P. Dedeaux - The Prussian Girls

“Send in Nebelkopf.”

“Ja, Hoheit!” The man dressed his front rapidly, wiping his tool on a rag, resumed his shako, saluted, clicked his heels and thundered out the name as he turned and left. A new Goliath came in and took his stand behind the waiting warrior, the state of whose manhood, Maria saw, promised more of the same in a moment. Indeed, it was obvious that speed was the motto of this “servicing,” and the sight of one man at work stimulated the next, who was immediately ready.

Then the Count spoke briskly.

“You have six more, woman. You had better loosen up or it'll be worse for you. Give her three, Sergeant-Major.”

There was the rattle of the cane being taken down and the singleted Sergeant came forward, flexing it. Ulrika Wedell, lying limp to the point of senselessness, squeezed shut her eyes-this at least she understood… The cane-tip touched and joggled her flaccid buttocks, in the midst of which the sphincter still dribbled, winking. Then in a pracing rush the man thudded the stick across the outstretched fat, into which it bit pitilessly, lifting the mounds and leaving a black band athwart them.

“Nnnnnnngggg!”

Twice more she was lashed and to Maria, close by, the cuts seemed tougher even than those accorded the stable-boy.

“Another,” proclaimed the Count. And then he said, “Another still.”

Guardsman Klotz advanced to the broad rump across which the five lines now lay hard and close. He declined the vulva with a smiling nod and went straight to buggery. After him Nebelkopf enjoyed a long steady screwing in the cunt, then withdrew a rod that seemed to have doubled in size to impale the lush and now well-lubricated tallow of the bowels. Wedell cried and moaned constantly throughout this buggering, and the Count was forced to counsel-“Shit, woman. Try to shit him out. It'll end quicker for you, if you do.”

She received three more strokes after Nebelkopf, and after Nebelkopf came O'Brien, and after O'Brien came Wyztowski, a Polish ploughboy who had been impressed. Snorting and stamping this youth grew rapidly excited in the cunt, so that the stable lad had difficulty extracting him. The strong guardsman thrust him aside and relodged himself, delirious with enjoyment; at the call from the Count the boy grabbed the balls of the obviously spurting Grenadier and pulled him backwards by them, yelping and shooting his sperm in drenching gouts all over Wedell's body, principally on her hips. Maria Daunitz watched, horrified. The ejaculation was a series of quick thick jets, one of which spat so far it sizzled on the brazier.

“Clumsy oaf,” said the Count. “Send him to my Orders tomorrow. He will be flogged. It's the gauntlet for anyone who comes in her cunt.”

Wedell's face was streaming in tears, just as her behind was streaked with gism. She had only two more to take and took them, Maria thought, heroically. Let down off the trestle, her gag removed, the poor woman simply knelt stunned before them all for a minute, rasping groans coming from her throat, her anus bubbling and leaking. Only a couple of swinging whacks from the cane across the backs of her legs could bring her to life.

“A disgraceful exhibition,” said the Count, as a short tawny turd slipped unprotestingly out of Wedell's gut. “We'll give her something for that before she goes back home tonight. Now then-you. Get your arse up on the horse. Grease her well, boy. Rodell is a tiger.”

Ingeborg's ashen face and trembly limbs filled Maria Daunitz with another dizziness of terror. It was happening. It had to happen. In a moment she was going to be there, outstretched, rammed, jammed and screwed up the… oh, it was unspeakable, why could she not faint, die? But, alas, she stayed all too alive in her every sense. Indeed, Wedell was revived with brandy.

Perhaps after the sight of that furiously thrashing cane, Ingeborg opened herself like a flower. She endured Rodell, the Corporal, almost complaisantly, then two colossi, and then a long and obviously very painful buggering by a Spanish youth drove wails from the back of her throat. After which she cried constantly. Maria Daunitz was sobbing brokenly as she was ordered forward…

“Stop those silly tears,” said the Colonel when she was triced up like the others. “Here, boy, flavor the pear for milady.” To Maria's horror the cold moistened choke was dug up her anus before being placed between her jaws. “Now give her four.” When that was done the Colonel said, “If you shit on the floor you'll get a dozen. When I said shit it out I meant the prick, that's all. Now go to her, Roberts, and let's see her eyeballs pop. Show her what a Grenadier's prick is like. Stuff her to the gills, man, and squirt her full of lead, quick.”

But the stable-boy was exclaiming-“Sir, sir. Hoheit!”

“What is it now? Eh, eh?” Maria Daunitz was weeping, head hung. The Colonel understood. “She a virgin, is that it? Very well, let her take them all up the arse. Ever buggered a virgin, Roberts?” The Count spoke to him in accented English.

“No, Your Grace,” grinned the English lad advancing manfully.

“Ever buggered a boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Think you can make this young lady feel full to the gills?”

“Yes, sir.” He advanced even closer, grinning gleefully.

It was happening, it had to happen. Maria closed her eyes, opened them again at the touch of the cockhead nosing her most intimate entrance. No, no… merciful heaven, it could not happen like this. She was aware of Ingeborg on her right, standing straight to attention, expressionless, while to her left Wedell sighed and still rubbed the bruises on her bottom. Then she was lunging in her bonds with a whining grunt-“NGGG!”

The fat prickhead was inside her, swelling her unutterably, then with a couple of lubricating rubs the living limb slid up her-SLUCK! She gave a speechless scream, a soundless arching pant. She felt full up, jammed, every atom of her wanted to expel the monstrous intrusion. She was sweating steadily.

“Get it all up, man. The deeper you get the more you'll feel it.”

“Nnnnghhhhaaaaaah!”

In, out… in, out… two, three… out! Please, please…

It was swelling, inflating… the size was some impossible… air, air, where was air, for God's sake?

“Coming soon, Roberts?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, drill her full of it, man.”

Sluck!

“Ggggaooeqw!”

Once, twice, thrice, the shoot of semen thrashed her insides, jerking her straining torso like some fish. Four, five… one last gasping jetting. Then the long length of the pipe was sliding slowly out of her. Maria hung breathless, in utter sobbing relief, dangling like some side of beef.

“Give her brandy.” The neck of a flask rattled at her teeth. Seething fluid burnt her throat. “Now spread her wider, Kurt. That poor devil from England could hardly get in. She's got half a dozen more to take.”

“Shall I liven her up with a couple, Hoheit?”

(No, no, no…!)

“Not necessary, I think, Sergeant-Major. Proceed.”

The second was not so bad, nor the third. After the third she was leaking stained come in driblets to the floor. The fourth was mercifully quick. The fifth and sixth took their frightful time. The last… dear God, the last. But they had left their veritable colossus to the end.

He was not a large man, an Italian judging from his name, but the dimensions of his member as he came forward brought a whistle from even the watching Count.

“Good God, no mule is better set up than that.”

“Hoheit,” came Inge's beseeching on behalf of her friend.

“What's wrong now?”

“She's… virgin!”

The plea received but a guffaw-“Not there, I think.”

The Italian's eyes devoured the curves of the under-ass, saw the thighs twitching either side the dark pink of the tucked quim, then fingered his foreskin back so that the club-like head coned up firmly. His hands cupped under the cheeks, he laved his dong with a shot of spittle and sank into the puckered tissue with a sigh.