Story:The Adventures Of Private Whitley
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The Adventures of Private Whitley
"Chapter 1:Can Rape Bloom?
Slouched against the cold metal of the heavy artillery, Private Miles Whitley was beginning to regret his decision to join the Imperial Guard as he sipped recaf and watched the fields. He never especially wanted to be a soldier and he was always more skilled with a brush or a shovel than a rifle. The rest of his platoon were either a bunch of gung-ho "Born-to-Kill" types or religious fanatics that spread the word of the Emperor at the tip of a lasgun, and even when Miles was at at his most extreme, he was very neutral. This trait earned him names like "Private Mild", "Milquetoast Miles", or more often "the ponce that can't shoot strait." After a brief leave, his platoon was shipped to to war, deployed to oust an incursion of Chaos on some distant Agri-World called Strages III. Miles saw countless soldiers fall in that campaign before, and were he a more zealous man, the mountains of dead heretics and mutants would be worth it. Still, a good number of those men had been put down by their grizzled old commissar, and he was just waiting for that bionic eye to aim the boltgun at him.
A long campaign later, his unit was placed to guard a number basilisks pounding a city into a crater. Guarding the artillery was a critical, if boring duty, and he was on his thrid Iho stick by the time a group of cultists came to disable them. The blood-maddened tide bursting through the treeline was enough for him to practically swallow the burning cig in shock. Miles shouted out to alert the rest of his squad, but they were already firing on them. By the time he got off his first shot, they had already closed to melee, and the scar-covered commissar was laying into the cultists with a saber. his already shaky resolve was blown apart when a Krak grenade landed a mere four yards from his position. It exploded, driving hot shrapnel into his comparatively thin body armor, knocking him flat onto his back and blasting the wind from his lungs. He tore away his scalding chest armor, and fell into unconciousness.
In the cold light of early morning, wakefulness returned and he felt very suprised to be alive. Somehow he had found his way to the bottom of a crater; a pool of blood and muddy water, the very crater the grenade had left! With tired eyes Miles took in what remained of the battlefield, and though piles of corpses stood like mountains of flesh and steel jutting from a sea of blood, it was deserted save for scavengers feasting on the remains. Picking up his lasgun, he decided to further inspect the ground to looking for other guardsman, and in his search he came across his commissar, facedown in a pool of blood.
This battle had either destroyed both forces, or his own had simply left him for dead in a puddle. One of the largest settlements was but a long walk away from field of battle, so he would be alone for at most a week. Stumbling off the field and leaving his maimed commissar amongst the dead, he started walking away from the city, reasoning that if surviving traitors went anywhere, it would be in the tangle of urban warfare. Before long, he found himself in an orchard, miraculously spared from the marching soldiers and ruinous tank treads. A small house was visible amongst rows of what appeared to be apple trees bearing some bump-covered hybrid. The air was fresh and pleasant because of it, but it only masked the stench of war; burned and rotting flesh. As he approached the farm house, Miles began to notice scorch marks and balistics damage, and pile of corpses, gutted and desecrated; the bodies of the family that had tended it. He would have to find a shovel and give them a proper burial after checking the house. Cautiously ascending the steps, his weapon at the ready. Didn't have to risk the noise of opening a door; it was knocked inward by forced entry. The chestplate of his armor had been left amongst the dead of the battlefield, and only his arms and legs were left protected. His hands trembled as he slowly made his way down the hall, trying to step as quietly as possible. Reaching the end, he turned into a small room, with an armchair facing a moniter, static on the screen. Sitting in it was a mutated heretic, wicked blade caked with dried blood, chanting above the arranged organs of the family. He leveled his rifle, trying to decide if killing this misshapen scum was worth possibly alerting others. He squeezed the trigger, its head going up in flames; aside from the crack, the only sound being the sizzling of burning fat and charring flesh. No cultists rushing to kill him, which seemed to him like a good sign. Continuing to sweep the house, it all came up relatively clean(a raped to death young woman withstanding) until only one room remained: the cellar.
Again he moved quietly, cursing that the only light was dim and lit but a small portion of the cellar, which revealed to have rack after rack of bottles. The air smell of old wine and dust, but something else mixed in with the decay; a scent that put his mind on old girlfriends, the nights he spent with them, of how he would fantasize about what was under the armor of the Adeptus Sororitas. He knew these thoughts were folly, as there were endless shadows for some warp-spawned horror to hide, and the issued flash-light only providing a thin stream of visibility. He began to search through the lines of shelves and decanters, unable to shake the feeling he was not alone. He finally got to a corner, all of the basement searched. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he and turned to see a mauve blur rushing at him, and before he could raise anything to block, an incredibly strong leg slammed into his gut, and he was out before he even hit the floor.
