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Urotsukidoji - Overfiend ‘44: The Hell Portal.	By : Nickamano Category: +S to Z > Urotsuki-doji Views: 1508 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Neither Urotsukidoji or any related materials are owned by me. This was created for entertainment purposes only, and I am not profiting financially from the creation of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter 3
Two hours later, the first tendrils of the pre-risen sun’s light began to slowly oust the darkness and replace it with a dull monochrome grey clarity. The increasing light drew-in form and detail in the minutes prior to casting forth colour with the coming of the dawn. And within those drawn out minutes, the squad of American Paratroopers slowly emerged from the treeline at the bottom of the hill and began their surreptitious advance toward the farmhouse.

Segen Von Himmel saw them emerge from the tree line. In fact, she had caught their scent in the night air as their plane had swept overhead. And had followed their approach with as little interest as watching bats and owls feeding on dancing insects and spiriting away rodents in the inky night. Her eyes afforded her perfect vision no matter the circumstances, one of many abilities she had discovered that gave her advantages over the native populace.
Her brother had chosen their Occidental names. Selecting the German translation of their original Japanese names, as it was easy to pronounce and to remember and it meant the same thing. Straight forward enough, though whether Segen was an established German name or not she had no idea, or really cared when it came down to it.
She remained utterly concealed, up in her treetop vantage point, looking down through and between the leafy canopy as the American squad approached. She could also hear Clonek taking one of his too predictable sojourns around the periphery of the farmhouse. She watched, with mild interest, wondering which of them, the Americans or the Pole, would notice the other first.
Thiago Clonek liked the early mornings. It always reminded him of the farm he grew up on, all the dawn jobs he had to help his father with before breakfast. They would work through the increasing light of the dawn, releasing animals into the fields and making their feed available, checking they had water, among other duties. And then by the time they would get back to the house and wash off the fresh dirt, they would step into the kitchen to find breakfast sitting there waiting for them, Thiago’s mother and his little sister too. Then the Germans had come and destroyed everything.
They had burst in one evening at meal time and shot Clonek senior on the spot. The officer had then said something made up about them being accused of aiding traitors. And then the six-strong squad of soldiers had dragged the mother face down over the kitchen table and started to tear off her clothes. Thiago had erupted into action, trying to protect his mother - and taken a rifle stock to the skull. He had hit the floor hard, his head throbbing and his eyes unfocussed. He had been vaguely aware of his little sister being seized and dragged toward the staircase in the moments before his brain had shut down.
He had woken up in the same place in the kitchen floor, though with a bayonet wound to the gut and a terrible dizzying headache. His mother was still on the kitchen table, now on her back and in a pool of blood. She was obviously dead, her throat slashed. Though somehow worse was the gleaming spunk that was thick and drying in between her thighs, around her mouth and between her breasts.
He had to stay in the kitchen to clean, sew and bandage his wound, all the while trying to keep his mother’s body out of his eyeline. However, he also had to force himself to discover the fate of his sister. He had regretted it immediately afterwards. She had been repeatedly raped as well and then apparently strangled to death, her body mutilated. He chose to believe the mutilations had taken place post-mortem as the other possibility didn’t bear thinking about.
He had moved and then buried the bodies over the coming week, having for the first few days been laid out in his own bed struggling through a fever. However, the fever had broken and he had been relieved to find the wound had not become infected. Still, he had been forced to remain at the farm until his wound had healed and then he had abandoned the place and moved on, his silent vow of vengeance cemented in his mind.
Clonek’s mind suddenly darted back to the present as he registered the sound of movement through the undergrowth. It seemed to be coming from the little wooded area at the base of the hill just beyond the farms’ boundary wall.
A little rustle, or the snapping of a twig Clonek would have put down to a fox or a badger mooching about, but this was definitely larger and more pronounced. He dropped to one knee behind the waist-high stone wall, separating the outer world from the inner sanctuary of the farmyard.
