A soldier's job is never done

You pull back slightly, letting his cock slip from your throat with a wet, obscene pop, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his swollen head. You need to finish him properly. You need to make him explode.

I know what he needs, you think, and it's true. Something in you just... knows. Maybe it's instinct, maybe it's the lingering memory of what used to feel good when you had a cock of your own. You remember those sensations—the spot just under the head that made everything more intense, the way the right rhythm could build and build, how a hand on your balls at just the right moment could push you over the edge.

Your hand slides down to cup his balls fully, feeling their weight, their heat. They're heavy and tight, drawn up against his body, ready to empty. You massage them gently at first, rolling them in your palm, feeling them shift and move. Darrell groans above you, his hips jerking.

"Fuck, Joan, what are you—"

You don't let him finish. Your mouth descends on his cock again, and you can't help but notice how beautiful it looks—his cock glistening with your saliva, the contrast striking as it disappears between your lips. His cock is gorgeous, the skin smooth and tight, stretched over the thick shaft. You can see every vein running along its length, pulsing with blood.

You focus on that sensitive spot on the underside where the head meets the shaft, swirling your tongue around it, pressing against it. The skin there is silky-smooth, and you can feel his pulse hammering against your tongue.

Darrell's whole body shudders.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck—"

The car swerves slightly and you hear him curse, one hand gripping the steering wheel tighter while the other tangles in your hair. You keep working that spot, licking, sucking, watching how his shaft disappears between your lips. Your other hand continues massaging his balls, squeezing gently, tugging slightly, feeling them tighten even more.

Come on, you think. Give it to me. I know you're close. I can feel it.

You take him deeper again, relaxing your throat, letting him slide in until your nose is pressed against his pelvis. The smell of him fills your nostrils—sweat and musk and sex. You hold him there for a moment, swallowing around his length, feeling your throat constrict around him. Your neck is starting to ache from the awkward angle, bent over the center console, but you ignore it. Then you pull back, slowly, letting your lips drag along every inch of his shaft, creating suction, creating friction. You watch as his cock emerges from your mouth, the dark skin now slick and shining with your spit, catching the light.

The wet sounds fill the car—slurping, sucking, the lewd gluck gluck gluck of your throat taking him deep. Saliva drips down your chin, coating his cock, making everything slick and messy. You can see it running down his shaft, pooling at the base where your hand grips him. Your small hand wrapped around his thick cock makes you even wetter—you've been rubbing your own clit with your other hand this whole time, but now you need both hands on him. You pull your wet fingers away from yourself and bring that hand to his shaft, stroking in tandem with your mouth, both hands working him now. Your own pleasure can wait. Right now, all that matters is getting him off.

"Jesus Christ," Darrell groans, his voice strained. "Your mouth is so fucking good. So fucking—ah—"

You establish a rhythm now, bobbing your head up and down, taking him deep and then pulling back to focus on the head. Both your hands work in tandem, stroking what your mouth can't reach, twisting slightly on the upstroke. The skin moves under your grip, sliding over the rigid shaft beneath. Your hands pump faster now, one after the other, creating a relentless rhythm.

I remember this feeling, you think. Being right on the edge, needing just a little more, just that one perfect touch—

You increase your pace, sucking harder, moving faster. Your jaw aches, your throat is raw, your neck is stiff and straining, but you ignore it all. All that matters is his pleasure, his release. You want it. You need it.

Then the car slows. Darrell's foot hits the brake as a red light looms ahead, and the car comes to a complete stop. For the first time since you started, he's not focused on the road. His entire attention is on you—on what your mouth is doing to him. He shifts slightly in his seat, getting more comfortable, more stable. His grip on your hair tightens, and you feel the shift in his energy immediately. Now that he doesn't have to worry about driving, he can really use you.

Darrell's breathing becomes ragged, harsh gasps filling the car. His hips start moving on their own, thrusting up into your mouth, fucking your face. The hand in your hair tightens, almost painful, holding you in place as he uses you. You watch his cock pistoning in and out of your mouth, the shaft glistening, your lips stretched obscenely around it. He's too big—you can only manage to take him about two-thirds of the way down before you gag, before your throat protests and your eyes water. But you keep trying, keep pushing, wanting more of him even as your body rebels. Each time you **** him deeper, you gag around him, your throat convulsing, and he groans like it's the hottest thing he's ever felt.

"Gonna cum," he grunts.

You don't pull away. You take him deeper, opening your throat, letting him thrust into you. His hips drive upward harder now, more forceful, fucking your mouth with purpose. Your gag reflex kicks in immediately—gluck, gluck, gluck—your throat convulsing around his shaft as he forces himself deeper. Tears spring to your eyes from the strain, blurring your vision. Your hands grip his thighs, nails digging in slightly as you try to steady yourself against the **** of his thrusts.

He's too big. You can only take him about two-thirds of the way down before your body completely rebels, before your throat tightens and you **** slightly around him. But he keeps thrusting, keeps trying to go deeper, and each time he does, you gag harder, your whole body tensing. The wet, vulgar sounds intensify—gluck, gluck, gluck—mixed with your gagging, your **** attempts to breathe through your nose.