Miles awoke with a start, the cold fact that what remained of his armor had been stripped, weapon missing, and his wrists were bound to one of the wine racks. With the musky scent of the basement, there was an exciting, unnatural aroma in the air. As he breathed it in, he felt a kind of numbness forming in his skull. Thoughts slipped from his mind and his heart began to beat faster, something more insidious was subverting the terror. Some... thing stood before him, displaying its deeply feminine form in the dim light. At first it stood, watching him, making no attempt to cover itself, with a silent but rather pleased look. Its face had full lips of a deep purple and black, pupiless eyes like a starless sky, producing a visage quite beautiful despite its alien structure. Shoulder length tentacles took the place of hair, moving as if touched by some unseen breeze, but curling to caress any flesh it touched. Soon, it began to sway seductively, sensuously moving its clawed hands across the generous curves of its hips. Bending forward slightly, it crossed its arms, pressing its ample breasts together and raising its claws to cup them, a serpentine tongue snaking itself down to rest between before wrapping around its right finger, retracting and carrying the hand with it, briefly taking its right index into its mouth, sucking alluringly before removing it. It continued this dance, bringing its hands to caress its graceful neck, toy with coils of its tentacular "hair", teasing the captured Guardsman.
Miles's face was a mask of boredom, but he couldn't deny his arousal nor the growing bulge in his undergarments. He tried to distract himself, thinking of the beautiful orchard above him, mentally painting it, the trees standing tall and proud, fruit swinging in the wind, but the plum colored breasts of the daemon intruded. He imagined what the Inquisition would do to him; a painful execution at best, and a life of penitence at worst but none of it seemed as terrible as never feeling this thing's black talons digging into his back, pulling him into a frenzied embrace The haze in his mind was growing thick, and despite his sense, he WANTED the monster in front of him. More than anything he wanted to do ANYTHING with it that would sooth the powerful erection in his trousers.
So wrapped up in his internal dialogue, that he barely noticed the it had moved its lascivious dance to within a foot of him, close enough he could see every detail of its irresistable form, and the daemon's scent was solid and omnipresent in its own right. The daemonic beauty turned its backside to him, leaning into him, pressing its warm, soft buttocks against his groin, and rubbing on him like an animal in a rut, the heat of its body seeping through his pants. It leaned its head back onto his left shoulder, tentacles lightly wrapped about his neck. Its hot breath smelled of some unknown spice, its delicate neck bare and open, begging to be licked and kissed. The daemon's pert butt pressing into his crotch, it continued to tear away at what was left of his will. Its sighing and nipping at the flesh of his neck had put him long past any real desire to resist, but some part of him still tried to remain defiant in this creature's sensuous grip.
The daemon drank in his pitiful resistance like a fine wine, turned around, pressing its substantial bust against Miles's chest, kissing and licking his neck. He began to chant out loud, causing the daemon to loose a lewd giggle as it wrapped its shapely leg around his. It grabbed the back of his head with both hands and brought Miles to its lips, forcing a much too long tongue into his mouth, exploring every nook and cranny of it. The taste of its mouth was indescribable. Were he able to speak, he would be unlikely to recall his own name, for the haze in his skull now buried almost any thought but those tied to screwing it with all the strength he could muster. The daemon retracts its tongue to a more human length, but does not break contact, wrapping both legs about his waist, and shoving its tongue as far down his throat as possible, his gagging arousing the daemon to the point of dry-humping him. Miles strained against his bindings, which brought the fiend's claws to his back, digging deep furrows in his flesh, but his own terrible excitement dulled the pain.
Breaking the kiss, it extracts the unholy tongue before dropping into a crouch and pressing its face to his crotch. With the same strength that had trounced him, the daemon tore his fatigues like tissue paper, revealing his Angry Marine print boxers and his engorged member. It brought a hand to the throbbing bulge, lightly stroking it through the fabric for a moment before pulling them down and off. Miles's cock was standing at attention, precum already flowing from it like a faucet, and the daemon stared at it hungrily. Puttting its full purple lips to the head, suckling it before bringing his full length in its mouth and throat. Miles could feel that unearthly tongue coiling and uncoiling around his shaft like a serpent, the daemon's hand massaging his sack, and the strength quickly drained from his legs. Every inch of him tingled as he felt his orgasm near, and he could tell that it would be of the planet shattering kind; the sort of experience of which epics are written. His legs tensed, his hands balled into fists, he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, bracing for the his godly experience, which came like an angel of purest ecstasy. His flesh shook as he could feel the veritible tidal wave of fluids flow from him into the hungry throat of the daemon. His moment of glory was prolonged as the tongue pumped back and forth, wringing every last drop from him.