“It’s the American Paratroopers.”
The whisper came right into his ear and Clonek couldn’t hold back his mini-yelp of surprise. It was lucky his finger was off the trigger or he would almost certainly have discharged his rifle. His head whipped around to find himself nose to nose with the lovely young face of Segen von Himmel.
“Jesus girl! Don’t scare me like that! Where’d you come from anyway?”
“Up a tree.” The girl, still smiling broadly, gave a little playful shrug. “You’d better make yourself known, they coming up fast now and, believe it or not, they aren’t aware of you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yep!”
He slowly rose from behind the wall, holding his rifle by its fore-stock, his free hand in plain sight. Segen joined him, playfully positioning herself so that she lay along the top if the eight-inch-deep drystone wall with her ankles crossed and her curvy upper body propped up on an elbow.

The patrol emerged from the undergrowth to see a Polish guy with a rifle and a young girl laid out across the top of a garden wall. Impressive balance, Brooks found himself thinking.
Lieutenant Kahn, accompanied by Corporal Fry and with Privates Stover and Hogg flanking them, came to a halt. Kahn lowered his M1 Carbine before carefully approaching the Pole, flicking an eye toward the girl every couple of seconds. The Corporal also lowered his Garand rifle, though the two flanking privates kept their muzzles levelled. A rear line of the remaining eight men came up and spread out, four more coming forward to widen the front line while the reminder maintained a loose rear line.
At first, most eyes were more or less locked on the Pole, half suspicious and half watchful. Though, a couple of the rear line and the outliers kept a watch on their surroundings as well, the visible sides of the farmhouse, the flat ground surrounding it and the woods and hill behind them.
However, all too soon the girl became the forefront of everyone’s attention. She was like a flame to their moths, catching and drawing them in by her luminescence.
Even in the gloom the beautiful nature of her slender curvy body and her pale creamy skin was obvious. She wore black or brown military style boots that disappeared underneath the legs of a pair of skin tight tan leather trousers that showed off the slender shapely curves of her thighs and calves, as well as a tiny, girlish waist. A slightly darker shade of leather, the cropped length jacket she was wearing had a thick, upturned sheep-skin collar reminiscent of the fighter pilots from the Great War. The jacket was only fastened at the waist band by a buckle and the opened front revealed a plain white-silk blouse that appeared to be two sizes too small and also the top two buttons were unfastened. It cinched tight to her slender torso, revealing the full and perky perfect teardrops of her brassiere-devoid breasts beneath it. The upper half of her face was all but concealed, from just above the delicate slightly upturned nose and completely concealing her eyes, by a rain-resistant leather Newsboy style cap. Small, cute elfin ears and a few loose wisps of black hair added to the alluring girlish femininity of her.
As Kahn came to within five feet of the girl, she lifted her head slightly and caught his eyes with her own, the full lips and cocksure smile made his heart beat faster. He could catch a hint of her natural scent, a clean ocean freshness that was married to a hint of fruity honey-sweetness. It reminded him of watermelon, sweet and freshening at the same time.
However, the initial lust had ice water thrown on it by the time he recognised the shape of her eyes. Big and beautiful arched upper-lids countering the flatter under-lids. They were large and seductive and expressive, with long dark lashes and eye colour that of pale springtime-sky blue. Even so, they were without doubt Oriental’s eyes. Also, having spent some time in China and Hong-Kong before the war, the Lieutenant knew the difference between most of the Oriental races.
“Wait a second, she’s a goddamned Jap!” He gasped abruptly.
Even as the words were snapping from his thin, stubble-framed lips, the Lieutenant’s folding stock carbine whipped upward, its muzzle levelling on the girl. While, responding to his gasp, four of his men advanced as one to back Kahn up.
“Corporal!” Kahn snapped.
“Sir!”
“Take four men and march this… Girl into that stable over there. I want her tied up and interrogated. And I don’t care how you do it.”
