The Adventures of Private Whitley

Private Miles Whitley was beginning to regret his decision to join the Imperial Guard. He never especially wanted to be a soldier and he was always more skilled with a brush or a shovel than a rifle. The rest of his platoon were either a bunch of gung-ho "Born-2-Kill" types or religious fanatics that spread the word of the Emperor at the tip of a lasgun, and even when Miles was at at his most extreme, he was very neutral. This trait earned him names like "Private Mild", "Milquetoast Miles", or more often "the pussy that can't shoot strait." After a brief leave, his platoon was shipped to to war, deployed to oust an incursion of Chaos on some distant Agri-World called Strages III.

Miles saw countless battle-brothers fall in that campaign, and were he a more zealous man, the mountains of dead heretics and mutants would be worth it. In a key battle, his already shaky resolve was blown apart when a KRAK grenade landed a mere four yards from his position. It exploded, driving hot shrapnel into his comparatively thin body armor, knocking him flat onto his back and blasting the wind from his lungs. He tore away his scalding chest armor, and fell into unconciousness.

Private Miles Whitley awoke in the cold light of early morning, and felt very suprised to be alive. He took in what remained of the battlefield, and though piles of corpses stood like mountains of flesh and steel jutting from a sea of blood, it was deserted save for scavengers feasting on the remains. Picking up his lasgun, Miles decided to further inspect the ground to looking for other guardsman, as well as try and find a better weapon, managing to find a hell pistol on an eviscerated officer. As he walked through the blood-encrusted dirt, it became apparent that the battle had destroyed both forces and all he need do was wait for reinforcements. It had all taken place half a mile from the capitol city, so he likely wouldn't have to wait for long, but it would still be a few weeks before any were sent due to a storm in the warp.

Miles stumbled off the field, walking away from the city, reasoning that if surviving traitors went anywhere, it would be in the tangle of urban warfare. Before long, he found himself in an orchard, miraculously spared from the marching soldiers and ruinous tank treads. A small house was visible amongst rows of what appeared to be apple trees bearing some bump-covered hybrid, the air smelled fresh and pleasant because of it. As he approached the farm house, Miles began to notice scorch marks and balistics damage, and a small pile of corpses, the semi-fresh bodies of the family that had tended it. He would have to find a shovel and give them a proper burial after checking the house.

The door had been torn from its hinges, and Miles cautiously ascended the steps, his stolen weapon at the ready. He would have to be very careful, his chestplate had been left amongst the dead of the battlefield, and only his arms and legs were left protected. His hands trembled as he slowly made his way down the hall, trying to step as quietly as possible. Miles reached the end, and turned into a small room, with an armchair facing a moniter, static on the screen. Sitting in it was a mutated heretic, chainsword caked with dried blood, fast asleep. He leveled his pistol, trying to decide if killing this misshapen scum was worth possibly alerting others. He squeezed the trigger, its head going up in flames, the only sound being the crackling of burning fat. No cultists rushing to kill him, but that didn't mean there weren't others. Miles continued to sweep the house until only one room remained, the cellar.

Again he moved quietly, cursing that the only light was dim and lit but a small portion of the cellar, which revealed to have rack after rack of bottles, giving endless shadows for some warp-spawned horror to hide. Remembering the standard issue flash-light, he began to search through the lines of shelves and decanters, unable to shake the feeling he was not alone. He finally got to a corner, all of the basement searched. Miles wiped the sweat from his brow, and turned to see a feminine figure rushing at him, and before he could raise his pistol to fire, a incredibly strong leg slammed into his gut, and he slipped into unconciousness once again.

Miles awoke to find his armor stripped, his weapons missing, and he was bound to one of the shelves. The thing stood before him, displaying itself in the dim light. At first it stood, watching him, making no attempt to cover itself. Its face had full lips of a deep purple and beautiful gold eyes, producing a visage quite beautiful despite the apparent lack of a nose, with shoulder length tentacles in place of hair, moving as if touched by some unseen breeze. Soon, it began to sway seductively, sensuously moving its clawed hands across the curves of its generous hips. Bending forward slightly, it crossed its arms, pressing its ample breasts together and raising its claws to cup them, its serpentine tongue snaking itself down to rest between before wrapping around its right finger, retracting and carrying the hand with it, briefly taking its right index into its mouth, sucking alluringly before removing it, a string of saliva trailing. It continued this dance, bringing its hands to caress its graceful neck, toy with coils of its tentacular "hair", teasing the captured Guardsman.

