bit of pash-rash.