Key Words: Flip flops, tattoo
Forbidden Words: gun, weapon
Word Limit: 400 words
Extra Credit: who did you last salute?
Her body shook with every thrust into her; sweat dripped from the squealing young lady, the sounds of her rampant debauchery filling the expansive army tent.
It started with a tattoo: Eric’s tattoo. She lusted over his body art, loving his ornate pattern on his body. She cooed and teased, her finger nails running over his pale skin in the harsh desert surroundings.
He cocked a smile, she licked her lips. Their mutual flirting was entertaining: lust and sexual tension burning through their muted pretence at respectful propriety in seconds. Her fingers danced over his topless chest, his fist tugged at the hem of her dress. Her eyes sparkled, sexuality awakened.
But Eric remembered his comrades: with a sly wink five horny soldiers accompanied them. She fumbled at our shorts and our cocks: overcome with a depraved lust.
It was a risk; sexual frivolity on army bases was frowned upon, and the coquettish blonde knew this. But she was insatiable, desperate to enjoy Eric’s member. His back hit the floor of the tent as her lips suckled his cock to attention. He grunted and smiled as her body slid over his crotch and his dick nestled in the warmth of her cunt.
That was three men previous, and I had her ankles wrapped around my earlobes as I thrusted deeply into the young lady; so prim and proper with her private school education, but so delightfully sordid when exposed to the heat of the desert. Her womanly desperation was apparent; her continual horniness undiluted by two climaxes and a cunt full of cum.
She wanted to be taken, gasping into a mouthful of cock with every squelchy pounding into her hole. Her skin glazed with sweat, a delicious sheen of decadence, radiated in our small tent filled with the noises of our gangbang. With a final thrust, I felt her cunt clench and I unloaded: a thousand sparkles of delight as I pounded desperately to savour the peak of my orgasm.
We grabbed our rifles and the nearest footwear – our flip-flops – as we lined up outside our tent. “Sergeant!” The Major barked, as six naked men stood in front of him. “Do you want to be court-martialled?”
“Daddy,” the voice cried from behind us: the naked girl giggling with cum dripping down her legs. “Don’t shout at the naughtiest, loveliest men in your army!”
Court martial’s tomorrow.