The other thing was that I was going to do was update you guys on the progress I’m making on the full-length book I’ve decided to make out of my story, Jack and Diane, but then I realized that I never fucking uploaded it here to begin with! Something is very, very wrong with me.
Aside from the kink, which is just plain fun as hell, over the years I’ve discovered that I tend to keep coming back to certain themes in my writing. Sure, the soldiering and the armor and the violence and the uniforms are a deep fascination, but those are really just props that my brain uses to engage with other, deeper ideas. Ideas like, “what happens when the right thing to do is not the correct thing to do?” or “what is war?” or “how do you learn about yourself in a crushing hierarchy?”. I find that I’m constantly revisiting the question of obligation, the blurry line between duty and compulsion. Some days I feel like I’m tapping into something unspoken about the millennial worldview. Maybe the tension I’m constantly trying to convey between bitterness and wonder is what some folks in my age cohort are looking for. Maybe that’s the kind of sex they’re having.
The other day I coined the word ‘bitterfuck’. It was tongue-in-cheek, referring to a RP I’m doing where I’m playing a behemoth of a dominant personality who is going to take the virginity of a small young woman almost half his age while out in the lawless, post-apocalyptic wilderness. It sounds like a rape scenario waiting to happen, but it won’t be. The man I’m playing isn’t arrogant and selfish. In fact, I’ve gone to some lengths to paint him as a rather passive product of others’ cowardice and greed. As a gun for hire, he knows what it’s like to be taken for a ride and treated like trash. Through the build-up towards the first sex scene, I have him think a lot about assaulting his young, inexperienced client. But it’s more that he thinks a lot about wishing that he wanted to rape her, because that’s the person he thinks other people expect him to be, and simply taking what he wanted from other people would make his life a lot easier. But in reality, most of his previous relationships left him victim to the manipulation of deceptively dominant women. As a dom himself, having a modicum of integrity has left him feeling very frustrated. And very bitter.
Sure, there’s always going to be the passionate kiss stolen without asking or the occasional “accidental” grope. I like to use casual male nudity as a symbol of power. These are situations that most people wouldn’t find sexy in real life, or even morally acceptable, but that’s erotica for you, and the realness that I want to figure out how to depict anyways is a feeling. Or maybe it’s a philosophy. How do you enjoy sex in a loveless, oppressive world? Can you build trust between two people without emotional intimacy or romance? Can it be satisfying? Enter bitterfuck: sex that is raw and revealing, but not in the usual ways. Bitterfucking is when you go up to someone you barely know, with liquor on your breath, and ask if you want to make each other feel good because pleasure and pain are the only constants you can think of in a world that otherwise seems to hate you. Bitterfucking is saying, “I didn’t consent to being born, but I can at least consent to this”.
So that’s the backdrop I’m working on for the fully-fleshed out erotic dystopia story that came out of Jack and Diane. Other than that, it will hopefully hit all my usual notes: dicks almost too big to fit, military and post-apocalyptic themes, shrewd characters who tend to contemplate their mortality a little too often. Hopefully it’s good.
Anyways, here’s the little diddy. It’s about Jack and Diane, two enemy soldiers fightin’ in the wasteland.
None of this should have been happening. “It’s going to get you discharged,” she whispered to herself as she waited behind the piles of supply crates. She knew where the shadows were, where the others’ patrols were, how the sound carried through this particular gulch. If operations at the base went smoothly and everyone was where they were supposed to be, then she might actually be able to get away with this.
Which was good, because the more she thought about it, the more it was beginning to resemble treason.
What had compelled her to initiate this was becoming more and more a mystery as the days went by. He was enemy infantry in a war that was seriously wearing out its welcome, but still – this was treason, wasn’t it? Sleeping with the goddamn enemy?
Was he an enemy, though?
That first time… he’d rolled the both of them out of the way of a grenade and let the shrapnel hit him in the back. He’d been bent over her as he winced at the injury, and they stared at each other for what seemed like three, four minutes at least. Not a single word exchanged, but the look in his eyes was one of recognition: what the hell are we doing here, anyways? they seemed to say. And then like that, their moment ended with another explosion of ordnance and he was gone. She was still amazed that someone nine feet tall could move so fast.
A week later, and they encountered each other again. Taken cover behind the same bit of rock during a firefight, he crouched and she in a wide stance, each pointing their guns at each other until it occurred to them that they knew the face staring back. Another wordless moment of staring, and then he reached forward with his free hand to crush her face against his for a quick, dusty, and desperate kiss that left her panting. He’d given her a wink before slipping away again.
