The War Wife update

“It’s time for you to thank Dhalua for how merciful she’s been with you,” Tom said, grabbing Ingrid by the hair. “There’s no reason I should have all the fun of keeping a ‘war wife’.”

Ingrid shrieked, her hands shooting up to try and knock away Tom’s hand, but his strength was so much greater than her own. She realized with a start that he must’ve been holding back in their previous confrontations, trying not to harm her. Now, though, he treated her with the most brusque of care—not doing any deliberate harm, but clearly willing to break her in as he would a wild horse. He dragged her yowling and spitting across the floor, Ingrid finally giving in and shuffling on her knees to keep up.

In front of her, Dhalua sat with her legs wide apart, her bare skin so dark it gleamed obsidian, even her pussy the color of expensive mahogany. She gestured beckoningly to either Tom or, more worryingly, Ingrid herself.

“Go on, have a taste,” Tom ordered, still holding Ingrid’s long blonde hair as a leash. “It’s quite sweet—personally, I think you’ll have a harder time stomaching my cum.”

“It is rather tart,” Dhalua said. “An acquired taste.”

“I will never perform these accursed acts, much less with a schwarze!” Ingrid shouted. “Though it’s no wonder you want me as a sex slave, when your only other release is inside this disgusting—”

Tom could listen to no more. Scowling, he shoved Ingrid’s head between Dhalua’s soft thighs, rubbing her face in the warmth and wetness of Dhalua’s cunt—the islander surely aroused by seeing her husband repay their tormentor in foul kind.

“You know that’s a lie,” Tom said, his voice drained of humor. “Dhalua’s pussy is perhaps the sweetest I’ve ever known, tight and responsive and receptive. She takes hold of every inch of my cock the moment it’s inside her and won’t let go, and when she comes, it feels like she’s milking me. I’ve actually tested it—she’s barely any looser than when she was a virgin. The muscle control is staggering. I’d write a paper on it if it weren’t so private.”

“Ghhhh!” Ingrid choked, not listening to any of it. She couldn’t. Dhalua’s legs had closed like a bear trap around her head, and her thighs were muscular enough to cut off all sound, though soft enough that it felt like she was being swaddled by two firm pillows.

Ingrid thought she would retch. She had heard of women who did this kind of thing—sickly things, deviants, mongrels to be wiped out. Never would she have imagined herself doing this, certainly not with a black woman… if it were possible for her to be curious in this way, it would have to be by a perfect Aryan blonde like herself. And yet fate had cruelly placed her here, kneeling before her inferior, her face shoved into the disgusting pit that had somehow tempted that deviant Tom away from her.

“Go on, Ingrid, lick it. Don’t you know how to?” Tom asked concernedly. “You simply do to her what you yourself like. Haven’t you ever been eaten out before?”

Dhalua chuckled harshly. “Hard for her lovers to go down on her when she must knock them out beforehand.”

Ingrid could’ve throttled her, were it not for Tom holding her in place. Dhalua had no right to speak to her thus! She’d had many lovers, glorious Nazis all, and none of them had resorted to sickening deviant practices like oral sex. All the Nazi Party needed was gloriously tight cunts like Ingrid’s own and the magnificent erections she inspired her Brownshirts to. True, there had rarely been more than three inches to account, but what need had they for excessive, gratuitous length when those few inches were packed with glorious Aryan heritage?

“It’s just like masturbating,” Dhalua said condescendingly, her hands on Ingrid’s head, guiding the blonde about her cunt. “Only use your tongue instead of your hands. My pussy can’t be that different from yours. Find my clit. If Tom can do it,” she concluded ironically, “surely the pride of the Fourth Reich can.”

The clitoris—another propaganda project of filthy Jewish science, totally inaccurate. If it existed, one of her masterful Nazi lovers would’ve found it. Or she herself would’ve, as she experimented with masturbation. Yes, she had tried it, and she could speak from experience when saying that despite Tom Strong’s ‘sex-positive’ endorsement of the practice, there was no real pleasure to be had there. No, she’d taken far more enjoyment from breeding with Tom, even if he was unconscious at the time. 

