Page 172 of S is for SEX

TOAD

When exposed to the brutality and horror of war, a man’s mind must decide how to process the terrifying experiences so the memories may be carefully filed away into the chosen portion of the frontal cortex of the brain; saved for long-term recollection. Some men seem to dwell on the horrific events, and allow them to chisel away at their life for all of the years which follow. Others become somewhat immune to the events of their past, or any similar circumstances which may present themselves in the future. I don’t believe the decision to either lose sight of the past or allow it to inhabit our mind is a conscious one, but more a matter of a person’s chemical assembly. The men who don’t seem at all bothered by their exposure to the atrocities of war are often perceived as evil, immoral, depraved, or wicked.

Hardened.

I’ve heard some describe me as hardened.

I couldn’t say I enjoyed what I witnessed in combat, nor could I accurately describe it as something I found to be horrifying. War happened and I was present. My mind processed the events, and for whatever reason, they were placed on a shelf along with chapters from various graphic books and scenes from B rate horror movies. I’m not so shallow that I perceived the war as a fictitious event, nor did I dwell on it as an absolute fact which required my continual approval or constant embrace. I did, however, realize my exposure to certain violent events had caused me to become lesssensitive to any and all things life now offered me; sex included.

In short, I needed tremendous mental stimulation of the violent variety incorporated into my sex. I needed it to be aggressive, rough, and unrestrained, or I wasn’t able to perform. My war-torn mind which had been pickled by the savagery of combat now needed violence to become aroused. There was no doubt in my mind I was a sexual misfit, and I realized my tastes and desires weren’t shared by the masses. The considerate side of me – the side my Catholic parents raised – often viewed my sexual side as a walking contradiction. I saw my sexual self as nothing short of a disaster. As much as I had tried to change it, I couldn’t. So, I simply considered myself damaged and decided to embrace it.

“Stop flopping the fuck around,” I said.

Considering my sexual tastes and lack of specific boundaries when it came to a sexual relationship, I was very thorough in my explanations of what my sexual partner and I were planning to do. The event, entirely, must be 100% consensual. If after discussing my sexual intention an agreement could not be reached regarding the intended event or events, the plan was changed until it was agreed upon. I may not be as compassionate as most men when it came to sex, but my partner’s knowledge of the situation and expressed consent was a requirement, not a recommendation.

I continued to wrap the Saran Wrap around her head at a rapid pace, covering her mouth, ears, and eyes with several layers. Too little of the plastic may allow her to force her tongue through the slit I intended to provide for her to breathe through; but in my opinion there was no such thing as too much. As I made one last revolution for good measure, her arms began to flap like a bird attempting to flee from a captor. Aggravated at her inability to hold still, I gripped the plastic wrap in both hands and pulled, stretching the material until it snapped. I pressed the loose end against the back of her head and grinned at my handiwork.

I quickly grasped the wrists of her flailing arms, pulled them behind her back, and wrapped them with several layers of the plastic, hoping to prevent injury. Now completely naked with her entire head and forearms wrapped in Saran Wrap, she collapsed onto the floor of my bedroom. Although her body began to convulse, I knew from experience it was mostly show and not solely from lack of oxygen.

Satisfied, I tossed the remaining roll of plastic wrap beside the bed.

I pulled my knife and flipped the blade open with my thumb. As it snapped into locked position with a pronounced click, she began to whimper and squirm on the floor. I knelt beside her and pressed against the back of her head with the palm of my hand, tilting her head slightly to the side. As I positioned my mouth against her plastic covered ear, I spoke clearly and with a tone of authority.

“I know you can hear me, this isn’t my first time doing this. Just listen. You’re fine. It’s only been about twenty seconds. Now, I’m going to poke a hole in this shit with my knife, which will allow you to breathe a little. The opening won’t be very big, but it’ll be enough for you to survive. If you flop the fuck around while I’m trying to poke this hole, it’ll just cut your face, and I don’t want that. I’m going to let go of your head, but you need to hold still, okay?”

As soon as I lifted my hand from her skull she nodded her head eagerly. Although she continued to moan and sob, she was otherwise motionless. Gripping the knife with one hand and holding her head with the other, I carefully poked the tip of the blade against the material which covered her mouth. A small slit roughly an inch long developed between her lips. As I tossed the blade on the floor beside the roll of Saran Wrap, I watched the plastic heave inward and outward with each labored breath she took. Her muffled sobs only added to the excitement of it all.

Fuck yeah.

This is the good shit.

This not being my first time at doing this, I knew for the most part what to expect. All people are different, and each one will react differently to the same situations. I did know the small slit would allow her to take in enough oxygen to survive, but her attempts to breathe with an elevated heart rate while I fucked her senseless wouldn’t be easy. Probably similar to running a full out one-hundred-yard race with your mouth covered and one nostril plugged, she’d be convinced each breath would be her last. In the end, she’d realize she was far more resilient than she originally thought.