Third strike was two weeks after that, when she encountered him while on night watch at the very furthest edge of their territory. He was alone, smoking a cigarette that just seemed too damn small against his fingers, with that look you get when you’re wondering if you’re doing the right thing with your life. She jumped down from her scouting platform, at which point he took a knee and brought her lips to his again for another kiss: deeper this time, but with no less desperation and insistence than before. His thick arms wrapped around her fully and her thigh brushed against the crotch of his pants, where something stirred. He held her there for a moment.
“You know what they say,” she’d whispered. “Third time’s a charm.”
They exchanged surnames: her Gray for his Rice. She didn’t even know his kind had surnames. But what she gave him after that was what was eating her up now – a date, a time, and a set of coordinates. It was an open invitation for a quick fuck as much as it was an open invitation for an attack. But for some reason, it was important that she make the effort to trust him. It was her little way of giving the finger to this entire mess of a war, she supposed.
And OK – maybe the feeling of his junk against her leg really set her on fire.
After 10 minutes of waiting, she glanced at her watch: 0112. He was two minutes late, and she was starting to get nervous.
Three more minutes ticked by before she heard the sound of boots on dry, rocky dirt, and she actually got more nervous when she realized that he was actually going to show up.
Before she knew it, he’d rounded the corner, ducked down, and pried his headgear off.
“Sorry about that,” he whispered.
She swallowed. “No one followed you?”
Her heart was still racing a bit, and it only picked up speed when he ran a big, gloved thumb down her cheek and across her chin. He wasn’t staring at her eyes this time, but her mouth.
“We should hurry inside,” she said, breaking away from his hand. He nodded and followed her into the storage locker, ducking in through the human-sized door before she quickly shut and locked it behind them.
“So how do you know I’m not here to kill you?” he said, taking a seat on the ground and stretching his long legs out before him. Each one was almost as long as her.
“I could ask the same thing,” she countered, shrugging off her flak vest and unbuckling her utility belt.
“Don’t mean to be rude, but… you wouldn’t be much of a match in close quarters like this,” he chuckled. Little creases appeared beside his eyes.
She cocked a brow at him and closed the distance between them. “You don’t know what I’m packing,” she murmured.
Before she had the chance to turn away and continue undressing, he grabbed her with those arms of his and brought her flush against him, coaxing a little gasp from her. She could feel his length against her leg again. It sent a jolt of electricity down her spine.
“You don’t know what I’m packing either,” he said into her collarbone with that baritone voice of his.
His hand, big and made bigger by the tactical glove he still wore, made its way down her back until it rested firmly on her ass. Her skin was on fire and she couldn’t help but brace herself against his broad shoulders as he jerked her pants down to her ankles before suddenly rolling onto his back and bringing her with him.
The pace quickened, then.
Before she knew it she was in her underwear and compression top, and he was shirtless too. God, he was big: his torso was as long as she was from head to knee. And moreover, he was handsome. Short-cropped dark hair, dark eyes, and a medium complexion made richer by days out in the sun. His body was peppered with scars big and small, some of them undoubtedly from the implants his side was in the habit of using. They hadn’t said a word in minutes, being preoccupied with exploring the recesses of each others’ mouths, counting teeth, and biting lips.
At some point his middle finger had slipped down between her ass cheeks, though, and found something hot and wet, much to his satisfaction. And once his thick digit started to move, it was much to hers too.
“Keep making those sounds,” he breathed into her hair as he worked away at her through the fabric of her underwear.
She mewled and whined and pawed at his muscled chest, burying her face into his neck as she raised her hips higher and higher into the air, needing more contact, more pressure…
His hand moved away, but before she had time to protest he replaced it… this time slipping it under the elastic of her panties and finally touching her aching flesh.
“Shit,” she whimpered into him. He just laughed.
“How long’s it been?” he asked, stroking her lightly with a finger big enough to be a formidable instrument of penetration all its own.
She made more sounds and bucked against him. “Too long…”
“A year,” she panted, trying to grind her hips against his hand.
“Try two,” he chuckled.
“Just shut up and fuck me.” She dove in to cover his mouth and claw at his shoulders.
He rumbled at that, snaking his fingers along her scalp before suddenly tightening his grip into a fist and jerking her head away roughly to expose her neck. She gasped at the pain of her hair being pulled taught and his knuckles digging into her skull, but god, it made her feel alive. The finger that had been stroking her popped into his mouth and she watched, blood pumping, as he licked her moisture from his digit, dark eyes growing darker.
