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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Chapter 7.
It was actually a pleasant westerly march across beautiful country that split between woodland and fields with high separating hedges. They saw were very few people out and about and only a single German patrol, which they were easily able to hide from with the use of one of the thick hazels and blackthorn hedges. The patrol consisted of a motorcycle, armoured car and covered transport truck in convoy.
Still, even with the peaceful pleasantness of the surroundings and the clement weather. It still took them almost three hours until they came into sight of the town they had chosen to use for their crossing into Germany.
“You really think those two Jap kids are capable of clearing the way for us?” Kahn sneered.
“I realise trusting them is difficult for you. But I have seen what they can do, and those two kids have a better chance of ‘clearing the way’ as you put it, than anyone else I’ve ever worked with.” Shaw said.
They were squatting down behind the wall beside another abandoned stone farmhouse about fifty yards from the small town that formed the Polish side of the bridge-town they had decided as their crossing point. Using binoculars from the garden wall of the farmhouse had revealed a high ground view of the bridge, a stone structure that arched over the river and was flanked on both sides by old stone buildings. It almost resembled the sort of picturesque English village you could find in places like Hampshire and Kent, with its post office and pub and church and central green.
However, on the German side of the bridge were sandbag and barbed-wire obstacles, a two-storey lookout tower, a sandbag covered pill-box at one side of the mouth of the bridge, and a turret mounted armoured car parked up opposite the pill-box also covering the Polish side of the bridge.
“I’d suggest we split into two teams, Lieutenant, you take your men down to the north side of the bridge while the Poles and ourselves take the southern route and meet up again at the bridge.” Shaw said.
Kahn took another long examination of the bridge and its immediate surroundings through his binoculars and then holstered them and glanced back at Shaw.
“Don’t see any sign of patrols, but they could be in the pill-box and that Panzerspahwagen. If they have a couple of MG34’s aimed at the bridge, and they’re bound to, they could mow us all down in a couple of seconds.”
“Well, this is the kind of job you were sent here to take care of wasn’t it, Lieutenant?” Bodie grumbled, tossing his all-too-often-present sneer at the American.
“Absolutely, Lieutenant. And If they open up on us, we’ll murder the bastards. Don’t you worry. I was just thinking maybe heading south finding another place to cross and then coming at them from their rear might be a better tactic.”
“Teufel and Segen will have cleared the way already.” Shaw asserted with an exasperated sigh. “You have your orders Lieutenant, carry on.”
“Aye-aye, sir.” Kahn carped, forming the words as though around a mouthful of angry wasps.
Before either of the SOE officers could pull him up, he leaned away from the stone wall and crab-walked backward toward his own men.
Kahn waited until Shaw had whispered his plan to the Poles and their group had slid away from the stone wall and headed off across the field that constituted the ground between their position and the river. Then Kahn turned to Sergeant Carson.
“We’re to slip around north of the bridge and approach. They think those two freaks have somehow managed to take out every damned German in the town... Somehow -”
He gave a moment for the Sergeant’s eye-rolling and also Salvatore low laugh to conclude.
“We’ll follow orders, but when we get to that bridge we’re bound to be fired on, there’s no cover and we’re gonna have to fight our way across. And now there’s only seven of us, thanks to that Nip bitch, we’ll have to see how these Poles fare in battle.”
He turned slightly, still squatting low behind the wall and ran his eyes up and down the loose line of his remaining men.
“Listen up, new standing order. Anyone catches sight of that little Nip cunt in combat and you have a shot you fucking take it… you get me!”
They all replied with an ‘affirmative’ though Kahn failed to notice the dark look and rolled-eye interaction that passed between Brooks and Clay.
“Okay, move out. Clay, make sure that Nineteen-nineteen’s ready and waiting before we get to the bridge.” Kahn added.
“Yessir, Lieutenant.” Then lowering his voice, he turned to Brooks. “You wanna give me a hand Brooks?”
“Sure.”
First, the two men unhooked the backpack from Private Foster’s shoulders, who was officially the assistant gunner, and pulled the tripod mount from inside and the first belt of ammunition. Then Foster headed off after the others in a hurry.