Miles' face was a mask of boredom, but he couldn't deny his arousal nor the growing bulge in his undergarments. He tried to distract himself, thinking of the beautiful orchard above him, mentally painting it, the trees standing tall and proud, fruit swinging in the wind, its beautiful plum bosoms shining in the midday su- NO! He imagined what the inquisition would do to him, execution and horrid damnation after hour of sitting in a cold cell, the hard black talons digging into his back as it moans for mo-DAMN IT!

Private Whitley was so wrapped up in his internal dialogue, that he barely noticed the it had moved its lascivious dance to within a foot of him, close enough he could see every detail of its irresistable form. The daemonic beauty turned its backside to him, and leaned into him, its warm, soft buttocks pressed against his groin, and began rub on him. It leaned its head back onto his left shoulder, tentacles lightly wrapped about his neck, its hot breath whispering syllables that the very act of saying them seemed like some form of sex act. Its seemingly delicate neck bare and open, begging to be licked and kissed. The daemon's pert butt pressing into his crotch and its lips whipering delicious blasphemies, Miles' willpower was eroding, still trying to distract himself, mentally chanting battle-littanies to keep his mind off off the warp-spawned hotty-horror.

The daemon drank in his frustration and failing attempts like fine wine, turned around, pressing its substantial bust against Miles' chest, kissing and licking his neck between its erotic susurrus. He began to chant out loud, causing the daemon to loose a lewd giggle as it wrapped its shapely leg around his. It grabbed the back of his head with both hands and brought Miles to its lips, forcing a much too long tongue into his mouth, exploring every nook and cranny of it. The daemon retracts its tongue to a more human length, but does not break contact, wrapping both legs about his waist, and shoving its tongue as far down his throat as possible, his gagging arousing the daemon to the point of dry-humping him.

It breaks the kiss, slowly extracting its tongue, then lithely dropping itself into a crouch and pressing its face to his crotch. With the same strength that had trounced him, the daemon tore his fatigues like tissue paper, revealing his Angry Marine print boxers and his engorged member. It brought a hand to the throbbing bulge, lightly stroking it through the fabric for a moment before pulling them down and off. Miles' cock was standing at attention, and the daemon stared at it hungrily, its hot breath bringing a stop to his babbling. It then put its beautiful dark purple lips to the head, suckling it before bringing his full length in its mouth. Miles could feel that unearthly tongue coiling and uncoiling around his shaft like a serpent, the daemon's hand massaging his sack. Every inch of him tingled as he felt his orgasm near, and he could tell that it would be huge. His legs tensed, his hands balled into fists, he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, bracing for the...!

... Miles blinked...

The pleasuring tongue ceased its erotic twisting, and he felt his cock exit the warmth of the daemon's mouth with a wet "pop". It stood up, staring into his eyes with its own amber gaze, and kicked the shelf he was bound to, falling back with a deafening crash. He felt wetness all along his back and a wine-like aroma fill the air. A slight ache began to build his testicles, intensified as the daemon placed its foot on them, brought it up, and pressed it into the middle of his shaft, moving the ball back and forth. It looked down on him, breasts swaying slightly with each stroke, and Miles noticed a wet slit as he looked up at her, relieved that the daemon was just that. A "hurm" escaped her lips as she began to mash down a little harder with each rub, fingering herself as she pumped his cocks with her foot. Again, Miles girded himself, the fear that she would again abruptly cease, but tensed nonetheless.

Again, she stops before he can finish.

"WHAT THE IN THE EMPEROR'S NAME IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" Miles yelled, rage and frustration evident on his face for the first time in years. The daemonette simply giggled that cheeky giggle, a smile on her lips. Much to his surprise, she stepped over him and removed the chains that had bound him, cast them aside, then walked to the wall and spread her legs. Miles looked briefly at the stairs leading out, but the woman-thing before him was far more tempting. He walked over, running his hands down her sides, feelings her ass, and lined himself up with her pussy.

Still quite angry, Miles instead spread her ass and jammed it in roughly, causing her to grunt as he pushed it in. Her asshole was surprisingly tight, almost painfully snug, sending shivers down his spine every time he entered. The daemonette's pussy was dripping like mad as she ardently rubbed it, moaning and gibbering in a breathy voice as he slowly pumped her anus. He bent over her, grabbing her breast and gripped the hand she was schlicking with. She suddenly kicked him onto his back, and before he could protest, she was already on top and putting his member into her ass. Seeming to take power from her dominant position, she slammed hard into his crotch, taking it to the root before going up again. After a while, Miles sat up and the daemonette squeezed his face to her breast while he groped her ass, occasionally giving it a good slap, making her ride him even harder. As she pounded ever harder onto Miles' cock, slipping ever closer to orgasm, he spoke praises to the Emperor while she cooed in countless languages, her serpentine tongue lashing out wildly as the climax approached. Miles' fingers dug into her cheeks while she grabbed the short scruff of her at his neck her eyes rolled back into her head as Miles exploded into his warp-spawned paramour.

