A Case of Need

A total bastard named Dieter wherever and whenever he desires fucks me, a married woman, a happily married woman, on demand.

The routine is generally the same. Using my own key, I enter his house, a sumptuous fuck pad paid for by his country's government. He likes me sultry and sluttish, a difficult combination sometimes. I wear a short skirt, usually the tartan number or the shiny black leather one, four-inch come fuck me Lucite pumps and something cut low in a wide v over my breasts, thin enough to show my nipples.

Back in the states, titmen loved seeing my perfect full breasts; legmen adore my shapely legs, assmen admired my behind, a derrière firm enough to pound nails. Before marrying Victor, glossy photographs of my breasts in low cut bras, my legs covered in sheer nylon, wearing high heel pumps, me bending over, the camera focusing on my ass appeared in numerous stroke books.

Stepping into his bedroom, its outer wall a pane of glass looking out on a snow-covered mountain, he is naked in his queen-sized bed, playing with his cock. No greetings, no conversation, I stand at the foot of the bed and watch his icy blue eyes travel from my spike heels, up my legs, taking in the short skirt, the cleavage of my breasts, my tongue licking my lips. All the while, he is slowly stroking his cock. With his paw of a hand, he easily circumnavigates his cock's circumference with his index finger and thumb. He is a bastard but nevertheless a handsome bastard. Standing six and a half feet tall, his blond hair chopped into a crew cut, no flab, muscular, aquiline nose, firm jaw, not smiling, he motions me to the bed.

Still wearing my clothes including my heels he fucks me quickly. He jams his thirteen-inch cock, thick as Progresso soup can, into my pussy. Grabbing my hips, he pulls me toward his cock, moves in and out. I feel pregnant with his huge member. Quite familiar with cocks in various sizes and dimensions, Dieter's is the biggest by far. He reaches down, touches one of my heels, getting off on fucking a woman in cum fuck me pumps apparently, sucks my nipples, first the left one then the right. Finally, he comes, squirting his syrupy semen into me in seven or eight serious spurts, he rests. I feel his semen draining from me like my period starting.

For several hours we fuck, our bodies quickly covered in sweat. He fucks me from a superior position where he is on top or he lies on his back bouncing his hips up and down, forcing himself in to me sitting on his cock, he fucks me doggy style, or he sticks his cock in my mouth and mouth fucks me. Sometimes he fucks my ass. I have to admit getting turned on by the pleasure coursing through my body. We do not chat; we do not nuzzle each other as lovers do in post coital bliss, Dieter never whispers endearments in my ear. When he does talk, it is to call me a bitch, a slut, a whore, to tell me to suck his cock, to get on my knees or tell me to bend over to jam his penis into my rectum.

Usually attired in a green uniform when not fucking me he sometimes greeted me in the basement of his house wearing a Nazi uniform replete with the Totenkopf (Death's Head) skull on the peaked hat covering his head, the Sig rune, the double slash symbol of the Schultzstaffel or SS on his lapels, polished jackboots on his feet.

On those occasions, he gave me warning and I came to his home looking like a prim and proper librarian wearing spectacles, a simple shapeless shift and flat shoes.

The basement room duplicated an interrogation cell in Gestapo headquarters down to the rack in one corner, stocks in another and the bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. I imagined the real thing in his headquarters and that he could teach Nazis a thing or two about torture and interrogation techniques.

Soon as I entered the damp smelling room, Dieter without a word, ripped the dress from my body. Naked, covered in goose bumps from the chilly air, he grabbed my hair, forced me to my knees. Smiling, he slowly unzipped his black trouser, pulled out his cock. "Suck me whore," he said.

Taking him in my mouth, trying to fit my lips around his cock, I started sucking.

"Suck harder bitch. I want to see your cheeks puckering."

I sucked harder. He reached out, grabbed my head in his hands like a basketball; he forced me down on his member. Choking on his cock, feeling it in the back of my throat, I sucked air into my nostrils, the sensation of drowning always coming over me at that point, the feeling of panic swallowing him down my gullet. At the same time, the tricking of moisture in my womb became a freshet overflowing the canal between my legs. I did, I do love sucking a man's cock. I cannot help it. Especially when the man rips the clothing off me, forces me to my knees, stands over me wearing all the regalia of a Nazi storm trooper and forces his schlong into my mouth. It is my newly discovered submissive side in full flower.

Of course, every sexual act between Dieter and me came down to his being dominant and me being submissive. My poor husband locked in a prison cell could have an easy or hard time. Victor's safety, his comfort, getting nourishment or starving, how much or how little they punish him depended on my submissive nature now. The more Dieter abused me, the less Dieter and Dieter's government abused my husband.

In my mouth, his cock reminded me of the big lollypops I sucked as a little girl. Tasting of cherries, my tiny, pure mouth full of sucker my jaws would begin to ache. Now, sucking Dieter, my mouth again ached but my mouth is no longer pure since I started sucking cylinders of cocks instead of globes of candy on sticks.

Full of him, wishing for a snake's double-hinged jaws, it felt as though I was gulping down a whole ham.

"Do not stop, cunt," Dieter said. He reached down; using both hands, he pinched my nipples between his thick, long fingers.

I groaned.

I sucked. He pulled my head forward, thrusting more of himself into my mouth.

I sucked. He tugged my hair, wrapped its blond filaments in his fingers in the same manner a cowboy holds his horse's reins.

I sucked. My jaw ached, pain shot through the tense muscles in my face and neck.

He came. Semen rushing from his cock drenched my mouth, a tidal wave of his warm fluid flooded down my throat, some of it leaked around the relaxed, imperfect seal of my mouth.