The M1919A4 was a tripod mounted Browning machine gun. Essentially a heavy rectangular box-shaped receiver with a long, air-cooled barrel at one end and a pistol grip at the other. It was designed to be operated from a prone position on a low tripod and used for sustained support and covering fire. They half-listened in as Kahn redistributed duties to his remaining men. Sergeant Carson and Foster now formed Able team – scouting and point takers. Baker team were now just Clay and Brooks, the latter doubling up as assistant and ammunition carrier for the light machine gun, and Charlie team were down to Kahn, Wesson and Salvatore – the backup and main fireteam.

Gripping the LMG by its tripod mount and hooking the barrel into the crook of his elbow with his carbine slung over his shoulder, Clay kept to the rear of the column with Brooks and the two men whispered, talking over their issues with killing Segen on sight. And if, given the chance, should they warn her to watch her back. They weren’t up for betraying their squad-mates and certainly not using their rifles to protect her from their own squad, but they wouldn’t be the ones to gun her down in cold blood either.
They had just about come to their conclusions when they reached a building on the outskirts of the bridge town on the Polish side of the river Oder.
During the approach it became apparent that there were absolutely no German soldiers visible. Not anywhere. They could see Shaw and the Poles on the left side of the bridge from beneath it and following a few moments of distant hand signals Shaw, Bodie, Piszczek, Kahn and Carson all met up on top of the bridge. And as they carefully advanced along the apex of the old stone structure, Teufel von Himmel stepped out from the opposite end and approached them.
Shaw, Piszczek and Kahn approached him and the four of them met up on the German side of the bridge, just beyond the centre point.
“Good to see you Teufel.” Shaw greeted. “I trust you and your delightful sister had no difficulties?”
“You’re clear.” Teufel confirmed with a nod of the head. “Segen took care of the bridge guards and I’ve checked out the rest of this place, there are a few civilians, mostly keeping to their homes, but no more soldiers around.”
“So you say...” Kahn grunted, his distrust palpable.
“Go and see for yourself.” Teufel spat back, with a frown and a shrug of his shoulders.
Kahn stared the Japanese teen down for a long silent moment.
“Where’s your sister?” He asked.
“Heading west. She has a rendezvous with a contact. She’s left you some presents though. Should make going forwards a little easier.”
“Presents? What do you mean?” Piszczek asked.
Bodie remained silent and rather than looking at Teufel or engaging with him, instead he stared across the remainder of the German side of the bridge watching for movement at the pill-box, at the scout vehicle, up in the lookout post. And saw nothing.
“Segen’s much better than me at taking guys down without drawing blood. So, we’ve got a whole host of German infantry uniforms for you Yanks to use. You know, like disguises? Plus, I found a covered truck in the middle of town. One of those troop-transport ones, you could all jump in there rather than walking all the way to Berlin.”
“Have a look for yourselves, see what you think, like I said. Just… a little advice… Don’t look inside the armoured car.”
“Why not?” Bodie snapped.
The British Lieutenant eyed Teufel for the first time, his hatred and jealousy were just as palpable as Kahn’s distrust.
“Might give you nightmares.” Teufel grinned.
Without another word the teenager spun on his heel and crossed the bridge to the German side, leaving the officers and leaders staring at each other in a mixture of confusion and scepticism.
The remaining officers collectively shrugged and Kahn took up the duty of doublechecking Teufel’s assertion of the all clear. He gathered his troops and ordered them to advance across the bridge and take the German position.
Sergeant Carson and Foster of Able team took point, leading Kahn’s Charlie team with Salvatore and Wesson. Clay and Brooks’ Baker team followed Able team across the bridge but headed immediately to the ladder that took them up into the watchtower. Baker team ascended the ladder one man at a time, Brooks covering Clay who somehow hefted the fully assembled light machine gun up with him and then used his vantage point to cover Brooks. Then the two men covered everyone beneath them, though Clay’s main focus was on the armoured car, he had been given specific instructions to open up on the car if it should show the slightest bit of movement.
