Debased on Base

She opened the door to the apartment, and outside stood a huge black man in uniform.

“Evening, ma’m. I have something to show you. May I come in?” The policeman seemed keyed up, on edge.

Isabelle’s heart thumped. What did he want? Was Herb dead? She stepped back silently.

The man brushed past her, into her living room. “Well, you see, ma’am, the thing is…” he paused. “Are your children here?”

“What is it?” She asked anxiously.

The man hesitated, and she saw his eyes glide over her thin, trim body, sheathed in only her underwear and wrap, before he produced a package from his breast pocket.

“What?” she asked again, irritably. Then she saw. The man’s hand held a photo of her, naked, kneeling in front of Chuck, her married lover of late.

She wheeled. “I want you to leave!” she gasped, her breath coming in short, whistling breaths.

The man sighed. “Okay, if you say so, ma’am. But if I do, I’ll have to show this to my supervisor. And he’ll probably have to remove you and your family from the base. Adultery is a crime in base housing. Not to mention oral sodomy.” He walked to the door again. “I was hoping we could come to an agreement, but…” He paused.

“Wait…” she whispered.  “What…what did you have in mind? Money?”

He smiled slightly, shook his head, walked back toward her, and stood looking at her silently, gauging her. After a moment, he put his hand on her breast. “I think we could work it out.” He closed the door, and motioned upstairs. “Kids up there?”

“Yes.” She shuddered.

“Find a sitter. Send ‘em to the neighbors. Or the park.” His hand traced her hip through the robe, already taking inventory. As his fingers slid under fabric and touched her skin, she jerked away.  “How dare you…!” she spat furiously.

“Well, lady, if that’s your answer…”  he grinned at her, and turned as if to leave. “Better start packin’…”

“No… wait!” she called desperately. He stopped, and looked at her. “Come back in half an hour,” she whispered miserably.

Half an hour later, she knelt, naked, on the floor, exactly as in the picture. The cop’s trousers lay beside him on the sofa, and he smiled in anticipation, as she tried to figure out what she could do with the huge looping rope of oiled black meat which he held out to her.

She touched the tip of it with her tongue, and it leapt higher.

“Go on.” He urged, his lips twisted in sadistic delight. Her lips stretched wide, she took it in gingerly, as far as she was able, then pulled back. Impatiently, he pressed the back of her head, and  thrust himself upward. Her throat closed, and she choked.

Slowly, he pulled it back, and she gaped in fearful fascination as it passed, serpentine and shining, through her straining lips and between her clenched fingers, trailing a rope of her saliva. God. Had she really taken that much of him in…?

Then he abruptly reversed direction and  thrust it swiftly at her again, pressing into her throat at last. She gagged reflexively, her eyes bugging and tearing as he pressed in yet further, opening her throat. She gulped as he began to rock, his pleasure evident. Her vision blurred, as he pressed in ever deeper, and the burning sensation made her cough around his swollen dick. She sobbed as he thrust, tears mixing with the drooling saliva spilling down her chin and neck.

Then, after an eternity, he pulled free and rose to his feet, pulling her up after him. “Okay. Bend over, Mrs. Solomon,” he directed. “We better get it over before your man gets home from work.”

“I can’t,” she whimpered. “It’s WAYYYY too big…!”

He smiled gently. “You’d be surprised what you can do when you put your mind to it.” Firmly, he guided her to the position he wanted. “Now, just try to relax,” he instructed, sliding his finger across her vagina,  thumbing her clitoris. “The more you relax, the more fun you’ll have. The less pain.”

His thick finger sank into her  deeply,  probing, then he inserted another. And another.

Unwilling, she felt herself lubricate nonetheless.

He took his massive penis in one hand, and spread her wide, sliding the engorged tip in between her pale thighs, and rode the cushion of her juices up into her slit. She gasped as his warm, thick cock parted her forcefully and pressed up, up, up, like a bulldozer brushing her puny tissues aside. Her cunt closed tightly around the invader, she groaned in her throat, arching backwards. He grabbed her  breasts, squeezing, and she chirped in pain. “Please stop….” she sobbed brokenly.

“Easy,  baby, I’m only half way in…” he thrust gaining another inch or two.

“Unnnhhh.!” She grunted, as the red-black bar of steel impaled her even more deeply, boring inexorably into her midsection. She swore she could feel him in her stomach, the dull ache of her organs being rudely repositioned as he made his way determinedly upward and inward.