“Yessir,” Fry said, grinning with anticipation. “Right boys, you heard the Lieutenant! Stover, Freed, Lucas, Hogg, take her. On the double! Snap to it!”
“Hey! Wait a minute? What is this? What are you doing?” The Pole protested.
Clonek watched with utter disbelief, eyes wide and mouth agape as young Segen, without complaint, was hauled off the top of the wall and then trapped in a diamond formation in the midst of the four Privates. The group was led by the Corporal through an opening in the garden wall and toward the midsized stone and wood building to the rear of the farmhouse that Clonek knew to be a stable.
The girl didn’t say a word, nor did she try to fight herself free. She just looked from Clonek to the American Officer with raised eyebrows and then shrugged as she was roughly about-turned and then marched away.
The Lieutenant turned on Clonek with a sneer, staring down at the older, shorter European. Looking down at him as though he required scraping off the bottom of his regulation boot.
“Who the fuck is in charge here?!” The Lieutenant growled at the Pole, his carbine now levelled on him.
Clonek, couldn’t find the words. These people were supposed to be their allies. Segen and her brother were not spies, both of them had proved themselves numerous times already. Unfortunately, his shocked silence didn’t appear to make the Americans any less suspicious.
“Sergeant, disarm this man and keep a close eye on him.”
Sergeant Carson hurried forward and snatched the rifle from the Polish guard’s grip.
“This whole thing stinks to high-goddamn-heaven!” Kahn sneered.
He gazed around as though the answers should be growing up from the packed earth of the farmyard.
“Who’s in charge here? Where are the two Brits?” Kahn growled, turning back to the Pole and staring daggers at him.
Clonek just stared back for a moment, looking confused and dumb struck. Then, finally, he pointed toward the farmhouse. And found himself immediately shoved in the back by the American Sergeant, forced to lead the remaining seven Paratroopers, who they had been told had been sent to support their efforts, toward their base of operations.
As he was marched toward the front door, Clonek glanced across the farmyard, now illuminated by the diluted colours of the early dawn, to see poor Segen being shoved forcefully toward the small stone and wood stable.
Her little hands were on top of her head, fingers interlaced. And she had three rifles trained on her back and a fourth repeatedly shoving her hard between the shoulder blades, jolting her forward and keeping her off balance. He just about heard her snap a child-like whining protest at her treatment and received colourful curses and cruel jibes tossed back at her, as well as a deliberate and meaningful slap on her taut young bottom. More shoves with both rifle barrels and angry soldier’s hands pushed her out of sight beyond the threshold of the stable door, and the five men followed her inside, slamming the door shut behind them.

One of the British SOE operatives was standing there in the living room along with Clonek’s superior, Piszczek. Both were standing by the fire, having burst from their comfortable armchairs either from the noise outside or the banging open of the front door.
Lieutenant Kahn shoved his way to the front, storming into the room while his Sergeant forced the disarmed and still confused Clonek across the room and pinned him against the wall beneath the staircase. The muzzle of his Garand Rifle was pressed deliberately against the Pole’s chest.
“What the hell’s going on here!?” Shaw snapped.
“What is the meaning of this?” Piszczek, stomping forward yelled while gesticulating, mostly at the unwarranted subjugation of his man.
"You’re the Americans? Is this all of you?" Shaw said.
Sensing unknown trouble that suddenly suffused the room, he quickly changed tack, making his voice calm and his manner easy. The others had crowded into the room behind their officer and the Sergeant holding Clonek, all five of them looking murderous and appearing to be glittering with raised weaponry.
“Why the goddamned hell do you have a Jap girl here…?” Lieutenant Kahn growled.
He was swinging his gaze and his carbine, not quite aimed or lowered, between the two Europeans standing before him.
“…She can’t be anything but an enemy spy, and yet you have her working with you!? What the fuck is wrong with you people?!"