Able team took the right side of the bridge, crossed it quickly, in a low bent-kneed run. While Charlie team followed Able’s lead to the left. The pill-box was additionally protected by sandbags, they papered the walls on all four sides and the top and also created a narrow ‘L’ shaped entryway to slow potential assaulters and give those inside better time and protection from hand grenades.
Kahn led his two men down into the narrow space leading to the pill-box entrance. His heart pummelling his chest, he had passed his carbine to Salvatore and drawn his 1911 sidearm. Salvatore appreciated the loan of the shorter length weapon and shouldered his Garand, then followed his officer down the tunnel with Wesson bringing up the rear. Kahn darted around the corner in to the entrance and, his nerves on edge, almost pulled the trigger of his pistol. But there was no one inside the concrete structure. He wondered for a split second had he found himself face to face with a Kraut pointing a gun back at him, would he have had a quick enough reaction to get his shot off first? It was unnecessary. This time.
He felt the other two enter behind him and fan out to cover the angles but it was obvious there was nothing alive inside. There were two narrow slits facing the bridge at two different angles. Apart from these rectangular slits letting in daylight, there was also a slung electric light nailed to the ceiling with a bare bulb casting a dull dirty orange glow around the interior. Both of the window slits had mounted MG34 machineguns on a knee-high step, pointing outwards. There were also boxes of ammunition stacked on either side of the guns and two tables on the opposite wall on either side of the entrance.
The tables were both piled high with dull grey-brown German military uniforms as well as stacked German rifles against the wall beside the two tables, and German military helmets. There appeared to be at least a dozen full sets from a cursory glance. Kahn exchanged confused looks with his men and then picked up a German uniform jacket and examined it. There was no damage whatsoever as far as he could see. No blood, no bullet holes, no freshly torn fabric. Just dried mud and sweat stains and the usual hand-sewn patchwork that all uniforms sported.
“No damage huh? Have to admit boss, they could come in handy.”
Kahn grunted noncommittally, dropping the jacket back on top of the pile.
“Leave ‘em for now.” He grunted. “Finish off securing the area, move out.”
Charlie team had searched the remainder of the vicinity of the bridge-roadblock, and then spread out beyond, into the edge of the town proper. They had found the canvass covered truck that Teufel had mentioned and had confirmed that there were indeed no German troops in sight. With only Himself and Foster, Carson had no desire to advance beyond the checkpoint any further into the town. This was Germany now and there they couldn’t expect anyone to be sympathetic to them. They were the enemy on the enemy’s home turf.
Relying on Clay and Brooks up above, Carson and Foster took up low defensive positions covering the town and awaited Kahn’s reappearance. They didn’t have long to wait.
“Right, let’s have a look at that Armoured car.” Kahn said to himself. “I mean, did they really expect us to take them at our word, and not check the thing over?”
“Carson.” He snapped. “Take Foster and check the damn vehicle out.”
“Sir.” Carson said rounding on the armoured car. “Foster, move up.”
Foster shouldered his Garand and stepped up onto the rear of the scout car via a step up of one of the rear mudguards. He swung the rifle back to shoulder position, the barrel trained on the twin wire-mesh hatch doors on the roof of the vehicle’s turret section and, one-handed, managed to flip the doors open. He stared down inside along the length of his rifle barrel.
Kahn watched with increasing reticence as Private Foster’s face grew deathly pale, his previously rock-solid grip on his rifle started to shake and then he turned away, muttering something that never formed. Instead he vomited right over the side of the truck as he staggered backward.
“For Christ’s sake Foster!” Kahn growled.
Carson shook his head and took the private’s place. He stood there, stock still, gazing down into the cabin. And he turned as pale as Foster had done. Though he didn’t stumble away and he didn’t vomit.
“Lieutenant. You’d better come take a look.” He said, his usually strong, gruff voice sounding thin and reedy for once.
Kahn grumbled to himself but replicated Foster’s path onto the roof of the armoured car. He looked down into the flipped open hatch and immediately cursed.