He took that same hand and hiked up her compression top to reveal her breasts – nipples puckered at suddenly meeting the cool air of the storage locker – and he worked at those for a moment, easily taking both into a single huge hand. Every callous along the pads of his fingers sent heat straight down to her hips when they grazed her sensitive flesh.
“I’m not gonna fit, you know,” he murmured, staring at her chest with wanton intensity, hand still kneading its grip in her hair.
“Like hell you won’t.”
He laughed again; a low, rolling sound. “I’m nine-one, five-hundred and fifty pounds, Gray. What do you think?”
“I think you’re over-hyping,” she said, a little bit of a challenge in her voice.
In a swift, fluid motion, she was suddenly on her back and he was kneeling above her, a thick leg on either side of her ankles. He caught her staring at the very obvious bulge in his pants, at which he grinned and palmed at it for a moment before going in to undo the fly. The length of flesh that slipped out almost startled her, actually – thick, long, and with a little bit of a curve to his port side. It only took a half second to realize that it was bigger than her forearm.
He was poised above her, resting on one arm as he lightly jerked himself with the other. “Told you.”
Partly driven by a refusal to admit defeat and partly driven by some animal need to feel that thing between her legs, she set her jaw and tore her gaze from that gorgeous cock to look him in his smug face. “Try me.”
He cocked a brow and studied her for a second. “Persistent little thing, aren’t you?”
“Persistence is what got us into this mess,” she egged back.
He grabbed her and a second later she had her back to his chest, each one of his big hands holding her by a thigh as he held her precipitously above that twitching organ. Her underwear was gone. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, but try and reach down and touch it again. He rumbled languidly when her fingers stroked the head, but his words in her hair sent a shiver down her spine: “Position me while I try to work you onto it.”
The tip, thick and glistening with precum, pressed against her opening, and she hissed sharply. It was all pressure.
He growled, and with a thrust of his hips he was in.
She practically saw stars at the sensation of his girth stretching her to the breaking point, and as he pushed in another inch, it was like the air was being steadily forced from her lungs.
“You can tap out,” he said, deep and ragged, hips shaking as he struggled to keep from just impaling her.
Every muscle in her body strained against the battering ram of a cock in her, and for a flash of an instant she wondered how many purebred humans had hooked up with one of his kind. She wondered if there was a guidebook circulating somewhere. She could sure use one about now.
“You -” A gasp as he moved the tiniest amount in her. “You sound like you’re not even into it.”
Now that was a challenge. Roughly, and still only a few inches inside her, he switched up his arms: a single one now pinned her knees to her chest while the other hand encircled her throat. She found her own two hands reaching up to grasp at his fingers, fight or flight kicking in. But he ignored her, pushing in another nearly unbearable inch and muffling her cry with his tongue in her mouth.
Her head swam. Bad idea, she thought. This was a bad idea.
She didn’t expect the surge of pleasure when he quickly drew out, though, and plunged back in to fill her overfull. He groaned at that, and she could feel his lungs suddenly begin to work overtime and beads of sweat form along his chest.
No, good idea. Good idea after all.
She wasn’t going to last long like this at all. Not at all. Her restricted breaths, her stuffed core with his oversized prick hitting her in all the right places inside as he rocked in and out…
Oh god, and now his lower hand drifted down to her clit, stroking around where her strained skin met his and rubbing at the tiny little nub of flesh. It was only a few pitiful seconds of this before the heat and pressure in her tripped the release valve, and she came. Hard.
He covered her mouth with his hand as he pumped away, muffling her screams from outside ears. Her body clamped down on him as best it could, trying to draw him further in, but he was in as far as he could go. And being on the receiving end of her contractions drew some breathy, throaty grunts of pleasure from him too.
Eventually she collapsed back against him, still rocked by little aftershocks and holding onto herself.
“I take it you were into it, then,” he said with a smirk on his voice, still husky from his own still-unreleased pleasure.
She wanted to close her eyes, lay down like a puddle on the floor and tell him to come back tomorrow, but he still had his own orgasm to experience. That was just part of the bargain. It was nice of him to let her go first, at any rate.
She hadn’t said anything, still busy trying to catch her breath. After a moment he gave another little thrust into her hypersensitive cunt: she yelped, and he laughed.