“Oh Damn…” Shaw moaned, aghast, his eyes darting around the faces of the newcomers. “Where is she, Lieutenant?!”
Piszczek, his eyes going wide, lifted his head toward the ceiling, to shout upstairs.
“Teufel?! Get down here, your sister is in trouble!”
One of the Privates actually levelled his rifle, aiming down the sights at the Polish guy, who stood there looking back at him in equal parts shock and rage, a smoking cigarette in one hand and an empty shot glass in the other.
A second passed and then there was the thunderous rumble of boots on floorboards from above their heads. Moments later a number of individuals stormed down the stairs; pulling up braces, running fingers through dishevelled hair, tightening a knotted belt. One of them carried a Luger pistol and another a British supplied Sten submachine gun.
Shaw recognised Michal Klich and Dominik Furman, the latter carrying the Luger. And halfway down the stairs in an old towelling dressing gown was Kasia Tomaszeski, sporting the mark two Sten and pointing it vertically down onto the helmeted crown of the American Sergeant. At the top of the stairs was Bodie, staying back in the shadows just shy of the upper landing, though Shaw could see he was also armed.
“What's going on?” Furman shouted, swinging his pistol back and forth at the Americans.
“Lieutenant… Permission to shoot these pricks?” A decidedly Italian looking American Private growled suddenly.
The request brought a snap-aim from Furman, his Luger locking onto the man’s grim face and remaining there stock still. It also brought a low muttered denial from the Lieutenant.
Kahn calmly went over to the fire and used a nearby spill from a stack on the hearth to light a couple of oil lamps that were on the mantlepiece, casting much better-quality light around the place.
“Lieutenant Kahn, I’m Shaw of the British Royal Engineers. We’ve been expecting your arrival. I don’t know what all this kerfuffle is about but if you’ll have your men lower their rifles. I’m sure, then, we can put your mind at ease…”
Kahn faced up to the stuffy, stiff-upper-lipped limey, with his pompous pipe and his little faggot moustache and stared him down.
“I asked you a goddamned question?!” He growled. “What they hell are you doing with a fucking Jap?!”
Kahn was quietly worried that this was going to get out of hand, all it would take would be a single errant shot and everyone would start firing. He could lose good people.
He wasn’t blind to his orders either, that they had been sent to assist the Poles and Brits on some kind of espionage, fact-finding mission behind enemy lines. However, a Jap spy was a Jap spy. This would have to get sorted out. Whoever invited the spy into their little gang would have to be dealt with too. And it was obvious that he would have to take charge of the whole operation. Well, that wouldn’t be a problem. He had the manpower and the firepower to see it through.
And then a boy appeared.
He descended a third of the way down the stairs. A pretty blonde girl, wrapped in only a bedsheet followed him, though another guy who had remained at the top of the stairs, mostly out of sight, grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her back to his side. She didn’t mouth any protest beyond a slight frown.
Kahn turned his attention back to the boy. He was barefoot and shirtless, just cotton trousers and braces over a small but powerfully muscular torso, he couldn’t have been any older than sixteen. He had wild black hair that essentially stuck out in all directions and reminded Kahn of the mad scientist from that German motion picture Metropolis. His father had taken him all the way to the big city in order to see it. Though that was over twenty years ago now.
"Teufel, these idiots have taken your sister to the stables. They want to interrogate her. They're calling her a spy." Clonek managed to call out, even with the gun muzzle pressed against him.
The kid laughed. His voice though youthful, had a quality, somewhere between experience and arrogance. There was a gravelly feel to it, an obdurate gruffness.
“I’m not concerned. Not about my sister, anyway…”
His braces hung off his shoulders, loosely suspended from the waist band of high black trousers. The legs of the cotton pants were cropped so they ended above the ankle. Despite his apparent nonchalance, the kid took two more steps down and the lamplight enveloped him all of a sudden. Again, Kahn saw the eyes, narrow and dark and entirely Oriental. And in the lamplight, the golden lustre quality to the kid’s skin colour was brought out even further.