As far as Kahn understood, this type of Panzerspahwagen was designed for three persons - a driver, a gunner and a loader. In the canopy of this particular example, there seemed to be at least five or six times as many, shoved randomly into the small, diamond shaped interior. They had been forced into the space without care, stuffed in there like tinned sardines, limbs bent and broken at whatever angle was required to make them fit. Naked flesh was torn and gouts of dark blood was everywhere, splashed on pale skin, glistening in dark greasy hair, dripping and pooling and coating the walls of the vehicle. It was impossible to count or even to fathom not only how many men were inside the tiny space but how the seemingly impossible feat had been accomplished. It was a nightmare image. Sickening, searing itself into Kahn’s retinas. It reminded the Lieutenant of some kind of Renaissance painter’s representation of hell. Das Jüngste Gericht or something similar.
He rethought his initial criticism of Private Foster. Though, like Carson, Kahn didn’t throw up.
“That’s why you don’t wanna piss off my little sister.” Teufel gloated, grinning.
Again, the boy seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, stepping out from a doorway and crossing the little cobblestone space between the mouth of the bridge and the first few houses beyond it. Kahn scowled at him.
“You expect me to believe that little Nip girl did all this? Bullshit!”
“I don’t expect anything much from you, Yank.” The lad said, his grin abruptly replaced with a scowl of his own. “You’re here to help the other guys kill Germans, that’s all.”
“Don’t mess with Segen, or you’ll end up like them.” Teufel added.
And at that moment it felt as though the boy had somehow read Kahn’s mind, and knew his intentions towards the two Japanese siblings. It disturbed him.
“You’re full of shit.” Kahn grunted.
“Think what you like.” The boy said with a shrug.
However, Teufel could see in Kahn’s eyes and Carson’s, that his warning appeared to be taking root.
“Salvatore. Location’s secure, tell the rest to come up.” Kahn ordered, deliberately turning his back on the Japanese boy.
“Sure thing, Lieutenant.”
He watched the rifleman jog across the bridge to pass on orders to Shaw and the rest. When he turned back, there was no sign of Teufel, he appeared to have vanished again. Good. Good riddance to the little bastard.
He issued orders for Carson to issue the German uniforms from the pill-box to the men, finding the best fit where possible. And then to offer the left overs to the Poles and Brits. Then with a numb finality, he booted the hatch doors of the scout car closed and left the real-world hellscape inside. Unseen, yet unfortunately, he feared, never quite forgotten.
<><><>
Greta was utterly exhausted and sore, drained and feeling the pangs of malnutrition, the food hadn’t lasted long, first the amount had dwindled and then the number of meals. Now, the greatest sustenance she was able to consume was the spunk that the men, who visited her in all hours of the day and night, and spurted down her throat.
Despite the incessance of the dull, naked electric bulb shining down in her face, she had finally slipped into a troubled sleep. It lasted all of five minutes. The solid steel door clanged open, shocking her awake. Instinctively, she retracted herself into a foetal position, dragging herself upright on her bunk and hurriedly retreating into one corner. She fought back despairing tears as the requisite guards entered her cell. However, this time, rather than the usual horny, entitled officer, they were followed by some kind of boiler-suit dressed maintenance type. He was a middle-aged man, slightly overweight, slightly receding hairline, slightly bowed alongside the bolt-upright guards. He barely looked at her. He had a small note book with a pencil and a rolled-up fabric tape measure.
“Could you stand her up please?” The boiler-suit guy asked.
The guards reached for her and she panicked, her limbs locking, her whole body going stiff and tight. It didn’t matter, they grabbed her by the upper arms and lifted her clear off the bed. She squealed as panic overtook her.
“You’re not allowed! I’m for the officers!”
“Stand up and put your feet on the ground.” One of the guards snapped. “Or I’ll really hurt you.”
The same fear that had locked up her limbs, now unlocked them and she found herself relaxing in the men’s grip. Her legs lowering to the concrete floor.
Immediately the boiler-suited man knelt down in front of her and slipped the tape measure around her knees, noting down the measurements in his note book. Before he left the cell, the man had measured Greta’s wrist, thigh, throat and waist measurements as well.