“Wake up, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “No sleeping yet.” He eased himself out of her, and she whimpered at the sensation. “Alright now, on your belly, legs together. You might be able to take me this way.”
That sent a shiver down her spine. He lowered her down onto the ground, and she willed the sleepiness from her bones, steeling herself for whatever it was that he had in mind. She heard his boots against the hard dirt floor, the slight shifting of his pants, and the sound of him spitting a few times – probably into his hand, which would be as much lube as she was going to get right now. When his thick cockhead eased between her ass cheeks and pressed against that little ring of muscle, she sucked in a breath and was prepared to hold it, but his hand stroked her back.
“Little field med trick I learned,” he murmured, still stroking. “Deep breath in…”
She did as told.
“Deep breath out.”
“In…” Again. “Out. Now one more time.” His hand relocated to her hip. “In…”
He pushed suddenly, and her breath left her with a harsh wince and the barest hint of a moan.
“Fuck,” he rumbled, losing himself to the bliss. “Fuck this is still… pretty tight…”
The giant continued stuffing more of himself inside of her, overwhelming her with the sensation of fullness. Those pillowy walls couldn’t try to squeeze him out like her cunt could, but like that would have done much good anyway. And still he pushed. Jesus Christ, how much cock did the man have? It just kept going!
After a few more moments, she finally felt the brush of fabric against her ass and thighs, and knew that he was buried to the hilt. He panted above her, adjusting his legs beside her for more comfort, better leverage; something like that.
“How’s it feel?”
She sucked in a shaky breath. “Like you’ve… you’ve rearranged my insides.”
He chuckled out through his nose, then started to move. When he thrust back in, it was her turn to curse.
“Was that a good fuck?” he asked, concerned, but not concerned enough to stop. He withdrew and pushed back in slowly. “Or a bad fuck?”
“I… I-I don’t know.”
“Just relax,” he said haggardly, a genuine warmth in his lust-worn voice. “I’m gonna try and make this feel good for the both of us.”
Those words, to her surprise, sent a tremendous tingle shooting down her spine, and her gasp turned into a moan when he rolled his hips into her again. She wanted to spread her legs, even though that would mean he’d be driving into her deeper – shallower penetration was a benefit of this position – but his huge legs were in the way, pinning them together.
He experimentally thrust harder, and she couldn’t help the whimpering cry that escaped her. Her whole body reeled from the intense sensation, the pain, the pleasure, the pressure; every muscle and tendon strained against that massive cock. When she didn’t react badly, he picked up his pace with a growl, pushing her into the dirt with his weight.
“Hnugh… You really weren’t expecting me to – unh – be this big, were you?” he asked rhetorically in between thrusts and panting breaths.
“I don’t…” She winced, air catching in her throat. “I don’t know what I – hnn! – was expecting.”
Just then his forearm came down onto the ground beside her head, fist balled, and she felt his hot, heavy breath on her hair. His right hand slid between her and the ground to tease at her cunt again. She just about saw stars at the ferocious surge of pleasure that tore through her belly, and the hoarse whimper that tore out of her throat.
She hissed when her whole body started to shake at the absurd overwhelmingness of it all, and blood surged.
He just laughed – or tried to, but his own pleasure was seriously beginning to catch up to him, and the fingers at her lips were imprecise in their movements. But right now, precision didn’t really matter. He continued to pound into her, almost pressing her up into him as he roughly stroked. She didn’t last long. A minute more, maybe, before her second orgasm ripped through her violently, and he had to scramble to cover her mouth again because boy did she all but scream. Her body shook underneath him, muscles clenching, and he growled his satisfaction, deep and fierce as he pounded into her with wanton abandon.
He came too, that nine-foot, five-hundred-fifty pound, enemy soldier. And he did a better job at keeping quiet than her, too, grunting and growling and groaning through his nose, mouth clamped tightly shut. His cock throbbed, pumping its hot load into her, and she was so tight around him that she could feel every single pulsing jerk of his flesh.
For a minute he stayed inside her to catch his heaving breaths – they both did, really – and she relished in the sensation of his softening. After a moment, he sat back up, gave her ass a few slaps for a job well done, and pulled out with a contented sigh. She winced when she felt his spunk (which was much) ooze out of her, wondering if she had something she could wipe it up with. He beat her to it, though, and she looked over her shoulder in time to see him produce a rag from his back pocket and reach to wipe her down with.
“That’d better not be the one you use on your gun,” she breathed.
“I’ll use the clean part.”