"Fuck, that's it," he groans, his grip on your hair tightening as he fucks your throat harder. "Take it, take it all—"

But you can't. Your throat won't allow it. You gag violently around him, tears streaming down your cheeks now, your body fighting against the invasion. Yet you don't pull away. You hold yourself there, letting him use your throat, letting him thrust into that tight, convulsing space. Your hand squeezes his balls firmly now, massaging them with purpose, coaxing his orgasm out even as you **** around him. You can feel his cock swelling even larger in your mouth, the head flaring, the shaft pulsing and throbbing with each brutal thrust.

Yes, you think through the gagging, through the tears. Cum for me. Fill my mouth.

You apply suction, hard, hollowing your cheeks despite the gagging, creating a tight seal with your lips. Your tongue works frantically against that sensitive spot, pressing, rubbing, driving him insane even as your throat convulses around him. Your hand pumps his shaft in time with your mouth, twisting, stroking, never stopping. The veins are standing out even more now, the whole shaft rigid and hot.

Darrell's whole body goes rigid. His hips thrust up hard one final time, burying as much of his cock as your throat will allow—still only about two-thirds of his length—and he holds you there, grinding into your face. His hand yanks your hair, holding you down as you gag violently around him. And then you feel it—the first violent pulse, his cock swelling impossibly larger for a split second before the first blast of cum erupts directly down your throat.

"Fuck!" he roars, his voice breaking.

The **** of it shocks you—hot, thick cum pumping straight into your throat with surprising pressure. You pull back quickly. The second blast hits your tongue and it's scalding, hotter than you expected, thick and viscous. The taste explodes across your taste buds—intensely salty, bitter, with an almost metallic edge and that deep musky flavor that's purely male. His scent fills your nose and mouth, overwhelming, masculine, primal.

Then the third blast, the fourth, each one massive, each one flooding your mouth with more of his hot seed. He's coming so much, more than you thought possible, thick ropey spurts painting your tongue, your cheeks, the roof of your mouth. You can feel each pulse of his cock as it pumps more cum into you, the shaft jerking and throbbing against your lips.

You keep sucking, keep stroking, milking every drop from him. His cock jerks and spasms in your mouth, each contraction releasing another thick rope of cum. Your mouth fills rapidly, the taste and smell overwhelming your senses. It's so thick it coats everything instantly—your tongue, your teeth, the inside of your cheeks, sliding toward the back of your throat. The texture is heavy, viscous, almost gel-like, clinging to every surface. You can feel the heat of it spreading through your mouth, warming you from the inside.

But you don't swallow. Not yet.

Darrell's hips are still jerking, his cock still twitching and pulsing, but the spurts are slowing now, becoming weaker. You give him a few more gentle sucks, making sure you've gotten everything, feeling the last few weak pulses deposit the final drops on your tongue, then slowly pull off his cock with a wet sound.

Your mouth is full. Completely full. You can feel the weight of his cum on your tongue, the thickness of it coating every surface, heavy and warm. Some of it threatens to spill from your lips but you keep your mouth closed, holding it all in. The taste is overwhelming—that salty-bitter-musky flavor filling your senses, the smell of it in your nose, the heat of it radiating through your mouth.

You look up at Darrell. His eyes are on you, wide and glazed with post-orgasm bliss. His chest is heaving, his hand still tangled in your hair.

"Holy shit," he breathes. "That was—fuck—"

You shift in your seat, turning to face him more fully, your neck protesting the movement. Then, deliberately, you open your mouth.

The sight must be obscene. Your small mouth stretched open, your pink tongue completely coated in thick white cum, pools of it sitting in your cheeks, strands of it connecting your teeth, webs of it stretching between your lips. His load is massive, more than you've ever seen in any video, and it's all right there on display—pearly white against the pink of your mouth, still warm, still thick.

Darrell's eyes go wide as he stares at you, at his cum filling your pretty little mouth.

"Jesus Christ," he whispers, his voice awed. "Look at you. Look at all that cum. Fuck, Joan, you're so fucking hot."

You hold his gaze, keeping your mouth open, letting him see everything. You can feel some of it starting to slide down your throat but you hold most of it, showing him, proving to him what a good girl you are. The taste is still intense, the smell filling your nostrils, the heat of it spreading.

Then, slowly, deliberately, and channeling every blowjob porn video you ever saw when you were a man, you close your mouth and hold his eyes as you swallow. It takes effort—there's so much of it, thick and heavy and hot. You swallow once, feeling the first thick wave slide down your throat, coating it, the texture viscous and clinging. The taste intensifies as it moves, that salty-bitter-musky flavor seeming to get stronger. You swallow again, feeling another heavy load slide down, the heat spreading through your chest. Some of it sticks to your throat, too thick to go down easily, and you have to swallow a third time, working to get it all down. Each swallow sends more of his hot cum into your stomach, and you can feel it settling there, a warm heavy weight.

When you're done, you open your mouth again, sticking out your tongue to show him it's all gone. Clean. Swallowed. Though you can still taste him coating your throat, still feel the warmth of his cum in your belly, still smell his musk in your nose.