Of course, it was only the beginning. Even as the boiler-suited man was slipping out of the door flanked by the two guards, three of the four officers appeared, grinning with malicious excitement. The Captain, Lieutenant and Corporal that she was now intimately familiar with.
There wasn’t even any form of preamble, no introductory speeches. The three men crowded into the tiny cell, eyes alight with sadistic lust. A sight she had not got used to yet.
The Captain clambered up onto the bunk, dragging her along with him. He pushed her onto her hands and knees and then took a tight, possessive two-handed grip of her taut and still bruised buttocks. Greta, shaking and crying quietly in anticipation and fear of how she was about to be treated yet again, could barely keep her limbs from buckling underneath her as the shivers of her uncontrollable fear rattled through her limbs.
The Captain laid a vicious bruising slap on her ass, bringing a squealing yelp out of the teenage captive. However, she didn’t dare move. She knew well from previous attempts to fight them off what would happen. He slapped her other buttock even harder. She wailed and then sniffled pointlessly. Equally wanting them to get on with it and feeling terrified of them starting on her. The other two were standing there by the door watching her and the Captain, either waiting their turn or worse still, for an opportunity to join in.
The Captain, grunting in sadistic pleasure squeezed hard at her sore, throbbing ass cheeks with brutal clawing fingers, pinching and squeezing handfuls of her perky buttocks for a few seconds as he knelt down behind her, taking up the position. And another moment later, Greta felt the bulbous, hard heat of his cockhead pressing firmly against her anal entrance and she felt a sudden wave of relief riding alongside her fear-filled anticipation. Although it would hurt her, once he was up her ass, at least the current rape would underway. And the sooner it was underway the sooner it would be concluded and she would finally be able to get some sleep. And though his sadism would rise, his desire to hurt her would be aimed at the parts of her that she could handle. So, to ease his entry she started to push back with her anal muscles opening her anal sphincter for his use.
Still, she all but squealed as he forced entry. The dry burning fire sensation that infused her anal ring, and cascaded onward in agonising waves, expanding throughout her whole anal tract and beyond, was excruciating. The Captain's fat length, bulging, solid and unlubricated, stretched and friction-burned her sensitive flesh as the Aryan brute forced his way into the very depths of her rectum. The shaft felt as thick as her wrist and seemed to go on for ever as, with deliberate inexorable slowness, he pushed his dick all the way up her ass.
“Hurts does it, Bitch?! Good. Scream for me young cunt! Fucking scream!”
The Captain snarled his curses at her, laying more hurtful, loud slaps onto her perky buttocks, even as he drew an inch or two out of her rectum, just so he could ram it back inside again.
Meanwhile Greta, was desperately pushing back, trying to force her anus and rectum to relax, adjust to and accommodate his brutal invasion, desperate to stop it being so utterly agonising, as it always was at the start.
“Scream, you bitch! Scream for me! Scream!!”
Greta screamed. And screamed. It was even a kind of vent for her, a way of expelling some of the pain and pressure and tension the Captain was stuffing up her backside.
After hearing the muffled and personally agonising sounds from the adjoining cell, as well as the cells opposite, as these monsters transacted the same treatments to both her sister and, as she believed Frau Marquand and Frau Huber, Greta wondered if the demands for her to scream were specifically to induce fear and torment in the other girls in those surrounding cells. Still, she screamed and wailed and squealed as she was violently sodomised.
She detected movement and her tear streaked eyes opened automatically. Filling her face was another officer, the Corporal. She recognised them by their cocks by now. First it had been the rank patches on their uniforms, then their faces became familiar. Now just the dimensions of their shafts and the styling of their rapes were enough to allow her to recognise one man from the next.
The Corporal had been sporting his semi-hardness all the while, right from entering Greta’s cell. Though now, as he stepped forward and fished the tube of heavy meat out of his trousers, it was evident that he was just as visually excited as the Captain. His action momentarily surprised Greta as up until now every rape experience had been one-on-one, and yet now it was to be two-on-one. The Corporal stepped up to the end of her little bunk and hurriedly stuffed his cock all the way down her still screaming throat.