For a few brief moments, the universe was all a whitish blur as they sat together, drenched in sweat and other fluids, but Miles soon noticed something poking into his stomach. When he looked down, horror filled his heart as he stared down a eight inch hard-on protruding from where the daemonette's slit previously occupied. Worse yet, she seemed hornier than ever! He pushed her off and made for the stairs, but she grabbed him by the ankle, causing him to slam flat on his face and, for the second time in one day, get knocked unconcious.

Miles awoke in a bed, again bound by the wrists to the frame, with the daemonette lying atop him, her (or its) phallus throbbing between his legs and poking his balls. Lying on top of him, she kisses the sides of his neck, grinning broadly when she see he had awoken. Undoing his bonds, she allows him to turn onto his back but discourages another escape attempt by putting her deceptively powerful hands on his wrists, sits down just above his flaccid penis.

To his disgust, she begins rubbing her dong against him, raising his hands to rub her breasts. He mentally chanted litanies, painted, and, again they failed, his erection saying yes with his mind saying no. When it had engorged fully, the daemonette let go of his hands, and wrapped her legs around his. Taking it between her cheeks, she began rubbing it between them, begetting a small groan from Miles. Up and down she stroked his cock with her generous ass, the friction causing it dribble a small amount of precum, but before he even neared orgasm, she slid up his chest and began to press her cock against his lips, eyes feverish with lust.

Though surprised, he managed to clamp his jaw shut before it slipped past his lips. The daemonette frowned, gently began nudging Miles' lips with her member, growing frustrated with each push. Reaching down she grabbed his nose, closing off his nostrils. After a few moments, Miles opened his mouth to breath in, and instead found a eight inch tube of hot daemon-flesh slipping into his throat, bringing a bitter and salty flavor to his mouth. The daemonette sighed with joy as her erect member slipped ever deeper, his gagging and retching sending shivers up her spine.

She then extracted her dong, now slicked in the guardsman's saliva, and to his horror was now taking position at his asshole. Again, he clenched with all his might, again getting a frown from his warp-spawned paramour. She brought her face down to his constricted anus, and began to tease his hole with her tongue. Despite his efforts, Miles' sphincter started to loosen, to tongue slowly worked its way inside him, pushing deeply into his ass. She stopped at his prostate, her fiendish tongue massaging it in a way that made Miles gasp in shock at the strange pleasure.

Before he could react, she drew it out, and pushed the tip of her phallus in, and Miles yelped at the pain in his back-side. He struggled to get it out, but for every try she pressed it a little deeper, and befere he knew it he had taken her to the root, his own cock hard as stone. He clenched again and again, the daemonette moaned louder each, her tongue now hanging from her mouth, dripping spit onto his chest. She then began to pump her hips, being careful to rub herself against his his prostate, ensuring it would be pleasurable for both of them. Her thrusts began to increase in tempo, and each stroke brought a drop of pre-cum to issue forth from his tip.

Removing herself from him, she changed positions, putting Miles on his knees with herself behind. Hastily reentering, she bent over him so that her breasts lay on his back while fucked him. She brought her hand down to his throbbing erection, and began jerking it as her own orgasm neared. "Aanh! Aanh! Eeeanh!" the daemonette breathed, grasping tightly Miles and his dribbling phallus. She tensed as the the pressure built, and readied herself to cum while fastly working her lover's rod. Miles clenched every part as the daemon's handjob spilt his seed, causing his anus to tighten, bringing her to a explosive climax. They breathed heavily as the spilled the rest of their respective loads, his onto the sheets and her into his colon. Miles felt the daemonette's cock leave his bowels with a sigh of relief. He collapsed onto the bed and fell into sleep, the daemon still lying atop him, her hot breath on his neck.

When Miles awoke, he found himself alone, with his armor and weaponry in a neat pile by the bed. His ass stung slightly, evidence that what had occurred was not some bizarre dream. As he walked through the empty halls of the farm-house, it became apparent that he was alone now, the daemon had left. Relief filled his heart as donned what armor he had, shouldering his lasgun to go forage for supplies. No sooner did he step out the door that he saw a Chimera crest over the horizon, the reinforcements had arrived earlier than he had expected. Private Miles Whitley was no longer regretting that he had joined the Imperial Guard as he reported to the officer in command, explaining what had happened (minus the tryst), it all ended as suddenly as it had begun.