"Fuck," Darrell breathes, his cock already starting to harden again despite having just come. "You swallowed it all."

You smile at him, licking your lips, tasting the remnants of his cum still clinging there. "Of course I did," you say, your voice hoarse from being throat-fucked, and then you give him a mischievous smirk that you know will cause him arousal. "Thank you for your load daddy".

Your hand then slides down between your legs before you can think about it, **** for relief. You're soaked—your underwear is completely drenched, clinging to you. Your fingers find your clit through the fabric and you start rubbing, slow circles at first, then faster. The pressure feels incredible after being denied for so long, after spending all that time focused entirely on him. A soft moan escapes your throat.

"What are you doing?" Darrell asks, though his eyes are already on your hand moving from his cock to your waist

"I need—" you smile, your hips rocking slightly against your own touch. "I need to cum."

Darrell's hand goes to your throat, obviously turned on by your display. The feeling of that male hand on you only causes your own arousal to skyrocket.

Your breathing quickens as you rub harder, your fingers working in tight circles. The pleasure builds rapidly, your clit swelling under the attention. You can feel how wet you are, how your arousal has soaked through everything. Your other hand grips the door handle, your knuckles white with tension.

"Fuck, that's hot," Darrell murmurs, watching you touch yourself. "Keep going."

You do, your rhythm becoming more frantic. Your hips thrust upward into your own hand, chasing the sensation. You're so close—the pressure building in your core, your thighs trembling. Your breath comes in short gasps now, your whole body tightening as you approach the edge.

"Come on," Darrell urges, his voice low and commanding, as his hand covers the entirety of your throat in a tighter squeeze, "Cum for me."

That's all it takes. Your orgasm crashes over you, your body convulsing in the passenger seat, your hand pressed hard against your clit as waves of pleasure ripple through you. You bite your lip to keep from screaming, your eyes rolling back, your free hand clawing at the seat beneath you. The intensity of it—after being so focused on him—is almost overwhelming.

When it finally subsides, you're left breathless and trembling, your hand still between your legs, your whole body flushed and satisfied.

Before you can even catch your breath, Darrell reaches over and grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away from yourself. Your fingers are slick with your own arousal, glistening in the afternoon light. He brings them to his mouth slowly, deliberately, and wraps his lips around them. His tongue slides across your skin, tasting you, licking your pussy juice clean from your fingers. He groans—a deep, satisfied sound that vibrates through you.

"Fuck," he mutters, releasing your hand. "That's sweet. White girl pussy tastes so fucking good. I can't wait to get a real taste from the source."

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your arousal spikes all over again, your clit throbbing with renewed need. The thought of his mouth on you, his tongue inside you, his face buried between your thighs—it's almost too much. You need to get to his house. You need it.

Then—HONK! HONK!

A loud, aggressive horn blast from the car behind you jolts you both back to reality. Your eyes snap forward. The traffic light is green. It's been green. You've been so lost in each other that the world has moved on without you.

"Shit," Darrell mutters, quickly shifting the car into gear and pressing the accelerator. The car lurches forward, leaving the intersection behind.

Look at me, you think, settling back into your seat, feeling his cum warm and heavy in your belly, the taste still coating your throat. I just sucked a man's cock while he was driving for the second time today.

But it's more than that, isn't it? The realization hits you like ice water, cutting through the post-orgasmic haze. This isn't just about being stuck in a woman's body. This body—it's not normal. It can't be. The arousal is constant, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. Every touch, every word, every glance sends electricity through you. Your body wants this—wants to fuck, to suck, to submit to anyone who shows interest. And the terrifying part? You don't feel disgusted by it. You don't feel wrong about what you just did. There's no cognitive dissonance, no voice screaming that this isn't you. The acts themselves feel... natural. Right, even.

That's what scares me, you think, panic creeping in at the edges. I'm not horrified. I should be, shouldn't I? But you're not. Your male mind isn't recoiling from the memory of his cock in your throat, the taste of his cum, the way you begged to please him. If anything, part of you—maybe a part that was always there, or maybe something new this body has awakened—liked it. Wanted it. Still wants more.

I couldn't stop myself, you realize. I didn't even try that hard. You told yourself you'd be careful, that you'd stay in control, but the moment Darrell touched you, the moment he commanded you, your body took over. And your mind? Your mind went along willingly. The want was so powerful it drowned out everything else—every rational thought, every concern, every shred of self-preservation. What happens when he wants more? What happens when the next decision comes—the kind of decision that could change everything? Will I even think about it? Will I care?

You try to grasp at something, some line you can draw, some promise you can make to yourself. I need to be careful. I need to think. I need to... But the thoughts slip away like water through your fingers. Will you remember to think when the moment comes? Will you even want to think? Or will this body's ****, aching need make every dangerous choice feel like the only choice, the right choice, the choice you were always going to make?

The fear settles in your chest, cold and heavy. This curse isn't just transforming your body—it's eroding your will, your control, your sense of self. And then Darrell looks over at you, putting his hand on your thigh and with a lustful squeezes gives you a seductive grin, and that cold fear dissipates, a hungry arousal emerging yet again.