Then, with a mighty lurch, she felt his swollen testicles touch her buttocks. “There!” he said triumphantly. “All the way in.” He rested,  panting, his scrotum swinging gently against her straining ass. “How’s it feel?” he asked curiously.

“Like a stabbing,” she said, crying softly. “Please, don’t make me do this. You’re hurting me…” she choked off.

He laughed, and began slowly to fuck her, his cock depressing and releasing her tissues at will. Gasping at sharp pains that caused in her abdomen, she stood, bent double, her hips touching the back of the couch, moaning whenever he pulled out completely before surging into her again. Like a brutal machine, he rode on, his penis a piston, her vagina a cylinder whose walls quaked with the strain, needing lubrication.

Then, roaring, he exploded inside her, his semen feeling like molten lava in her deepest recesses, and she screamed, bucking as he thrust brutally deeper in his excitement. Pain blossomed in front of her eyes, red flashes, furious flowers of white-hot pain. Bracing, she braved his ramrod thrusts as he finished spurting his bullets inside her violated body, until at last he pulled free to spew a last sticky shot across her tensed back. Shaking, every muscle overloaded with fatigue, she sagged forward across the couch, and he fell with her, breathing raggedly.

“Please,” she croaked, ” let me up?”

Groaning, he rolled aside. She got gingerly to her feet and tottered into the bathroom. A backward glance; he lay sagged across the couch, his eyes closed, chest heaving. His twitching penis lay on his thigh, diminished but still reaching halfway to his knee. She ducked through the door, and sank onto the toilet, where she remained until she heard him leave.

Then, eyes glazed, she began, slowly, to massage vaseline into her reddening cunt, gingerly touching the abused, abraded tissues, grimacing with the pain, until she suddenly, unexpectedly, found herself coming furiously, humping helplessly up and down on the toilet ring, crying with frustration and shame.

A concubine’s tale

“Service me.” He spoke softly over his shoulder, for her ears alone.

She hesitated, her eyes casting about them.

“Here, Master?” she faltered. “But it’s so… open… and…anyone could…”

“Yes,” he agreed calmly, turning, his hazel eyes on her face. “Service me, my concubine.” His voice was mild, but firm. “Do not delay further lest you displease me.”

Hurriedly, she complied, scuttling around him and sinking to her knees on the wide path that bisected the marketplace. At this hour, the venue was nearly empty, populated only by merchants who had come to get an early start on the day; their shifting, shuffling sounds of setting up and unloading could be heard from the neighboring stalls along the midway, shops with their faces yet shuttered.

Opened his buttons with difficulty, she sought about for something to save her, but feeling his gaze upon her from above, she ceased to tarry and freed his heavy shaft from the fine cloth and took it into her mouth. Its warmth, as always, charmed her and she licked it long and lovingly, like a tasty treat.

“Obediance is all,” he said softly. “To your hands and knees, my concubine, and use your body, as you did last evening to such great effect.”

She did as she was bid, and felt him thicken, lengthen, the heavy flesh filling with hot blood and warming her mouth, the velvety glans pushing out from its hood. A silver drop of his pearly essence melted deliciously on her tongue. Despite her discomfiture she warmed quickly to the task, taking him deep in her throat and rocking her body to create the rhythm he desired. His juices seeped from him, gamy, salty, tasting of authority.

Then she sensed a presence behind her, a flitting shadow crossing her peripheral vision. Her eyes sought the master’s face anxiously. He gazed silently down at her, calmly taking her ministrations, registering the presence but making no move to change his activities.

She shivered. The master wanted her to be displayed. Humiliation leads to humility, she recalled his dictum from her training days. She dared not look over her shoulder without permission.

Then she felt the cool touch of air on her nether regions as the hem of her skirt was lifted and laid across the small of her back, baring her arse to the elements; Master had this morn bade her leave it uncovered by undergarments, as was his occasional wont. A cool finger then traced the swell of her buttocks caressingly, and then was withdrawn and dipped between her thighs, parting her suddenly, drawing an involuntary gasp from her. Her master’s eyebrows rose, and he cautioned her with his eyes; she was to remain silent.

The fingers, for there were now two, crept inside and were still, waiting for her heat to seep into their tissues. Their frigidity caused her to clench tightly about them even as she begged silently for their withdrawal, for the master’s words to command it so. The fingers, taking her heat, began to move again, coaxing the wetness from her, coating themselves with her slipperiness before being abruptly removed. Inwardly she sighed, her tongue and body never losing the rhythm. But the master seemed displeased nonetheless; his aura said so.