Again, she was surprised, the Captain had demanded her screams, and now a lowly corporal had all but silenced them by plunging his cock right down her throat. Yet there seemed to be no attempt to pull rank, or even to maintain any kind of hierarchy.
Greta carried on with her screams and squeals all the same, obeying the Captain’s demand while incidentally somewhat enjoying the release it afforded her, muffled and ragged though they were. Of course, her continual screams reverberating through the thick and already rapid thrusting cock meat filling her mouth and assaulting her throat, was having an apparently beneficial effect on the Corporal.
Going by the erratic and increasingly savage drilling she was taking in her ass, the Captain was getting off far too quickly, while at the same time her vocal vibrations shocking their way throughout the Corporal's distended cock, ensured he barely last five minutes.
Greta first felt the Captain’s hands clench brutally on her ass cheeks, his fingers digging into her flesh cruelly, pinching and clawing. And then with a roar that punctuated the way his pelvic drives thrashed her firm buttocks, he climaxed abruptly dumping a heavy load straight up her rectum. She squealed at the feel of his pulsing, straining meat as one, two, three and then four big searing hot, squelching bursts of spunk sprayed into her one after the other, scalding her battered guts.
“Take my spunk you worthless fucking bumpkin-cunt!” The Captain roared in time to the spunk streams belching into her tight, clutching back door.
At almost the same time, the Corporal was approaching his own climax, almost embarrassingly quickly. He gripped her head tight in both hands, fists in her long still braided blonde hair. He was using his grip of her hair to drag her face forward and back onto his rapidly thrusting cock. And he started to let out a series of great, guttural moans.
The next second, his cock began its own straining, tightening pulses. The pulses were palpable within the cinched encircling 'O' of Greta's lips, and as his thick hot underside drove piston-like over her tongue. His deep, full length thrusts became fast and brutal, hard to keep up with, though she was doing her best to use her lips, tongue and suction - the faster they orgasmed, the earlier she would be left alone to recuperate.
In response to a cursing groan, Greta suddenly felt plentiful cum spasming into her mouth, shooting in hefty blasts across her tongue, down her throat, across her tongue, down her throat; back and forth as his uncontrolled thrusts continued.
“Oh, fuck can this young bitch suck a dick!” The Corporal proclaimed exhaustedly, panting in his glory as he finally pulled out of her numb little mouth.
"If that's what excuse you're going with..." The Lieutenant said, trying to hold back a snigger.
“Anyone else wanting to use her back passage, I'd recommend lubrication. Pretty sure I hurt the bitch, this time.” The Captain laughed, climbing back off the bed to make room for the Lieutenant.
"I have some." The Lieutenant muttered.
“The noise she was making, I think you’re right!” The Corporal grinned.
“Tight as that ass hole is, I am not surprised!” The Captain grunted.
“Who's is tighter? This one or the sister?” The Lieutenant asked, unbuckling the belt of his uniform.
“Well. Until earlier it was the sister. But then Lothar and this one here shared her anal hole. And she's no longer as tight as she once was.”
The Corporal laughed at the Captain's remark.
“That was good too.” The Corporal added. “The fucking screams we got out of her.”
Greta felt her stomach give a lurch of empathic-anxiety for Milena. She must have suffered terribly. And then she remembered hearing the muffled screams from the adjoining cell had been pretty extreme at one point. That must have been the occasion.
"I'm hoping the guy introduces her to one of his worm things." The Lieutenant muttered as he came around to her face. "I'm going to have a go at this end, Weber, you stuff it between her buttocks, my friend. You seem like you're ready to go again."
Though Greta caught a glimpse of the Corporal's bare cock as he passed across her blurred view, she saw that the sizeable shaft was already gleaming with a polished sheen of her saliva, and she gave a sigh of relief. Though the light in her eyes was abruptly blocked as the naked hips of the Lieutenant with his erect cock, pulsing with its desire to be in her mouth, filled her vision.
Greta obediently opened her mouth for the officer and he thrust his way in, giving her half his shaft and forcing her to use her own meagre experience on his solid, hot erection.