(In fact, Ingrid had had more sexual pleasure with Tom in his sleep than any other lover had ever given her. Though she had used him as little more than a dildo, his body had been well-tuned to incurring female pleasure, practiced as it was on Dhalua. It would surprise Ingrid to know that Tom and Dhalua frequently made love in their sleep or in a mediatory state, and had enjoyed far more orgasms in that rather kinky fashion than Ingrid had in her immortal lifetime.)

With Dhalua basically forcing Ingrid to the proper placement, and getting off on the ironic justice of her husband’s rapist now being his sex slave, the black woman finally started to enjoy herself. Her soft thighs shuddered as Tom guided Ingrid’s lips to her clit, the position of which was obvious to him even with Ingrid’s head in the way.

“Suck on her clit,” Tom said, eager to see Dhalua enjoy herself. He could tell she was aroused by this latest lewd scenario, and wanted as he always did for his wife to be fulfilled to the maximum. “Come on, Ingrid—haven’t you ever had hard candy? Suck. You’ll get to like it.”

Ingrid made a last-ditch attempt to get away. As she renewed her struggles, Tom wrapped his hands in her long blonde hair and pulled her head back until she was bent double, her spine creaking.

“I’ll rip the hair right out of your head,” Tom gritted out. “I’ll leave you bald before I let you leave Dhalua unsatisfied. Eat her pussy. And if you don’t know how, learn.”

“He certainly did,” Dhalua purred, reminding Ingrid once more that somehow this filthy schwarze had lured Tom away from her own flawless cunt and trained him to enjoy her rancid black one. 

Ingrid had to let out a groan of defeat. There was nothing to be done. With Tom and Dhalua both strong-arming her, she would have to give in. But she vowed that it would only serve to further fuel her hatred, as she gained firsthand knowledge of the inferiority of the darks and the disgusting sex practices performed by enemies of the Reich.

“Your sex must truly be wrong to enjoy this,” she hissed, though Dhalua only smiled down at her.

Gulping down her misgivings, bracing her hands against the couch that Dhalua sat on, she bent down. Dhalua’s dark-red sex gleamed under the lush fur of her pubic hair. Ingrid could smell the arousal coming off it, though so rarely having been properly aroused herself, she could not recognize the scent. She wondered if Dhalua was diseased in some way. There was something somehow terribly enthralling about the smell. Was that it—was Tom some pervert drawn to this sick woman?

Tom applied pressure to the back of her head, and Ingrid’s nose brushed against the wiry hairs waiting to be parted. She found herself wondering how her own cunt smelled. Would it interest Dhalua, or Tom, if they came so close?

Was this how her own lovers felt about her? So many men had told her that fucking her was the worst sex of their lives—and no wonder the war had been lost, with so few true Aryans in the ranks. If they were true Aryans, they would’ve enjoyed themselves. But no, even her subordinates who she had commanded to please her and perhaps breed more members of the master race… they hadn’t dared disrespect her to her face, but how many of them had complained to the others that they would fuck dogs or other men rather than have sex with her once more? No, only the ones she had happened to overhear—the others must’ve appreciated her perfect Aryan cunt!

Tom’s fingers twisted in her hair, tightening in on her scalp. He was growing impatient. Perhaps he was lying to himself, as those weak and false Nazis had when they convinced themselves they hadn’t liked fucking her—telling himself that he actually preferred Dhalua to her own flawlessness. So he wanted to degrade her, humiliate her by forcing her to taste the inferior pussy he claimed to love so much.

“Come, Ingrid,” Dhalua whispered above her. “You are the master race. Shouldn’t you be masterful at this as well?”

She had to do it, Ingrid told herself. But she wouldn’t like it. Ingrid clenched her teeth, fighting for a few more precious seconds against Tom’s forceful pressure. She wouldn’t enjoy this. With the Aryan God as her witness, she would show Tom how he should’ve disdained and rejected this worthless cunt.

“Go on,” Tom ordered, pulling her hair taut. “See if you can find a little of the cum I’ve left in there.”

“You’ve certainly left more than enough for her to find,” Dhalua added fondly. 

Reluctantly, Ingrid allowed herself to be pushed downward a little more. She stared at the split of Dhalua’s labia lips. She couldn’t see an obvious defect with them, aside from their color. Lubricating juices flowed from her opening and slicked down all the flesh of her groin. Ingrid stopped once more, unable to come any closer—she had no idea what that liquid was, never having been properly aroused herself. Had Dhalua wet herself?