Her eyes sought his anxiously, but she dared not inquire how she had disappointed him.

“Concubine, I sense that your attentions lie elsewhere,” he said gently but firmly. “Please tell me what could interest you more than servicing your master?”

“Oh!  Nothing, Master. Nothing could be more important!” she shook her head for emphasis and renewed her efforts with alacrity, sucking him deep into her throat and milking him enthusiastically. His phallus lengthened and he smiled. “Please do not again let your attention wander, my child. What goes on about you is the master’s concern, yes?” She nodded eagerly, his cock buried again in her willing throat. He began to move slowly, pushing her body in a winsome fashion, like a swing.

Suddenly the fingers returned, parting her swiftly and holding her open to allow the head of a penis to be pressed just inside her opening. She did not dare to stop moving, to resist the rocking motion the master desired, even though moving backward drove the foreign phallus ever deeper inside, filling her achingly, though not seeming to reach the end of the massive shaft now cleaving her like an oak.

Her thighs quivered with fear and tension; would the master allow this invasion to continue even unto hurting her, injuring her with its massive brunt? Even as she had the thought, she felt the foreign member’s head brush her cervix, then nudge into the mouth of her womb. Around the girth of the master’s cock, she heard the sounds of her fear and pain escape, and was ashamed. But the master did not chastise her, immersing himself instead in his driving motions, which now seemed to coordinate with the stranger’s; she could feel them both begin to accelerate, growing harder and boring ever deeper into their respective orifices, playing her like an instrument between them, sending her back and forth like a bouncing ball until they both reached the summit at the same approximate moment, the master holding still for an instant before gushing forth with the nectar he had taught her to love. His essence slipped down her open throat and into her belly where it settled warmly; the other boiling into her womb with scalding fury, the new penis stretching her walls further than even the master’s, perish the thought, and yet she still felt not the thump of the appendages upon her straining arse. How large must he be, this unseen swordsman the master had allowed to have her from behind? She dared not even a glance over her shoulder.

Upon his deposit, the stranger abruptly ceased his assault and she heard him exclaim wordlessly as he held himself rigid inside her for a long moment, before withdrawing shakily. Then to her horror, he moved into view. A moor, no less, his phallus extending fully to his knee, shrinking not at all with completion.

“Thank you, my child,” he beamed and seemed about to say more when the master interrupted.

“There is no need to thank my concubine,” he said, his voice mild, he betrayed no anger, yet his words bared his displeasure. “She does naught for thee, but rather for me. You have not made of her a conquest; I have, and you would do well to remember that, young serf. It will stand thee well.”

The moor’s eyes flashed warning but he bowed his head and hid them quickly. “Yes, Sire,” he said softly. “My most deep and humble apologies…I did not mean to give offense, but merely to…”

The master held up his hand and the moor’s words left him.

“I think you would do well to show your humility,” he said, motioning her aside, and taking his still-thick penis in his hand. The moor’s face flushed even darker under his dusky skin, and he cast a sidelong glance at her, but he meekly sank to his knees and applied his long pink tongue to the master’s sword, washing it clean of the stickiness that had come from both herself and the master’s own core, taking it deeply in his mouth though it choke him. The master, ever in control of his body, began to harden and thrust, then, as the moor’s throat convulsed with the unaccustomed task, he seemed to take pity and crested quickly, heaving the first explosion into the moor’s mouth and down his throat, before allowing the second and succeeding rounds to spill down his lips and across his shining chest. Hitching, the young man sagged to the ground and lay at his feet gasping with the attempt to hold his gorge.

“You would do well to retain this lesson, Cletus,” the master  said, his voice mild even when breathless. “Should there be a next time that you displease me,  I shall use you as a woman,” he said mildly, grazing the young man’s raised buttock with his finger meaningfully.

“And recall, as well, this: She has not succumbed to you, nor will she ever. Should I deem fit to ever let you touch her again, it will be by my authority she submits and only for my pleasure. And were I ever to instruct her to pleasure anyone, whether I were present or not, it would be my approval she sought, and not yours.”

He spoke with the confidence that no one dare gainsay him, and she thrilled at his power, at her closeness to it, and to her value as his chattel.

And with that, he turned on his heel and moved away. The Moor’s eyes caught hers and through his humiliation, he sought her hungrily. She gave him the briefest smile before turning guiltily and hurrying after the master.