Swallowing, thick semen collected in the back of my throat felt like a warm milk shake going down.

As Dieter jerked out of my mouth, his cock shiny with my saliva, I though of other cocks I had sucked, special, memorable cocks.

I remembered the summer I sucked the sweet, mint tasting schlong of a Swedish student. Try saying that phrase with a mouth full of cock. One hot August day I sucked the sweaty cock of a Civil War re-enactor in the middle of a battlefield. I swallowed his semen and wondered how many blue and gray ghosts watched me perform fellatio on a Confederate Captain in the 30th Alabama assigned to the Third Brigade. One afternoon, a quiet rainy Sunday, me the virginal looking candy striper sucked off the stranger wrapped in enough gauze bandages to be a mummy. In the back of a yellow Volkswagen, I sucked a Sailor with sufficient ardor to pop capillaries in the head of his dick. None of them compared to Dieter.

Dieter, a cruel, heartless bastard who could crush my head with his thighs, Dieter, the smug fascist taking advantage of my plight, my husband's misfortune was nevertheless a relentless fucking machine.

As much as I hated him, my body responded. At first, I resisted, fought to maintain some kind of fidelity to Victor. As time went on though, as he forced me into greater and greater depravities against my will, my will dissolved and I began to enjoy wallowing in the slime with him, servicing him, crystallizing into a slut before his eyes, being his willing whore.

Sexually active with one man in my marriage, especially sexually active before that marriage, I enjoyed men and women with equal gusto and I quite willingly performed fellatio, fucked several men at once with great regularity and enjoyed women with abandon. That was different since I was the one in control. I fucked when and where I wanted. Not now though. No matter what he wanted, I had to comply or my dear husband suffered.

After he finished wiping his cock with a towel, he often secured me in a pillory, whipped me with a leather whip or a cat o nine tails. He might decide to attach clamps to my nipples or force whatever was handy up my twat. At various times he inserted the neck of a green wine bottle in me, a chilled cucumber, the heel of one of my spiked shoes, the gun barrel of a P-08 parabellum Luger pistol. Often with the gun in me, he used the barrel's forward sight to stroke my clit until I screamed for relief.

Not often, but enough, he bent me over a scratched and stained wooden table, smeared K-Y jelly over my rectum and fed his cock into my ass. Never before had I allowed a man to fuck me in my ass. Some tried, others pleaded but no one entered me there. Now, if I ever successfully remove myself from Dieter's grasp, if Victor emerges from his prison cell and we are able to flee, I will add anal sex to my repertoire of permissible sexual acts. Dieter's cock delighted me no end in this arena. Feeling his cock inside me, as though it reached all the way to my diaphragm, the pain so exquisite and yet it thrilled with such pleasure I nearly always passed out.

Most of the time Dieter, not a talkative person, fucked me conventionally in the comfort of his sleigh bed. We did not kiss, he did bit my nipples, scratched me, fist fucked me and once or twice he choked me. So far, he had not pissed or shit on me but it was a possibility he occasionally used as a threat. For the most part, I lay under him and he inserted his cock into my pussy and moved in and out of me in the tradition format. My pussy instead of opening up like God intended to transmit a child into the cold, cruel world, opened wide to receive his cock, the largest cock I had seen. Dieter touched sensitive sectors of my pussy with his prong never before visited. I feared I was too accustomed to his fucking, his girth, his length, his take charge, damn the torpedoes attitude. Would Victor's penis suffice touching his usual expanse of terrain or would I crave, need Dieter's prick or someone similar sallying forth into uncharted territory.

Sometimes Dieter showed a remarkable degree of sensitivity fucking me. He eased in, moved out of my center as though it was made of fragile glass. Then he spoiled it by whispering in my ear descriptions of the abuses to fall on Victor if I did not continue as his slut. Regardless of his threats, the action of his cock, the pleasure it triggered made me wrap my legs around him and beg him to fuck me, to keep fucking me. I was as verbal as he was non-verbal and I keep talking as he fucked me. I moaned, groaned, cried, scratched at his back, and pulled his hard ass toward me.

Today, he floods me once more with a copious stream of sperm.

He rises. "Slut, tomorrow night you will entertain 8 to 12 members, maybe as many as 15 members of my staff. I expect you to take a cock into each one of your holes simultaneously and stroke the cocks of two others at the same time. You will also lie on the bed and one after the other they will gangbang you. You will let them fuck you until they tire of fucking you. Is that clear?"

I nod and he inserts his cock into my mouth.

"Here is a good example. You might recognize the woman with our Dieter. She always asks for Dieter by the way. She is a representative in America's House of Representatives. Her husband is on the other side of the compound enjoying the delights of our prison and the staff of luscious female guards. He is a professor of English at what the Americans call an Ivy League school. Every summer for the pass five years, at the cost of $25,000 American dollars, they spend two weeks with us and play out their fantasies."

Two men, one heavyset, the other thin and lanky and the one talking, observe the man and woman through glass, its reverse side to the copulating couple a polished mirror.

"They always visit us with detailed fantasy scripts and we do everything possible to satisfy these fantasies," the thin man said. "Last year we netted $42 million dollars in revenue, I might add."

"Astounding," said the fat man.

"We are in talks with a small Caribbean country about establishing a similar facility. They need the cash revenue; we like the ambiance of the place and it will make our European hosts less greedy if they think we might pull up stakes as the Americans say."

The fat man, his cock, hard, in need of relief as it pushed against the front of his pants, watched the beautiful blond haired woman sucking the cock of the beautiful blond haired man. "Where do I sign up," he asked.

"First, why don't I have one of the girls come in and give you some relief. Then we will talk about your scenario," the thin man said.