She could feel every goddamn fiber on that rag, it seemed like, and it felt more like a cheesegrater, but it was over soon enough, and after she heard the sound of him zipping up his fly, he pulled her up into his lap like the rag doll she suddenly was.
“We seem to make a pretty good team,” he chuckled. “What do you think?
“I think you’re a crazy goddamn son of a bitch,” she mumbled. “What the hell was I going to say if I showed up in the infirmary bleeding from the ass?” He suddenly grabbed her legs and pried them apart unceremoniously, taking a bemused glance at her down below. “Hey!”
“Well, you’re not bleeding, so…”
She rolled her eyes and shut her legs, and they sat in silence for a little while longer, still basking in something of an afterglow. If you could call it that.
“You know what I think?” she relented. “I think if I gotta go another year without that then I’m gonna go crazy.”
She looked up at him, and he gave her a wink. “Yeah? Try two.”
They sat like that for a while, half-listening to see if anyone was coming, half lost in the doped-up haze of post-orgasm. Still feeling like she’d run about 5 miles, the past few minutes had been an exercise in trying to stay awake than anything else, and trying not to get too comfortable for a number of reasons.
“So what do we do now?”
Reasons that this sudden, sobering, question of his brought to the fore of her mind.
She sighed. “We put on our uniforms and we go back to being who we were.”
She got up from his lap, and staggered back toward her pile of clothes. He stayed behind for a moment before doing the same; but there was something in his face, his body language. He looked out over his discarded body armor, vest, helmet, shirt, guns, and seemed… dissatisfied. She looked at him: this huge, monster of a man, seemingly capable of anything, and what she saw was someone frustrated and befuddled.
“You were hoping to go full-on Bonnie and Clyde, weren’t you?”
He ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair. Wiped the dirt and the sweat from his brow. Then he reached down for his shirt, pulling it over his head and tugged it down impatiently. “It was a fuck,” he muttered. “Just a fuck. Not wanting to shoot me in the face is all that made you a good candidate.”
She looked at him sidelong, eyebrows knit and mouth twisted up as she put on her underwear and pants at the same time. “I mean, I knew that was probably the case, but I didn’t need to fucking hear it, Rice.”
He rumbled, shook his head. Time for the body armor, which he began to clamp in place along his arms. She laced her boots.
“What do we do now?” he repeated, louder this time. Ragged, but in a different way than before. “We just go back out there and pretend this never happened?” He whipped around. “This war is bullshit, Gray!”
She flinched at his volume – not that he was yelling, but that she was beginning to get paranoid that someone would hear – and walked over to him as he continued to armor himself, doing the clamps with quick, angry movements. “You think I don’t know that?” she hissed quietly. “You think I like doing this?”
“Then what? We keep going out there until one of us gets killed? I’m not pulling the trigger on you, dammit.”
“I’m not deserting. It’s either this, or the wastes, and I’m not going back out there again.”
He stopped, shoulders slack, with one arm done up and half his chestplate on. He looked down at his rifle for a long moment, face faintly creased in thought. He suddenly appeared tired in that way that not even a week of bedrest could fix.
She touched his arm and he looked back at her – sad, now.
“Two weeks from now, same time, same place,” she said quietly. Then with a faint smile: “I’ll try to find some lube.”
He regarded her for a short while before going back to what he was doing, then she did too. Then it was his turn to touch her arm, and before she got a chance to turn, he had her by the waist, and quickly found herself crushed against hard body armor. His lips were on hers – it was one of those passionate, desperate kisses, the sort you have when you’re not sure how much longer either of you will be alive.
With that, he slipped his helmet on, rifle in hand, and headed for the door.
“Hey,” she said, stopping him. “I just realized that… I didn’t know your first name.”
He cocked his head a little. “Zero nine one five.”
The door shunted open, and he disappeared into the deep darkness of night. She found herself unable to move as she listened, straining to hear any sound – gunshots, a raised alarm – but there was none, and after a long time she was able to let out her breath at the realization that he’d made it back out without being seen.
She finished dressing, and glanced at her watch. Shit, she needed to make it to her checkpoint in ten minutes.
Her ass was sore. No, her everything was sore. She’d be walking funny.
I’m not pulling the trigger on you, dammit.
Would she, if she had her back to the wall? If someone was watching? Would she be able to go back to being that person?
No, she decided. Even if it meant being called a traitor and dealt with accordingly.
So, alright, they couldn’t be Bonnie and Clyde.
Jack and Diane, though?
Maybe that was doable.