Comfort Girl

They said time moves forward. That society advances, evolves, and changes.

I’ve learned that when under pressure, man always devolves. That the degradation of long held principles turn people into the animals they’ve mistakenly believed they aren’t any longer.

Two things always bob to the top: war (the desire to conquer) and sex.

The U.S. was the first in the world to spiral into blind dystopia, and it wasn’t long before other world powers lost their grip on their cloak of morality. War began soon after. It was land grabs, oil grabs, gold grabs, and grabs for any possession that could mean amassed wealth and power.

To sustain the fighting, food wasn’t what was required. Fighting stirred the blood, taking what little pretense that remained. Men decided they could be men of old again. Sex became a form of motivation in the ranks.

Reward for some. Punishment for others.

Women learned to give before it was taken, their form of control as times grew dangerous. Some became willing consorts. Offering their bodies to troops as comfort girls. It was consider a privilege among some to be a comfort girl. To be so used, a vessel to receive the come of a soldier, one fresh from battle with blood still warm on his face.

There were many women who refused to yield. They clung to a time where they believed they still had rights to their bodies. These women learned to hide and fight to protect themselves. They were feral in their determination to remain untouched. Many hid their whole lives, darting out as the troops passed through to scavenge.

To be caught was to be forced into service. It was a position I was unfortunate enough to find myself in today.

“Let me go, you fucker.”

I was seething. I’d gone out at dusk as always to scavenge, leaving Winnie home to take care of mom. I was usually really careful, hence the timing and going alone. Today I’d gotten cocky because I was under the mistaken assumption that the last of this section of D-troop of Russia had long cleared out.

A quick trip into the overgrown section of the old field had ended with me running into five gray geared Grunts hung back. My shock made me slow to react and I was scooped up before I could scramble away.

They escorted me into main camp. I realized how stupid I was to believe they’d all moved out when I saw how many men occupied the area. As I marched down the line of tents, clumps of dead grass catching in my ratty sneakers, I prayed Winnie wouldn’t try to come looking for me. The last thing I needed was both of us dying as whores of war.

One of the Grunts ushered me into the bigger tent of the troop head. He pushed me to the ground in front of a long wood table, pressing at the back of my head to get me to lower my eyes.

I snapped my head around and growled. “Fuck you.”

“Found a feral one, did ya?”

I turned back to glare at the gruff man standing before me. He towered over me, forcing me to strain to meet his black gaze. War had aged him, adding lines to his weathered face that made determining how old he was impossible. It was clear he fought more than sat around amassing spoils, given his a lean appearance beneath his puke green fatigues.

“One of the Unwilling.”

The man reached out to touch my cheek and I snapped my teeth. I tasted the dirt on his fingertips as I bit down. The Grunt wrapped an arm around my neck, but I refused to let go. I’d go down fucking swinging before I’d submit.

A well placed slap dazed me enough that I let go as quickly as I bit.

He lifted his hand to examine the nipped digits. I didn’t think it was possible for his eyes to grow any darker.

“Leave her with me.” His eyes raked over me. “Leave the cuffs and rope as well.”

The other man left without a word. Running wasn’t an option. Not when it would only lead them back to our hide out. I was down to bluffing or fighting. One was a better choice for obvious reasons.

“I won’t be a war whore. I’d rather die first.”

His easy smile made me nervous. I’m not used to men anymore, distrust the lot of them on sight. So his smile made me want to back away.

When he stooped down, he brought those dark eyes level with mine. I wanted to glance away, but I was no scared bitch who backed down. I hold his eyes and dare him to do his worst.

“A war whore. Is that what the Unwilling call them? Whore; to debase oneself by doing something for unworthy motives. This is for the good of the nation though. To calm the raging blood of men. Is there no nobler cause?”

I found a misplaced moment of bravery and spat in his face. “Go fuck yourself.”

He was on me in a flash.

The ground rose up to meet me too fast as he flipped me to my stomach. I tried to fight, believing my years in the woods had given me the necessary strength, but his lean body turned into solid muscle I couldn’t move.

I felt the cuffs lock around my wrists. His weight pressed down on my back again, forcing my cheek into the dirt.

“With feral animals, the best way to break them is with force.” His hand felt along the seam of my thin jeans, finding the hole that had worn into the crotch long ago.

The sound of old denim ripping filled my ears, rivaling my heartbeat for space in my head. Underwear was a luxury, and my life had never been filled with such things as luxury. I wished for them in that moment.

Thick fingers met no resistance as they felt along my vulva. My breath stuck in my throat as he pressed at my clit. No one had touched me there. My hands were the only ones that had ever ventured beneath my worn pajamas.

He removed his fingers, long enough for me to breath, but they were back again. Wet, he’d wet them with spit. They slid smooth along my labia, then between them, tracking slowly from my clit up. When he spread me wide, I struggled.

“Oh no, little tiger, don’t struggle yet.”

He pierced me then, those thick fingers pushing in deep to stretch me. It was uncomfortable, foreign, wrong.

I tried to wriggle forward, but he pushed his knees between mine to spread them wide and put more of his weight on my back. He went slow, an easy slide in and out until the discomfort passed, my body easing the way a little. I squeezed my eyes shut and grit my teeth.

“Fresh cunt. It’s been a long time since I’ve had something this tight.” His other hand finds my clit and touches me the way I touch myself at night.

“Fuck you. Fuck. You.”

I grit the words out, furious with myself. My body vibrated with anger and the building pleasure between my thighs.

“Almost time for that.”

Those invading fingers leave me, but there’s no relaxing as he teases my clit. Those tight circles, round and round have me humping into the ground beneath me.

