Fan Fiction- by Sven Eaglestorm

This was sent to me in response to the previous Military Erotica post by some very eager boy who wanted to play with me….and it worked and now we are playing and he even bottomed for my classes at Passional.


The saying amongst the soldiers of the resistance was that it was better to die by your own hand rather than allow oneself to be captured–the brutality of the enemy was well-known and much feared. I had not had this option, having been abducted in the night well behind our lines in a daring raid–it was carried out so stealthily that my guards did not even know it had occurred until the following morning, by when I was already locked in a sweltering cell far below the earth’s surface. I was kept in chains even in my cell, and when I lost track of the days I knew I would never be rescued.

Screams would often pierce the oppressive silence, evidence that interrogations were taking place. One day another prisoner was brought to the cell next to mine, and though we could not see each other, we would communicate in whispers. He told me that he did not remember when he had been brought to the prison, but that he had not been interrogated. “They dont need anything from me, thank god,” he said “you should pray that SHE never comes for you!” He explained that they only interrogated those who they felt would have valuable information, and that they always got the information they wanted. “She can make anyone talk! I have seen powerful men whimper at her approach, crying and shaking at the mere sound of her heels!” I knew it would not be long until you came for me. I swallowed hard.

Eventually, after what seemed like eternity, I heard the hollow, booming sound of heels on the stone floor, and watched as you slowly made your way down the hall, illuminated occasionally by the low flickering bulbs that lit the dungeon. To my amazement, though I tried to retain my composure, I felt a mixture of fear and lust surge through my body–as you passed my cell, I was awe-struck. Your uniform was immaculate, your boots shone in the dark, your hands, which gripped a riding crop, wrapped in black leather gloves, an officer cap atop your flowing mane of hair. When I saw you next, it was as I was waking from a dreamless sleep, and you were at my cell door…

…your guards carried me to a bright room as you followed languidly behind, and stood me in the center of the room. The room was filled with instruments of torture: whips, hooks, coils of rope and chains. My hands were bounded behind my back, and the guards closed the door behind you. I felt your gloves on my wrist, felt a tug at the ropes, and they dropped to the ground, sliced off by a razor sharp dagger, which you now pressed against my back. “Put your hands in the air.” You commanded. I obeyed. “Grab the ring above your head.” Again, I obeyed. From behind, you reached up and expertly bound my wrists to the ring above my head, tightening them so that I was forced to stand slightly on my toes. I was wearing only my uniform trousers and an under shirt, and with my arms above my head it was clear that I was drenched with sweat. I felt your hand on my back–the glove now removed. You reached around and undid my belt, roughly forcing my trousers down onto the floor. Your knee slid between my legs and pushed them apart so that I was standing wide. Now you moved to face me. You were even more impressive in the light. Again I felt a strange lust amidst the fear. “There is no point in asking you anything now. I can see that you are trying to be strong.” A smile played at your lips. “That is…futile. I will break you.” You flourished the knife. My heart leapt. My only hope had been to pace the torture by bluffing with false answers, but now this was not an option. You sliced off my thin undershirt and, after assessing my naked body, turned to a table full of devices and selected a rubber ball gag. “Open your mouth. So your screams will not distract me.” When I refused, you force my mouth open and stuff the ball into it, strapping it behind my head. Then you pick up your crop and move behind me…

I am able to cope with the lashing at first, but the pain swells…you take breaks to run your fingers along the marks, gently, and then continue to lash my ass, legs and back. The stinging is overwhelming but I bite the rubber ball. You put the crop down and pick up a multi-tailed whip and continue my punishment. Finally I scream against the gag as tears well in the corners of my eyes. This causes you to exhale in pleasure, and after several more strokes, you stop. When you come to face me, I see that you are sweating. “You should see your backside. Red and bruised. Delicious. Still, I have had others last longer. You are not going to cope well with what is in store for you.”

Wave after wave of pain. You slowly attached clothes pins to my body, and intricately tied them together with a string, so that, after some time, you could pull them off in a domino effect, which caused me to scream and whimper, writhing against the tight ropes. Again I am paddled, whipped…you tie a rope around my balls and attach it to my toes, so that any move I make to escape the coming blow causes intense agony. Eventually your knife flashes again and cuts my bonds, and I crumple to the ground. Before I can even think of crawling away, you press your boot onto my chest and then straddle me. I am too weak and fearful to wrestle you off. You press your body against mine as you tie me again, spread eagled, on the cold floor. The cement both soothes and aggravates my scortched ass and back. You pick up a candle and hot wax is dripped on me until I am nearly covered, shamelessly screaming and pleading against the gag all the while. You stop, and begin slowly, sensually removing the dried wax. To my suprise and your amusement, I feel myself beginning to grow hard…”You see? There are many ways to obtain information. There is fear,” you say, lifting the crop to watch my flinch, “and these is desire.” With this, you slide off your tight riding pants. You stand and straddle my head, grinding yourself on the ball gag. My heart pounds and my head swims, all I can think about is breaking free to touch you, but the bonds are too tight, and I have been weakened by the hours of torture. Suddenly you stand and pull your pants back up, straightening your uniform.

“Thats enough for now. I am bored of this. Guards!” You call, and I am dragged back to my cell to await the next round. As I lie curled on my stiff mattress, I realize you have not yet asked me a single question.

~ by Klawdya Rothschild on November 10, 2008.

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