“Make it good girl.” He groaned, grabbing Greta’s head in both hands.
To make him cum quickly, she did just that. She sucked him with a fierce abandon, working her hardest. Maybe if they appreciated her, they would take pity on her.
He seemed to cum within minutes, seemingly not caring that he lasted barely longer than the Corporal. The titanic pleasure he experienced easily compensating for any embarrassment he might have felt for his own lack of stamina. He kept on pumping her mouth as he blasted the orifice with his hot spunk and of course, Greta swallowed it all down without needing to be told and sucked him clean afterwards when he didn't pull out immediately.
Meanwhile, the Lieutenant was fucking her solidly up her ass, hardness and brutality equal to the Captain's performance. And Greta, busy plying the wilting cock in her mouth with her tongue and heavy suction, was aware how grateful she was for the lubrication. Her stretched anal ring was still stinging and throbbing with pain but the cool, slick of her saliva coating the hot shaft did enough to not make it any worse. And even given the relative ease of the continuing sodomy, it allowed her anal sphincter to eventually relax and get used to being forced open and held that way.
As she took each ass-rape one after another, the burning ache faded until it was little more than an inconvenience for her. An irritating and throbbing unpleasantness, no longer quite so assailing or abhorrent.
It took the Corporal a further ten minutes after the Lieutenant had emptied his balls into her mouth, before he eventually dumped his own excessive load into her hot, churning bowels. And as he eased himself free of her still squeezing-tight rectum, a long trail of spunk escaped her anus and remained there dangling between her spread thighs. He was immediately replaced by the Lieutenant.
“I had thought the sisters’ was the tightest arsehole I ever hammered, but now I'm not so sure.” The Corporal, panting, stated. “Maybe I'll have to put them side by side and go back and forth to properly decide.”
"That's a fine idea but neither Munhihausen or the big guy would allow it. We're under orders. They're to be kept separate until the ceremony." The Captain pointed out. "Saying that. I don't disagree. I can’t wait for another go in there, myself.”
The big guy? Who was this they were talking about? Greta asked herself. And what had they meant by ‘worm things’ earlier too? Her questions were abruptly smacked out of her head as the next officer’s shaft began to force its way into her anus.
Impatient and excited to get another taste of Greta's ass hole, the Lieutenant squatted over her round, creamy hips as though he was astride a saddle, and he drove into her loosened but still gripping ass from above. He drove it to the hilt, dragging a muffled wail from the back of Greta’s plundered, bruised throat as he slammed violently into her rectal channel. As her sphincter ring squeezed his hard shaft, he gave his own long, wheezing curse, again impressed by the true tightness and heat of her anal orifice as it gripped, caressed and clenched around his hammered in cock.
“Holy crap! This fucking ass! Boys!” The Lieutenant crooned. "Hot as Hell too!"
"Won't be long until she'll be able to attest to that!" The Captain said and the other's laughed.
"Best make the most of her while we can." The Corporal added casually.
Greta found herself frowning in confusion, what did they mean by that? Was it another veiled threat of sexual torture? But the hands gripping her ass cheeks, clenched hard and the burning pain in her buttock muscles eclipsed all her myriad thoughts.
The Lieutenant groaned in pleasure, digging his fingers into her taut buttocks so the smooth, silky flesh bunched under his grip while he started to drag his cock from the depths of her burning hot and clenching rectum.
The captain came forward without a word, grabbing Greta’s braids and using them to guide her mouth to the swaying tumescent shaft of his resurgent erection. He pushed it to her lips and her mouth opened obediently. So he thrust home, pushing deep and deeper until the crown popped into her oesophagus, then he forced the last couple of inches past her lips, making her gag and pour an overflow of saliva down her chin and neck. Ignoring Greta's discomfort, the Captain began to slide his fat cock in and out of her clutching throat.
At the same time, the Lieutenant's fast thrusting, ass slapping, downward driving anal rape gave her a different experience than the previous two. It felt more torrid, more animalistic, while he humped her using the bounce of the bunk's interwoven canvas straps to help drive him. She took it, though it hurt more and scared her in its intensity. She was more vocal, issuing a constant muffled whining and half-squeals in response to his aggressive forced sodomy. It came out even around the Captain's raping cock that was still ploughing her lips and throat.
