When the Saloon Turned Into a Sexual War-Zone, No One Was Spared

Soldiers were shooting loads everywhere. Men were trapped behind enemy lines. There was chaos, carnage, and cum. This essay is part II of II.

Read part I here.

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“Want to fuck me?” I asked. If it felt that good in my throat, just imagine how it would feel in my ass. 

He did. I bent over, dropped my jorts, and pulled my bikini undies to the side. It was almost like taking anal beads. I felt the pressure and pleasure in and around my hole, but when he was deep inside me, I didn’t feel his piercings. 

I could work with that. I backed my ass up and down his dick—slowly. I wanted to feel each ring push its way inside of me. It was a relaxing fuck that was clearly for my pleasure, not his. Still, I think he was into fucking someone less than half his age. He called me “Boy,” and I called him “Daddy.” It was hot knowing he was actually old enough to be my father.  

When he needed a break (From what? Unclear, as I was doing all the work), I ventured back inside with a warmed-up hole. It was time to get what I came there for: the winner of the best dick competition. 

When I went back inside, it was like ‘Nam. Utter chaos. People shooting (loads) without looking. Men on all fours, crawling in the trenches as other men snuck behind them, ready to pounce. The sounds of grunts and moans echoed throughout the battleground. 

“You’ve had enough, yet?”

“Take it, faggot.” 

“You’re all mine.” 

But I couldn’t get distracted by bedlam. I was on a mission: to retrieve my comrade, better known by his moniker BDW (Best Dick Winner), from beyond enemy lines. He was captured, lost in a big hole. Whenever he managed to crawl his way out, he found himself in yet another hole. The only way to find him, be a better hole. A hole to take him all the way home. A hole that will make him forget those other holes existed. 

Alas, I couldn’t find him amidst the mayhem. The only thing I did see was a fellow patriot, B1, in a jail cell. He was fighting off five men and was repeatedly getting thrown against the wall. The men spread his legs, each taking turns on him. One after the next, pounding and pounding, with no end in sight. I had to help, so I pushed my way through the sea of men, threw off my uniform, and grabbed the cell bars. I was only able to draw two of them off of him. So I placed my leg on the stool and, with one hand, spread my cheek apart to give the enemies more access to my hairy hole.