Tom shoved her forward. In a split-second, Ingrid was between Dhalua’s shivering thighs. “Mmmmm!” Dhalua moaned, her head snapping back, her long dreadlocks fanning out down her back while she hunched her groin forward into Ingrid’s mouth. With Tom holding her in place, she was able to rub herself against Ingrid like the Nazi was a sex toy for her to amuse herself with.

This was obscene! Ingrid froze, unable to move, actually letting Tom and Dhalua use her as some kind of dildo in their depraved sex games. All Ingrid could smell was Dhalua’s cunt, the heated scent of a fully aroused woman. Gott im Himmel! She was repulsed by it, she was confused by it! But her heart raced. She was being affected by this horror, changed as she hadn’t been since her one night with the unconscious Tom. She felt her inner muscles buckle, her clit twitch as if beckoning for a touch—though Ingrid had never known that part of herself and long since forgotten how it specifically had responded to Tom as he impregnated her. Even the touch of Dhalua’s wiry pubic hairs was somehow delightful, whimsical, tickling the insides of her nostrils as she breathed in the scent of the cunt Tom Strong loved.

“Ohhh, yes, yes!” Dhalua breathed through clenched teeth, gripping Ingrid’s head in her hands and forcing it deeper, not caring as Tom did whether the blonde could breathe or not. 

“And that’s just the first course,” Tom told the Nazi as he dropped his hands from Ingrid, leaving her little more than a tool for Dhalua to use on herself. “Wait until she comes in your mouth. It’s heavenly.”

He stood up, moving his empty hands to his strong erection, jerking himself off slow but forcefully. After all, he had nothing to do now but watch.

Dhalua kicked her long legs hard against the floor. “Oh yes, yes, yes,” she husked, watching Tom do it.

Dhalua’s pubic hair felt soft as feathers, brushing against Ingrid’s mouth. Slowly, Ingrid pushed her tongue out between her pursed lips, letting the tip slink over the wrinkled folds of Dhalua’s labia. The response was sudden—the black woman kicked her legs out, threw her head back, and raked her fingernails over Ingrid’s scalp.

“Yes, lick it. Lick it! Do a good job and maybe I’ll let Tom give you a few lessons. Don’t pussy-foot around! Tongue me!”

Ingrid felt herself squirming inside, her stomach doing somersaults, her muscles being plucked like the strings of a musical instrument. She decided not to think about it. She would simply do it. That was the best way to handle this. The sensations would flow through her and then they’d be over and done with.

Her lips crushed to the moist, warm sex of the islander, Ingrid put her arms around Dhalua’s naked ass. She opened her lips and tasted the sweet juices of Dhalua’s cunt. Her tongue was almost sucked inside, drawn irresistibly into Dhalua’s delicate womanhood. She touched the tightly muscled folds inside of the black woman, with her nose pressed up against Dhalua’s clit.

“How is it?” Tom asked from the side. “Is she doing a good job? Earning her reward?”

“Not. Not at all,” Dhalua whispered tightly. “She’s such a repressed little control freak that she has no idea what to do. It’s no wonder she used you while you were asleep. No man awake enough to have sex with her could stand it long enough to cum. But I can tell she likes the taste of my pussy—and if I close my eyes and think of the last time you fucked me in the ass…”

Ingrid’s heart pounded feverishly. It was impossible, totally impossible that Dhalua’s cunt was such a work of art, that it tasted so devilishly sweet, that it smelled so nice, that Ingrid wanted to make her come just to see how delectable her cream would be, that Ingrid hadn’t even gotten her off yet and already she was looking forward to a second and third time servicing this schwarze. No! No! She couldn’t think about it! She was just letting this happen, enduring this torture, as she embraced Dhalua’s curvaceous ass and pressed her mouth to Dhalua’s sex, her tongue wiggling inside her, trying to prove to Dhalua that she could do a good job… to merit licking Dhalua’s cunt again and again. 

Ingrid didn’t feel herself moving away from the couch. Had Tom picked her up? She couldn’t tell. Everything was in motion, whirling, blurry. She was now with Dahlua, side by side on the bed.

“Eat her pussy,” Tom said firmly. “Get it ready for my prick.”