“Fuck, another one?! Right, that’s it!” He whipped his head around, caught Carson’s eye. “Sergeant, arrest that little Nip bastard!”
The sergeant took his blazing eye off Clonek long enough to address the rest of the men.
“You heard the order. Grab that slope. Put him with the other one.”
The Lieutenant raised his voice to address everyone, though he was eyeing Shaw.
“I'm taking over this operation.” He snarled. “And my first order will be the summary executions of both of the Nips, the charge being ‘espionage during a time of war’.”

This young Japanese spy really was a very pretty girl. No, she was more than pretty, she was almost certainly the loveliest, and most purely sexual creature that Private Hogg had ever set eyes on. And by the exchanged looks and facial expressions - and the fact that none of them seemed able to take their eyes off the girl, or her compact little curvy figure for more than a second or two - everyone else felt the same way.
Corporal Fry led them into the stable and ordered a couple of oil lanterns lit. The girl was shoved up toward the rear wall which was forged from old bricks up to about shoulder height and then planks of dark wood up to the heftier planks of the old rafters high above their heads.
The stable was divided into two, the left was filled with the individual stalls for the horses, of which two were currently occupied. While to the right was an open space with rectangular bales of hay stacked up almost to the rafters like pale golden bricks. The lit lanterns cast a golden glow around the interior of the chamber, which was ripe with the scents of dung, straw and the rank odours of horse sweat, breath and flatulence. As the soldiers filed in with the girl, the horses started to stamp their feet and bray and snort all of sudden. Somehow riled up.
Fry and Stover marched the girl until she was backed up against the rear wall, with nowhere else to retreat to. The two painfully horny men shuffled up close to her. Grinning, Fry snatched the hat from her head. Under it she had short, slightly wild hair that was black but strangely gleamed a faint blue under the lantern light. Her face was stunning. She could have graced the covers of: Vogue, Mademoiselle or Seventeen. She had side-swept boyish hair but there was never any risk of her being mistaken for a boy, her face was too feminine, eyes too large, lashes too long, lips full and expressive. And that was just from her slender neck upward.
While Hogg hung his lantern on a nail that had been banged into a thick support beam, he heard the girl gasp as Fry abruptly yanked her leather jacket open at the front. She muttered something in a soft girlish voice. No one understood the words, they might have been Japanese or French or German or Polish. All they knew is that they weren’t in English. It seemed to spur on the Corporal and Stover, and the latter ran his fingertips down her porcelain cheek and then slapped her across the face. Lucas and Freed shuffled closer too, suddenly desperate to be in on the action.
“How we gonna do this Corp?” Freed asked.
“With as much pleasure as possible, dumbass!” The Corporal drawled.
Hogg finally came forward too, completing the tight, entombing semicircle. He watched with a grin as Fry grabbed the two-thirds buttoned front of the girl’s blouse and yanked it wide open. Revealing her mouth-watering, youthfully pert, erect nippled, handful breasts to the five of them. The perfect golden orbs shuddered only slightly at the violence of their unveiling, a testament to their youthful firmness.
“We’re supposed to be on the same side, boys.” She said abruptly, with a cocksure smile.
She spoke with the sweetest voice imaginable. Soft, slightly throaty, very breathy, highly sexual. And with a distinct and shocking perfect New Yorker accent.
Somehow, as though the performance had placed her in amongst them, as equals, as though she had grown up in Queens or the Bronx - when according to their Lieutenant she was an enemy spy, rankled the men further. It was as though she was teasing them deliberately, looking down at them, ridiculing them somehow.
Cursing at her, through enraged gritted teeth, five pairs of hard, angry, horny hands grabbed at her as one. The clawed digits pulling, tearing, scratching, squeezing at her flesh and her clothing in equal measure.