The pleasuring tongue ceased its erotic twisting, and he felt his cock exit the warmth of the daemon's mouth with a wet "pop". It stood up, staring into his eyes with its own empty, black gaze, and kicked the shelf he was bound to, falling back the deafening crash wood and glass. Miles felt wetness all along his back, the stink of vinegar and home-brewed wine filling the air. Before his eyes could focus the daemon had placed its foot on his squarely on his testicles, eliciting a pained yelp from him. It slowly flattened its sole onto his rehardening cock; the daemon's feet were soft and unnaturally smooth. The clawed toes pinched the tip as it worked its way up from his balls. The daemon shifted its weight, pressing the ball of its foot into the middle of his shaft, back and forth. It looked down on him, breasts swaying slightly with each stroke, and Miles noticed a wet slit as he looked up at "her", relieved that the daemon was just that; at least some sort of female. A sigh escaped her lips as she continued to mash down a little harder with each rub, fingering herself as she pumped his cock with her foot. Sharp-toothed grin tightened into a grimace, and the pace of her masturbation and the foot increased, and Miles again felt another orgasm nearing. Once again, a torrential flood of semen spilled from him, but it now soaked his stomach and chest.
Looking down at mess, a fire lit her black eyes, and she seemingly flowed to the ground to rest atop him, her weight upon bearing down with soft warmth. The daemon's tongue slid out once again, slithering between their bodies, collecting every stray drop before drawing back into her waiting mouth, savoring his seed, before she again began to move. Erecting herself on top, she brought his once again throbbing member between the thick cleavage of her rump. Up and down she stroked his cock with her generous buttocks, rising up before slapping there hips together while her fingers continued their own work. Soon she began to grunt and moan, the nectar of her unholy chalice mixing with left over saliva and Miles's flowing sweat. Again, he girded himself as the rhythmic stroking and slapping of the daemon's heavy hips were bringing him to yet another climax, spurred on by the frantic fingering of the daemon.
Before it could arrive, the daemonette rose from her position, leaving him on the floor with a throbbing and somewhat painful erection, teetering on the edge. She simply let out a cheeky little giggle, and much to his surprise, she stepped over him and removed the chains that had bound him. Casting them aside, se walked to the wall and spread her legs. Miles looked briefly at the stairs leading out, but the woman-thing before him was far more tempting. He stumbled over, and drank in her offering with as many senses as he could. Wherever his hands could touch, he felt; he ran the along her deceptively soft thighs, her thin waist, and grasped tight the meaty softness of the daemonette's full butt. He breathed in her unearthly perfume, and he could take it no longer.
Miles lined his erection up with her pucking anus and shoved it in roughly, causing her to grunt, but quickly became an elated sigh. Her asshole was surprisingly tight, almost painfully snug. Every movement sent shivers down his spine, the contractions of her interior muscles felt as though they were milking him, and her ample buttocks providing a lovely place to grip. The daemonette's pussy was dripping like mad as she ardently rubbed it, moaning in a breathy voice as he slowly but roughly pumped her anus. He bent over her, grabbing her breast and gripped the hand she was schlicking with, increasing the pace as he did so. Her tongue spooled out slighly, and Miles had her practically pressed against the wall, slamming into her with speed and strength. She suddenly kicked him onto his back, and before he could protest, she was already on top and jamming his erection into her ass. Taking power from her dominant position, she slammed hard into his crotch, taking it to the root before going up again. Miles sat up and the daemonette squeezed his face to her breast while he groped her buttocks, occasionally giving it a good slap, making her slam down with even greater force. As she pounded ever harder onto Miles's cock, slipping ever closer to orgasm, he spoke praises to the Emperor while she cooed in countless languages, her serpentine tongue lashing out wildly as the climax approached. Miles's fingers dug into her cheeks while she grabbed the short scruff of her at his neck as Miles exploded into her.
For a few brief moments, the universe was all a whitish blur as they lay together, drenched in sweat and other fluids, but Miles soon noticed something poking into his stomach. When he looked down, horror filled his heart as he stared down a eight inch long erection protruding from where the daemonette's slit previously occupied. The haze had cleared, and all he had done flooded into his mind. Worse yet, the daemon was already stirring. He pushed her off and made for the stairs, but she ontop of him again in moments, tits and erection pressing hard into the front of him, tongue attempting to force its way into his mouth. She mewled fought to mount him, but found that the sudden appearance of a giant penis had apparently rendered her plaything's previously diehard erection flaccid. Her fingers forced their way into his ass as she rubbed against him, but he managed to wriggle away, but tripped on the stairway. For the second time that day, he was rendered unconscious.