Ingrid felt herself being touched by knowing fingers—Dhalua’s touch. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except that Tom was there, looking at her, enjoying her naked body, even if it was being humiliated, degraded. But still, it was making him hotter. He was rubbing his cock and it was getting bigger and soon it would be hers. 

This was insane, an hallucination, some crazed dream. And yet it felt real, even while the lust she experienced was clearly impossible. Looking up, Ingrid saw Dhalua’s womanhood looming over her. They were about to sixty-nine. Slowly the dark-haired pussy came down to meet her mouth. Dhalua was opening her thighs, the motion parting her cuntlips like a mouth preparing for a kiss. And as she was spread, Ingrid felt something entering her with a gentle certainty, like it belonged there. It was Dhalua’s tongue and it was inside her cunt, licking the tender folds where she had needed to be touched for so long. Something was finally taking care of that hot need that had been hers ever since her night with Tom. Tom had given it to her and now Tom’s mate was taking it away.

Dhalua’s breath flowed over Ingrid’s sex like hot oil. She was panting heavily. Her hands moved along Ingrid’s ass, fingers fanning out, pressing against the creamy flesh in surprised delight over how resilient it was. And how good it felt for Ingrid to have someone massaging her rarely touched backside, torturing the nerves back to life with a vigorous massage. Then Dhalua reached deeper, lower, between Ingrid’s thighs. She pulled the tender labia open from both sides. Like a lesbian, sweet Hitler, Dhalua was turning her into a lesbian. And all while Tom watched, taunting her with the right and proper masculinity that they were not allowing her to avail herself of. She wasn’t sure which would be worse: if the ordeal would be as disgusting as Ingrid feared or if she actually enjoyed it.

Dhalua’s fingers were doing incredible things to her, feeling magical as they peeled her cuntlips apart. She felt Dhalua’s tongue trace over her red-hot pussy. Up and down—down and up. So slowly, too slowly, making Ingrid vibrate for more. But then faster, but too light, flicking rapidly in and out but only teasing the delicate velvet of her cunt. And as she tongued Ingrid’s pussy, so horribly lightly, Dhalua lowered her sex to Ingrid’s mouth.

“No, nooo,” Ingrid moaned, fire flashing through her cunt like she’d never known before.

“Just try to pay attention to what Dhalua’s doing,” Tom said encouragingly. “She knows how to please another woman, as you well know. Try and do what she’s doing. You’ll learn to be a good war wife in no time.”

What he said chiseled away at Ingrid’s voluminous pride, but even with her spirits falling, Ingrid couldn’t tear herself away from the sight of Dhalua’s approaching womanhood. She was actually panting, able to see her quickened breath rustling through Dhalua’s pussy hair. Was that what drew out Dhalua’s clit from its hood—small and pink and slick with juices, begging to be touched? Was that what Ingrid’s looked like; the look that came with it feeling so aroused?

“Mmm, yes,” Dhalua sighed. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Ingrid trembled, not that she knew why, unable to sort fear from anticipation as Dhalua’s pussy grew in her sight, becoming her whole world. Her hands smoothed over Dhalua’s plump ass, squeezing the soft buttocks, rubbing them so vigorously that her fingers slipped into the warm valley between.

Ingrid couldn’t help herself any longer. She lifted her head and slid her tongue over Dhalua’s clit. Dhalua’s juicy sex trembled, filling Ingrid with joy that she had successfully pleased her lover—the first time she could recall that happening since Tom had come inside her, moaning Dhalua’s name—and the taste was divine. As sweet as after Tom had filled her, when she had touched herself between her thighs and then licked her whitened fingers, finally pleased with her cunt after Tom had spurned it so crushingly. And he’d been so big that as Ingrid took him to the hilt, she’d finally felt—tight.

Then Dhalua shoved her pussy down on top of Ingrid’s mouth. Ingrid rocked her body from side to side, trying to get comfortable with Dhalua kneeling on her shoulders, holding them down that way. She didn’t mind the pain anymore. It only added to her excitement. Tom’s awful words of comfort, the sweet succor of the mattress under her, Dhalua’s wonderfully liquid cunt—everything turned her on more, until she couldn’t stop herself from driving her tongue into Dhalua’s sex with as much force as possible. 