Under orders, that he had gleefully concurred with, Sergeant Carson rushed the stairs and made a grab for the boy. Carson was twice his height and probably twice his weight and muscle mass and yet Teufel sidestepped with a reaction speed the others could barely register.
Kahn watched incredulous as the Japanese boy slammed a fist into his Sergeant’s gut. Carson reacted as though he’d been hit by a wrecking ball and he dropped like a sack of potatoes, tumbling down the stairs and almost taking out one of the Poles as he fell.
Curses filled the room and five rifles swung around to zero in on the kid. Kahn, still incredulous, watched as his men flicked off thumb safeties, fingers tightening on triggers. Were they really that dumb?
And then the kid vaulted over the banister and, before any of them realised, was in amongst the paratroopers. And then before anyone knew it, he had disappeared past them and out through the front door.
“Hold your fire idiots! We don’t know who’s in earshot…! Foster, Salvatore, Clay, get after the little shit and drag him over to the stable. Wesson and Brooks, help Carson to his feet.” The Lieutenant snapped, glaring at his men.
It was starting to feel like this was getting out of hand. They were just a couple of Jap children. How was this out of his control already? His attention flicked over to the guerrillas and the British officer. The latter still standing there agape, like a statue. His pipe was hanging from the edge of his slack mouth threatening to hit the floor any second.
“You, fucking Limey!” Kahn growled. “You’ve got a lot of goddamn explaining to do!”

Stover got the little Nip bitch’s mouth. And it was glorious, the best blowjob he had ever experienced. By a long way. By fucking miles. He had grabbed her head and thrust in hard, driving brutally forward, refusing to relinquish the aggressive pressure until he felt her tight, constricting throat around the solid meat of his sensitive crown. He became instantly engulfed by the sensory overload of his cock popping deliciously into that abruptly narrowing orifice. He had it veritably crammed down her gullet, all but choking her. His cock felt hard as marble. Though she didn’t choke, didn’t gag, didn’t make any kind of protest at all. With her sweet lips stretched around the hairy root of his erect cock and her saliva streaming along his shaft, he started to drive three or four inches hurriedly in and out, working her oesophagus. Hard.
However, her full lips, firm like a rubber band around his hefty shaft, felt simultaneously soft and tight, gripping him like a fist. The inside of her mouth was shockingly hot, almost tropical. And there was not a sign of teeth, she might as well have not had any in her mouth.
Once he had started up a rhythm, Stover had been more than a little shocked to feel her actively working on him. Her all at once soft, rough and slick tongue felt amazing, whipping back and forth across the root and up the sides of his cock. Her saliva was hot, it was like bathing in honey. And the suction she provided it was supernatural, beyond anything he had ever thought possible. He wouldn’t have been surprised to have felt his balls sucked straight through his urethra with the sheer power of her suction. He could already feel those same balls beginning to churn and boil. At this rate he wouldn’t even last a minute.
Freed got the little enemy piece’s pussy. He’d lay on his back on one of the hay bales while the others had lifted the girl up and dumped her on top of him, and he’d shoved it up her immediately. And it had been glorious, pure bliss. She’d already been lubricated, the little tart, and he’d gone utterly mindless at the sensation of her pussy enveloping his shaft. He had intended to stuff his tongue down her throat, suck and bite her sweet pink nipples, squeeze those amazing tits that were probably just about the perfect size for his big hands.
However, only the sweet, oven-hot succulence of that pussy caressed his senses. Everything other than that tight, hot tunnel caressing his granite-hard member ceased to exist. There was simply nothing else. And it was without doubt the tightest, hottest little snatch he had ever managed to fuck.