As I stood and unbuckled my belt, I felt my cock rapidly rising against the fabric of my jeans. Prior to seeing combat, the mere mention of sex made me hard as a rock. After the war, the thought of simply having sex no longer made my cock hard; regardless of whom my potential partner may be. As past-war fate would have it, the notion of tying someone to a bed and fucking them into a whimpering pile of flesh excited me greatly. Additionally, the thought of a blowjob no longer aroused me. However, grabbing a woman’s skull firmly in my hands and face fucking her until the eyeliner ran down her cheeks provided me tremendous satisfaction.

I suppose in the eyes of many, I had become a casualty of war. I, on the other hand, looked at it as a blessing. I no longer had the luxury of even being able to muster a stiffy if the anticipated sex was going to be mundane or simple. For me it was a gift; God’s way of weeding out the few who may be unwilling; or women who were satisfied by simplistic sex. If there was a drawback, it was that I was always seeking someone who was able to withstand my sexual punishment. My definition of rough sex as compared to the opinion of the women I had fucked was in clear contrast.

As a result of my past problems with women and their inevitable gasps of, oh my God, you’re an animal, I made it a point to explain in great detail what it was I expected, wished for, and intended to do; sexually speaking. If someone wasn’t willing, neither was I. If women weren’t absolutely eager to attempt to out-fuck me, I never felt it was my job to convince them to do so. A person needed not only to be willing, but eager. Somewhere in the mix, I always made it clear early on that I wasn’t into kissing. Kissing, as far as I was concerned, was the definition of intimacy, and intimate I was not. At least not to the women I was fucking.

Lastly, I made it crystal fucking clear there was no possibility of a future relationship. I didn’t doubt my ability to be faithful to a woman; in fact I knew I was more than able to do so. However, I was quite uncertain of my capacity to be faithful to a typical woman. At some point in time, boredom would surely set in. For me, adventurous sex was a must; and nothing was more satisfying - long term - than the thought of wild sex with countless willing women.

“If you keep breathing like that, you’re going to pass the fuck out,” I said as I reached down and grabbed her bound wrists in my hand.

As I lifted her to her feet by her wrists, she struggled and groaned against the unforgiving food storage wrap that encompassed her head. When she finally stood on her own, I grasped the inside of her hip on the right with my fingers, and placed my left hand against her upper back. As I pushed my lips against the plastic which covered her ear, my warm breath condensed to moisture on the surface.

“Settle the fuck down, you need to pace yourself. Just like we talked,” I whispered into her ear as I kicked my jeans to the side and bent her over the bed.

Using my right foot, I swept her feet outward, forcing her to take a wider stance. I was tall at 6’-2”, but Sloan’s legs were much longer than mine. Standing, her pussy was naturally even with my belly button. Lowering it down to a place where I could pound it into a swollen mound of flesh was crucial to the success of this little romp.

While she grunted and whimpered, I guided my cock between her upper thighs. As I felt the warmth and wetness of her pussy encompass the head of my cock, I shoved her full of every inch of my throbbing shaft. It wasn’t my intention to simply fuck her and fuck her hard; I wanted her to feel as if she was going to die from what I was doing to her. I pressed my hand against her back of her plastic wrap covered skull and pushed her face into the comforter as I began to work myself in and out of her pussy without so much as an ounce of mercy.

I watched my cock disappear in and out of her glistening mound repeatedly. The sound of flesh on flesh motivated me to continue until my breathing was labored and I felt weak. Considering my physical conditioning, this was quite an accomplishment. Although I hadn’t checked the time, I suspected I had pounded away at her doggy style for no less than fifteen minutes; and not one second of it was slow or sensual. I beat my throbbing cock in and out of her as if my life depended on it. As I finally became conscious of what I was doing, I pushed my cock deep into her and held my hips against her ass cheeks. She arched her back and moaned as I felt myself bottom out.

“You young little bitch. You really thought you could keep up with me? I warned you. Ten inches of cock real slow is one thing. Getting your shit beaten to a pulp is another. Now I’m going to fuck you into a coma,” I grunted as I held my cock deep inside of her.

I pressed my hand against the back of her head and shoved it deep into the bedding. Again, I pounded my cock inside of her as fast and I was able. My balls steadily slapping against her clit with each stroke began to become hypnotic. A low groan as I tilted my head back and studied the ceiling was confirmation of my deep feeling of satisfaction.

As I continued to force my cock in and out of her dripping wet pussy, I released her head from my grasp and gripped the twelve inches or so of hair draped from underneath the plastic which covered her entire head. As I pounded my swollen shaft in and out of her, the sound of my hips slapping against her ass echoed throughout the sparsely furnished room. I pulled against her hair, forcing her to arch her back and lift her head to an elevation where I could see her face.

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