Still thinking of Tom’s cock, Ingrid closed her eyes, trying to block out what she was doing enough to get to a point where she was comfortable with it. The other men she’d been with had been so soft, barely able to penetrate her, but Tom had been long and hard and hot when he fucked her. She would make her tongue that way. She would fuck her with it until Dhalua was begging for mercy. Then Tom would see who was a ‘repressed little control fear’!

It was no wonder that Ingrid had poor, unrealistic expectations of pleasing a woman, considering how little she’d been pleased herself. But Tom could see that Dhalua was mainly enjoying this by dint of dominating her hated rival, despite the lucky stroke Ingrid had managed to place on Dhalua’s clit. Beginner’s luck, so to speak. Ingrid had a long way to go before she could serve as a proper submissive—and if she didn’t, Dhalua might call the whole thing off and have her justice in a more lethal fashion. Tom could see that if this arrangement was going to work, he was going to have to lend a helping hand.

Picking up a vial of lubricant he had secured in the room earlier, Tom knelt down beside Dhalua’s face. This close, he could see that Dhalua was hardly enjoying the taste of Ingrid’s cunt—wrinkling her nose and making faces as Tesla had when forced to eat her greens as a child. That was something else they would have to work on; Ingrid had a lot to learn about proper maintenance of her body. It was no surprise her knowledge in that arena was lacking, considering how her upbringing had her all but abhorring that portion of her anatomy, but then there was the paradoxical pride she seemed to take in it, at least, in comparison to Dhalua’s pussy—which now she seemed to have fallen in love with.

Tom wondered if Dhalua could be convinced to part with their ‘war wife’ so as to lend her to a council of psychologists. She could probably set the field ahead by decades.

He kissed Dhalua’s cheek in fond thanks for her trying to make this work. “I’m going to lick out your asshole,” he promised her.

Dhalua moaned into Ingrid’s cunt. “Do more than that,” she told him.

Tom took a swig from the vial, then pushed his face between Dhalua’s sumptuous buttocks and locked his mouth onto her tight anus. With his tongue, he thrust the mouthful of lubricant up Dhalua’s rectum, following it with his tongue, stirring the strong muscle inside her sphincter to massage the lubricating oil into her narrow passage.

Ingrid was crazed with lust now. She drove her tongue into Dhalua, moving it around and around, licking all the sensitive folds inside her with the instinctive skill of a proud Aryan, magnificent even at this disgusting perversion. She could tell Dhalua was enjoying herself. The black bitch was hunching wildly, trying to get more of Ingrid’s talented tongue inside her pussy, making funny little gasps and wheezes against Ingrid’s own cunt. Coming—that must be what she was doing. Not at all with the grace or subtlety of a refined German woman, but like the jungle savage she was. Dhalua let out another loud moan, then buried her face in Ingrid’s golden cunt, her hips wiggling from side to side as she mated her mouth to Ingrid’s pussy in a long wet kiss. Sparks of delight showered from the meeting place of their bodies, steam rising from Dhalua’s hot tongue being plunged into Ingrid’s cool sex.

Ingrid hummed to herself, proud of how she had accomplished even this abominable task with elegance and precision. The filthy schwarze had come hard, and all thanks to Ingrid. It was probably the best sex this cow would ever have. 

Then Ingrid opened her eyes and saw Tom’s cock, the massive, majestic erection that was rightfully hers, plowing not even into Dhalua’s nasty pussy, but actually into her ass. Tom was fucking Dhalua in the ass and the pervert was coming from it, coming with such unseemly vigor that it was squirting out of her, raining down on Ingrid’s face, filling her senses with the wonderful, horrible taste and scent and feel of Dhalua’s copious pleasure.

Ingrid would’ve screamed, but Dhalua covered her mouth with her pussy once more.

As he sodomized his lovely wife, Tom laid his broad chest down on Dhalua’s slender back, burying his face in her hair. It smelled sweet as candy, and reminded him Dhalua was on her stomach, taking him in her ass, though both her holes were so exquisitely tight that it hardly made a difference, except for the satisfaction of breaking the kind of ridiculous taboo Ingrid subscribed to. He wondered how she was taking seeing it happen just a few inches from her face.

“Ahhhh! Ohhhhhh!” Dhalua moaned each time Tom’s prick rammed deep into her ass.

Tom wondered how long it would be before Ingrid was begging to be fucked in the ass too.