Saying that, he couldn’t say he had a lot of experience for comparison. Only a hooker he had banged the night he had decided to sign up, and the high school sweetheart he had strong-armed into spreading her legs for him the night before he’d been shipped off overseas. The hooker he’d banged in a flea-bitten motel she had taken him to, and the whole thing had only lasted five minutes. It had felt sordid and rushed and he had felt dirty and guilt ridden, during and afterwards. Dolly Hayes had been a much sweeter fuck. At first, she had begged him not to but he had felt powerful and the excitement had gone someway to alleviate his sudden sub-surface fear of going to war. Still, he had only lasted a few dozen thrusts before he’d dumped his load.
Dolly, a sweet little piece and seventeen-year-old daughter of one of his dad’s friends from the car factory. He’d pinned her down on the backseat of his dad’s car, parked up behind a big roadside billboard. She’d put up a bit of a fight to begin with and he’d enjoyed that, until she’d slapped him harder than he’d expected and he’d lost his temper for a second and slapped her back. It had immediately taken all the fight out of her along with the semblance of fun he had been holding onto. She had laid back all docile and not-quite-sobbing and gone-all-silent. So, he had gone for it - pulled her panties down, hiked her skirt up and then got on top and quickly shoved his way in, pushing fiercely through her virginity. He’d humped away in her like a man demented while he had sucked on her tits, until he had ended up really pile-driving her, seconds from getting off.
She had come alive again at that moment, begged him not to do it inside her, had promised not to tell anyone what he’d done if he didn’t do it inside her. And he had decided he would agree to that. Afterall, it was only fair. However, in her desperation, she had promised she would suck it and swallow his load. And that promise had brought him to a very sudden climax and before he had even had the chance to pull out, his cock had all but erupted into her tight little pussy, he had yelled out his joy, his hands crushing her cute little tits and she had squealed in horror and wept, but by then it had been too late.
However, compared to this Jap girl, Dolly had been slack and ice cold. This pussy gripped him tight like a fist and he could barely thrust in and out of her tunnel. And her muscles, beneath the soft and tender flesh of her pussy walls were like… like… He couldn’t even find the words. She had him locked up tight, allowing him to thrust forward and back but every time he, experimentally, tried to withdraw right to the tip, her muscles would grip him and somehow suck him back in again, all the way in until he was grinding his hips against her from beneath. Groaning at the top of his lungs in insurmountable pleasure.
Corporal Fry loved to sodomise girls. He had acquired a taste for it early, first with Mrs Mills who he had gone to for extra tuition. Other lads knew of her penchant for teenage boys and had told him exactly what to say and do and before he knew it, he was shoving his cock up her ass and loving it wholeheartedly. After that he had got to Karen Roper, a girl a year younger than him who lived on the next block over, drunk on a bottle of rum stolen from Mrs Mills and once she was good and out of it he had stripped her out of her linen dress in her father’s garden-shed one summer afternoon and shoved it straight up her butt. In fact, he’d done her butt three times over in that shed, within an hour and a half.
Once he had gotten old enough to start dating, he had always insisted on putting it up his girlfriend’s asses, no matter what they would say about it. It had meant a lot of girlfriends in a short space of time, as they rarely stayed with him after he’d sodomised them that first time but there were plenty of fish in the sea. Plus, his dad was rich so he was still looked at as a good prospect by many of the local girls.
He’d eyed this young Nip chick’s ass straight away, angling himself off to the right once she had been hauled off the top of that little wall. And those tight leather pants and the short flyboy jacket had allowed him a great view of what he immediately recognised as the hottest athletic little bubble-butt he had ever imagined. Exactly the kind of ass he dreamed off, the kind of ass he had sketched in school when the teacher droned on about trigonometry and Bible studies. He’d filled his mind and his exercise book with sketches of girls’ asses, making them as hot as he possibly could though never quite managing to capture its perfection. Well, this Japanese spy-girl had it. In spades. And Fry knew, from the moment the Lieutenant had said about interrogating her: “I don’t care how you do it” that sodomising the little Nip slut was first on his list of ‘interrogation techniques’. Even if he was written up for it, it would be well worth it.