He was again bound by the wrists to the frame of bed, and awakened by the daemonette licking his chest and grinding against him. The sun had gone down, and by the light of the moon he could see the the corpse of the girl had been again disturbed, a fresh amount of pale ejaculate covering her and the immediate vicinity; the creature had been keeping herself entertained. His revulsion grew even greater, since this thing had curled up next to him, meaty thighs wrapped around his midsection and sticky with dried blood and her own powerfully aromatic fluids. The fiend notices his awakening, shifting her position to straddle the top of him, grinning down on him with sharp teeth. Dipping down to his face, she attempts to show some sort of twisted affection, planting wet kisses wherever she could. Still bound, Miles struggled to get free, but he could not escape
The daemonette pulled his face into her cleavage, grinding her plump ass onto his crotch. Before long, Miles felt the fog begin to gather in his brain, and struggled weakly. She laughed as she stroked her own erection, and he managed to pull away long enough to see her victorious smile as he realized that against all physiological law, he was again as hard as armor plating. The daemonette quickly surged foreword, aiming her substantial member directly at his mouth. Though surprised, he managed to clamp his jaw shut before it slipped past his lips. The daemonette frowned, gently began nudging Miles's lips with her member, growing frustrated with each push. Her brow furrowed, and she dug her talons into his shoulders. As he shrieked in pain, Miles found a eight inch tube of hot daemon-flesh slipping into his throat, bringing a sweet, spicy flavor tip flavor to his mouth that caused a tingle wherever it touched. The daemonette sighed with joy as her erect member slipped ever deeper, his gagging and retching causing her moan with perverse joy.
She pumped slowly, taking it out only long enough for her plaything to breath, grasping his head by the sides. The daemonette pulled her cock from his throat, now slicked in the guardsman's saliva. He coughed and weezed, eyes and cheeks red from the lack of air, but to his horror she was now taking position at his asshole. Again, he clenched with all his might, but this obviously excited her further. She brought her face down to his constricted anus, and began to tease his hole with her tongue. Despite his efforts, Miles's sphincter started to loosen, to tongue slowly worked its way inside him, pushing deeply into his ass. She stopped at his prostate, her fiendish tongue massaging it in a way that made Miles gasp in shock at the strange pleasure. Her hand found its way to his hardened member, but she did stroke. She squeezed it, running her claws across the young soldier's abdomen. Before he could react, she drew out her snake-like tongue, and pushed the head of her phallus in. Miles howled at the pain in his back-side, and he struggled to get it out, but for every attempt to escape she pressed it a little deeper, and before long he had taken her to the root, his own cock hard as stone. He clenched again and again, the daemonette moaned louder after each. Her tongue flowed out from her mouth, lazily lapping at his forefully erect cock. Slowly the daemonette began to pump her hips, going slowly but rough enough that he still clenched when her full length slipped inside. The thrusts increased in tempo, and each stroke brought a drop of pre-cum to issue forth from his tip. She began to growl as the began to lay on the punishment; the bedframe shook, and despite himself, Miles began teel that same terrible joy creep its way into his heart. The pain of the daemon's claws digging into his ass while she brutally reamed him began to fade, and all he could feel was this dread lust growing in his gut. He WANTED her to keep fucking him, and she saw this on his face.
Pulling her throbbing heresy from his anus, she changed positions, putting Miles on his knees with herself behind. She roughly shoved herself back inside his gaping, ravaged asshole. The daemonette pulled him close, pressing her heavy breasts to his back while her she worked her cock back inside. His whorish moans seemed to spur her on, shoving him against the wall with her hips, and began to fuck him like the slut she had made him. His precum splurted onto the now badly soiled sheets with every powerful thrust, her claws scraping at his skin. Every drop that flowed from him felt as thought a small orgasm had occured, and it wasn't long before he began to buck his hips back into her. She brought her hand down to his throbbing erection, and began jerking it as her own orgasm neared, doubling the speed of her thrusts. The daemonette squealed, grasping tightly Miles and his dribbling phallus, burying her head into his neck. She tensed as the the pressure built, and pounded Miles's ass with renewed vigor, about to cum while fastly working her lover's rod. Miles tensed and screamed as the daemon's handjob spilt his seed as the daemon's white hot semen sprayed inside of him. They breathed heavily as in the afterglow, and the daemonette pulled her flaccid cock from the guardsman's colon as he recovered in the puddle of his own sweat and ejaculate. He barely registed the daemonette cuddling close to him, as he drifted into sleep.
When Miles awoke, he found himself alone, with his armor and weaponry in a pile by the bed. His ass was in agony, evidence that what had occurred was not some bizarre dream. As he walked through the empty halls of the farm-house, it became apparent that he was alone now; the daemon had left. Shame filled his heart as donned what was left of his armour. Had he really enjoyed himself being robbed of all control and used by a creature of raw sexual appetite? Had it just been that intoxicating aroma or some drug befouling his mind? No sooner did he step out the door that he saw a Chimera crest over the horizon, the reinforcements had arrived earlier than he had expected. Private Miles Whitley was regretting more than ever that he joined the Imperial Guard as he reported to the officer in command. His story was long, but he had longer to formulate it. He wasn't getting a medal or an execution. He would just continue to be THERE, until some other monster from beyond the stars forced its way into his pants.