I sense the shifting of fabric, the lifting of his hips off me for the briefest of seconds and then he’s close again. He used my hands to rub his cock, letting me feel him. Letting me anticipate what came next. He was hard and hot in my hands. My mind tilted.

“This is just for you, tiger.”

He spread me open and guided himself in. I panicked then, renewing my struggle in earnest even if all it earned me was my face pressed harder in the muck. He pressed his cheek to mine, bringing us close as he moved deeper.

He wanted me to feel all of him. The slow claiming, owning. I felt like he wanted to imprint himself on my skin.

“Please.” I didn’t think I’d ever beg.

I groaned as he breached my body. I felt like an untried mare being mounted by the prize stallion. My breath sawed in and out of me, my nails dug into the fabric of my t-shirt. This… was too much.

When his cock had gone as far as it could, he sighed in my ear.

“As good as I remembered.”

“Just do it. Just…”

I pressed my lips together as he lifted my hips enough to fondle my clit again.

“Oh no, little tiger, I won’t just do anything. I have to teach you how badly you want to be my whore first.”

He fucked me with slow even strokes, measured like his hot breath in my ear. The way he teased my clit made me move unconsciously to his rhythm. I could feel the way my cunt clung to his cock. The wet sucking noise so embarrassingly loud in the tent.

“Do you hear that?” He whispered the words in my ear. “The sound of my whore loving her new place in life.”

I keep my lips sealed tight so the moan didn’t slip out passed the angry words I wanted to say. I wouldn’t be his whore, I promise myself that even as my belly quaked with the building orgasm.

“Don’t worry, I’ll only share you when I’ve broken you in myself. When you’ve learned to come on command. When I’ve filled your tight little belly full of my come. Then maybe I’ll pass my war whore around to my men.”

His hips clapped against my butt over and over as the thought of me dripping with his come swirled in my mind. It was chased with visions of the Grunts taking turns with me.

“But you’ll always be my whore, won’t you, little tiger?”

He dug a nail into my clit and it forced a protracted moan from my compressed lips as I came. Every orgasm I’d ever given myself seemed dim as my cunt clamped down hard on him. I moaned again, all confused need beneath him.

He chuckled in my ear even as his pace picked up just that little bit more.

“Good girl. Because you were so good and came, I have a present for you.”

The way his hands gripped my hips, him rearing up over me, brought back thoughts of the mare and stallion. He shuddered above me and for the first time in my life, I felt the sputter of a man’s come as it filled my body.

I wasn’t expecting a kiss, but his lips touched mine almost sweetly. I still felt the tiny aftershocks as he lay semi-hard inside me, my inner thighs slick with more than just his come.

“Little tiger.” He brushed my hair from my face. “I’ll definitely enjoy turning you into my favorite war whore.”

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  1. Missy

    Wow Cara. This makes me think of the taboo lecture at Eroticon. I was totally drawn in and felt as horrified as she did at the way her body responded. This is a brilliant piece of writing which is needling at my mind, just as you intended. That fight between the body and the mind comes over so well. And I hate him!

    1. Post
      Cara Thereon

      There’s always this war between the things I like kink-wise and the distaste that can be attached to it. It’s better to get it out and on paper and let it go instead of locking it in my mind.

  2. May More

    The message in the song is so poignant and yes humans are devolving – But your writing is certainly not devolving! This is amazingly brilliant – this is my favourite story of yours.

    My man is always trying to make me step up with my writing – he asked me the other day to read two stories – one I like, and one I don’t, and to jot down what I like about the first and what I dislike about the second. He thinks that will be a good exercise to help improve my own writing. I immediately said
    “well I will pick one of Cara’s as the one I like, as she writes consistently well”
    – and this post says it all – So impressed yet again… Go to the top of the class lovely girl!

    1. Post
      Cara Thereon

      I think it started as a frustration at my current government mixed with a need to write something erotic if challenging.

      Thank you for saying this may. I don’t always feel my writing is on level (and gets a bit drab at times) so I appreciate the encouragement a lot.

      I stand by my comments that you’re fiction writing is solid. You have a dry clear and strong voice and I think it’ll only get better

  3. Brigit Delaney

    Rape is always a touchy subject to write about, especially when the victim has mixed feelings about the act or when her body betrays her and feels pleasure from violation. It is an uncomfortable conundrum of the flesh, as it turns from the mind and simply feels. This story really gets at that twist. Beautifully.

    1. Post
      Cara Thereon

      It’s one of those topics that I cycle around to writing regularly, often without thinking about it. The story started very political in my mind. I just kept thinking about how we devolve through generations as a society whether we believe we’re capable of it or not. Thank you for your comment

  4. Zebra Rose

    Lordy, that was a challenging read – torn all the way through between horrified disapproval (of the male characters’ actions, not the writing!) and a sneaking, unwilling tendril of arousal at the fantasy of non-consensual sex. Brilliantly-done.

    1. Post
      Cara Thereon

      It was a hard line to walk. A real component of war, maybe? It’s a kink of mine, but I wanted to write it more real than anything else. Thank you for your comment

  5. Kayla Lords

    The dystopian reality was a little too close for comfort (sadly) but this was an AMAZING piece of writing, and I’m desperate to know more! I’m with Zebra…appalled at the men and slightly aroused at the same time. Love this!

    1. Post
      Cara Thereon

      Yea, I was pulling from our current political plight a little too much on this one. My mind couldn’t help going there

  6. Molly

    You made me so uncomfortably aroused. My heart beat that bit faster and I wanted to look away but I couldn’t. I was rooted to my chair which was shamefully damp by the time I had finished reading


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