And he had proved himself right on the cards. Her taut, creamy buttocks had been utter perfection both in and out of her pants. He had wasted no time. He had hurriedly ripped her top open to let everyone get a look at her admittedly sweet young tits before spinning her around and forcedly tugging her leather pants and panties down to her knees. His breath had caught in his throat and he had felt his heart hammering against his ribs. Then someone had suggested gang-fucking her and he had managed to hold them off long enough to claim her ass as his and then let them position themselves and the piece of Jap ass on the hay bale.
He fondled her hard-under-soft ass cheeks, that were smooth and warm and just amazing but then he had spread them and the sight of her asshole had whipped his breath away. It was a dusky pink blush in between the perfect frame of those buttocks and in the centre of the pink shade was the tiniest little puckered star. It called to him, enticed him, seduced him, begged him to destroy it with his bone hard cock. Fry realised that he hadn’t taken a breath in over a minute.
Freed was already fucking her from beneath, his arms encircling her tiny waist, fingers interlaced to keep her pinned to him while he drove upward rapidly. And he was thrusting in and out of her tasty looking pussy with an unparalleled desire and wanton voracity. Fry could even see her juices, catching the lamplight and trickling down Freed’s blurring cock shaft. The dirty little tart was actually getting off on getting gangraped.
The Corporal felt the need to treat her colon exactly the same way. He hauled out his cock, seven inches of pulsing hardness with an impressive girth - ideal for taking pleasure from girls tight young asses, out of his rough fabric uniform pants.
He immediately asserted the rounded club of his cock’s crown, with its widely flared ridge, against that dusky pink, puckered star and started to pressure it. Putting force behind it, not caring if he bled her or made her scream. She couldn’t scream in fact because Stover was already deepthroating the little minx and she was taking it like a trooper, the little whore. So, any screaming, and there was every chance once he got going that there would be plenty of it - past experience had taught him that - would be suppressed by Stover’s rough meat-packing technique.
Fry pressed in hard, already feeling the heat emanating from between her perfect buttocks at the centre point of the pink blush and the taut little star of her orifice. He pressed harder, laughing as he recognised the first signs of give, the first under-duress micro-expansion of the tiny little sphincter ring. It was desperate to remain cinched but he wasn’t going to allow that. He was going to defeat it and then fuck that tight little shoot straight to heaven.
And that very ascent happened all of a sudden. The succulent anal mouth abruptly opened up under his unassailable, unstoppable assault. And it was akin to the opening an oven door. A wave of succulent heat infused his cock. Even as Fry, with a high groan of pure exultation, drove his meat up into her sweet little ass, that heat absorbed him. He felt it engulf his cock, wash over his balls like a drawn-out exhale, tingles of it caressed his genitals, broke forth tiny tears of sweat that glistened across his dark pubic hair, like gemstones. He even felt it through his clothing, emanating from her, washing over him. It was the sweetest of sensations and as he bottomed out, he could feel the heat in waves, enveloping his erection, practically scalding him but it was an amazing feeling, an experience of utter never-before euphoria.
That sweet sensation almost eclipsed the tightness of her. She was tighter than he had ever experienced, tighter than any fist, or vice grip and yet still eminently pleasurable. And somehow the throttling tightness still allowed him to thrust, even though her sphincter ring was tighter still and gripped his shaft like clenched jaws, it allowed him to thrust while squeezing profusely at every inch of his cock as it passed through that ring of violently constricting muscle.
The pure sexual delight for all three men was prodigious, unfathomable and they lost themselves in it, in the sensations injected into them through their individual contact points with her perfect body. They were pulled willingly into the depths of her, completely embracing the pleasure she supplied and losing themselves in it. A glorious bottomless pit of pleasure that ejected all reality from their minds except for their own exquisite gratifications.
Blackness enveloped them. And then there was nothing at all.
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Urotsukidoji - Overfiend ‘44: The Hell Portal.