Throughout the double ended sexual assault, hands grabbed her head and held it tight. Her hair was tugged at the scalp with the face fuckers’ passionate humping and repeated, deep, throat-piercing thrusts.
As she continued to obediently suck and rapid-tongue bathe the cock blocking her airway and stretching her jaw, Greta realised she didn’t know who she was sucking on. She had lost track. However, she knew whoever it was must have already taken his turn up her arse, as she could taste her own musk along the lance of thick, pungent flesh.
The hand in her hair tightened still further and the dull burning in her scalp turned sharp and painful, while at the same time her face was bashed harder and more fiercely as her face-rapist started slamming his length down her throat harder and harder. His heavy balls repeatedly slapped against her chin with increasing vigour too, while she sucked and slurped fully, flicking with her tongue and mouthing its stretching girth with her lips.
Her anal rapist climaxed first. With an elated yell, he yanked his cock out of her arse with a loud suctional wet popping noise and an embarrassing flurry of escaped air. Then, leaning against her cushioning buttocks, he groaned and arched his back then let fly with an erection that was slick with other rapist’s left behind spunk, polished and red with friction and trapped blood flow.
He shot his load, an epic triple arcing cascade that burst heavy and hot over her arched, sweaty back. The thick trio of pearlescent streamers splattered her arched spine from her shoulders right down to her arse cheeks. Some of it even got up as far as the nape of her neck and into her hair. He stumbled back, almost falling off the bunk, groaning with intense, post orgasmic pleasure and visibly trembling while his still cum-leaking cock slowly deflated.
Surprisingly, he wasn’t immediately replaced this time and her anus was given some respite. Though not very much. And of course, the deep oral assault continued unabated. And with pronounced relief brought on by the bedlam the dirty SS rapist was beginning to sprout, Greta could recognise that at last, he was approaching to his latest climax.
“Ohhh… Fuck! You, dirty little village-slut! Suck this cock that’s been up your ass! You fucking dirty, nasty little teenage bitch. Little fucking whore. Good for nothing but taking Officer spunk. Suck it cunt! Suck the spunk! Suck it out of my balls. I’ve still plenty left for you, so take it you fucking little whore!”
His aggression and his ridiculous, increasingly loud and aggressive tirade were almost comical, and if her throat wasn’t bruised and her jaw aching, sweat and spunk stinging her eyes, she might have laughed at all the crap he was coming out with.
Then he abruptly dragged her face hard into his crotch, jamming his whole brutalising length into her throat. And then with one final, filthy and degrading series of curses, he squirted another great, hot load straight down her hard-working oesophagus. His searing cum spewed thickly and after that first liquid belch, he dragged his big shaft out of her gullet so he could pump the remainder, and there was plenty of it, straight onto Greta’s obediently protruding tongue.
Snarling and grunting his pleasure, he hauled his still shooting shaft out of her mouth and hosed down her face with the last couple of blasts. Of course, with deliberate sadism, he made sure those last couple of spurts caught her right in the eye, making them sting even more and well with tears.
They didn’t allow her to wash her face afterwards and her eyes stung terribly for quite a while, however the amount of throat-rape and forced sodomy she had to accommodate over the remainder of their time together ensured plenty of tears flowed to wash the spunk from her eyes.
They didn’t give her respite or a moment of peace that might have allowed her to contemplate what might have become of her sister. And throughout the remainder of the prolonged duration the officers were in her cell, Greta found herself sucking cock after cock, all the while taking pulsing erection after pulsing erection, always punishingly hard and deep, up her arse and in her pussy.
The continually revolving cycles of erections pressing their way into one of her three orifices went on and on and essentially, she never seemed to be able to satisfy them. The attentions foisted on her were almost non-stop and felt like they would never-end. The protracted and exhausting gang-rapes continuing unabated for, to her, what felt like hours.
- 7
- 8
- 9
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Urotsukidoji - Overfiend ‘44: The Hell Portal.