The war in Algiers between the French and the Arabs can probably never be fully understood by a non-combatant. It is doubtful considering the web of intrigue and terror and horror woven over that part of the world that even the combatants understood exactly what was happening.
Perhaps each individual was fighting for his particular illusion alone-it is hard to say. There were Arabs against Arabs, Arabs against French, and even French against French. And then there were just the victims who knew nothing of the horror of torture and unjust brutality-until the war caught them!
This is the story of an American girl caught between two forces, equally cruel, equally savage. To them, she was a sexual thing to be tormented and used and even killed and discarded.
But violence does not always inspire just fear alone. Pain can become a perversion indistinguishable from sexual pleasure in certain people. Sex can be the end-all, even if the price is life itself.
There is no simple explanation of sex just as there is no simple explanation of violence or cruelty. This book is about both.
-THE PUBLISHER
ONE
They were fucking Marcia Andrus in the cunt and ass. These Arab terrorists who had raided the American Aid Office in Algiers last night were raping her puss and asshole, driving her into a fucking frenzy. And she hated it.
And loved it.
The stink of horseflesh and unwashed hairy male flesh assailed her nostrils, made her want to gag. But the pile driving thrusts left her breathless, unable to do more than grunt weakly.
The heat of their bodies sizzled her dripping breasts, quivering belly, pulsating cunt. The one fucking her ass was not as large as the one screwing her cunt. The thinner cock burrowed deeper. She never knew her ass could stretch so wide, take so much. The tiny curled hole expanded, accepting the long thin shaft. The cockhead drove through her stomach, nearly halving her intestines.
She should feel pain. But what she felt was a hot column that broke finally into shards of warmth which coursed along every nerve. It was like having a warm massage through her asshole and through her belly and chest.
And yet she hated being degraded, especially by these swarthy, dark-haired, brown-eyed men with their flashing teeth and sinewy arms and legs.
They were Berber tribesmen and the word "barbarian" was derived from their savage culture.
They lived up to the name. Marcia couldn't think about what they had done to her boss and the all male staff without getting sick. What they were doing to her now was a gentle loving compared to what had happened back in Algiers.
Both men quickened the pace, frantic to blow off. The fervid thrusting shut off all Marcia's thoughts.
They fucked deeper, igniting fires all through her cunt and ass. Her clit pulsed, then tightened with orgasm. She heaved her pelvis, slamming her plump belly into the man at her cunt. Her meaty solid buttocks quivered and closed against the slamming rear assault.
She hated herself for yielding to these brutes. She cursed loudly, calling them every filthy word she could think of. But what she was cursing was the sordid lust that swelled through her entire being, making her respond to these stinking camel merchants, these dirt poor farmers.
These coarse, virile bastards.
That was what they were, all of a sudden. To be despised as only a college educated WASP from the Midwest, a trained civil servant could despise something beneath her station in life.
Yet she was a healthy woman, twenty years old, who had all the appetites of a woman who only a few years before had been a child, a virgin. She had the strong desire and curiosity. She wanted to do everything, experience everything that life had to offer.
And these flashing eyed, hard muscled animals were showing her the dark side of lust. And she couldn't resist.
Faster, deeper they plunged. Her belly and thighs quivered and tensed. Her large, solid, stiff-nippled tits were swollen and sore. Blood rushed to the peaks, made them ache pleasantly. Orgasm smoldered in her cunt. The juice spilled over her thighs and turned the pale blonde cunt hair dark. She moaned, tensed as she felt their cum in her puss and ass. The scalding fluid shot into her anus and she flinched as her ass filled with jelly. At the same time her snatch was inundated with pumping clots that swelled her cunt, spilled from her snatch and over her thighs, drenching the blanket beneath her sideways positioned body. Beneath the blanket the sand grated and rubbed her sore flesh.
More cum exploded, bloating both her ass and her snatch and she didn't think she could take any more in her body without bursting. And even as the torrent intensified she wanted more, as much as they had in their glands. She wanted the hot wet kiss of cum to fill every pore, stretch every muscle.
Her clitoris swelled, and burst. Her climax mingled with theirs; her sighs, her gasps, her moans rose above theirs; her body strained against them and she thrashed against their hard muscled prison which held her tightly.
She was wild now, forgetting everything save the pistoning assault ripping her apart. She couldn't stop, couldn't control, the sensations that fired her muscles, made them tense, fight the clenched flesh column that pinioned her front and back.
She fucked with them, matching their rapid jagged up and down, in and out thrashings.
"Uh...uh...." she whined.
The one in front giggled. The foul breath spilling over her spine erupted into bursting laughter.
Yes, yon bastards. Hate me. Degrade me. Belittle me. Only don't stop fucking me.
They were moving steadily faster, increasing the pace as their gonads swelled. She shivered all over. Her big titties danced. Her belly and full dewlapped buttocks shuddered and rippled.
Both men growled, jammed deeper one last time and blew the rest of their cum into her snatch and up her ass. She tightened up. Her spine rippled and she lunged against them. They pressed her tighter as they softened and spilled the rest of their orgasm. Then they withdrew; their organs, not yet soft, slapped her ass cheeks and thighs.
They lay a few inches from her back and belly. She shut her eyes, tried to force down and control the riot of passion still strong in her cunt.
Her clitoris tingled. Hot needles assailed her vagina and her whole body was alive. She wanted more fucking. She had to have more cock. She was disgusted and frightened, too, at her violent reaction. But she still had to get more prick. She didn't want her assailants to know of her lust. She absentmindedly let her hand touch the man at her belly. He flinched, but his cock remained soft. She moved her ass slowly. The cock that scraped her buttocks was soft, too.
She wasn't going to get any fucking from these two.
She slowly got to her knees. They watched her dangling breasts. A spasm rippled her plump stomach; the sweat gushed down her cleavage, dripped into her navel and spattered the slickened dark blonde cunt hair. They watched but didn't respond. Their eyes had a far away, satiated look to them. They were either thinking of something else or were high on drugs. Either way they didn't stop her retreat.
"I have to go to the bathroom," she croaked.
They didn't reply. Their black eyes followed her out of the tent.
It was dusk. The golden sun seemed to .drop into the Mediterranean and explode, sending tiny daggers of light across the ocean's surface. A cold wind came up turning the arid heat of the day into waves of frost.
She shivered, clutched her naked breasts, stepped gingerly over the harsh sand floor. The jizz clotted her ass walls and cunt and their fetid stink clung to her weary flesh. Even so, Marcia felt alive, every nerve taut, responding.
They were only a few miles outside modern day Algiers, yet she was surrounded by a culture thousands of years old. The ocean in front of her and the miles of sand all around had borne witness to these nomads and their struggle for thousands of years. And it seemed as though time had stood still that this was the dawn of the Berber civilization, and not November first, nineteen fifty-four.
On her right, the horses whinnied. To the left, behind a dune, was the rest of the tribe, sitting before a camp fire, enjoying the last of their evening meal while the women of the tribe set up the tents. A sentry leaned on his rifle, peering through heavy lidded eyes at the route they had taken to get from Algiers to this isolated place. The Sahara desert was an unbroken flat plain which, once the moon was out, would expose the slightest movement. To the east was Tunesia and on the west Morocco. Both were three hundred miles away. These marauders had struck Algiers, destroyed all the radio stations and burned the military posts, and slaughtered their occupants. It would be days before word reached Tunesia and Morocco. By the time the French retaliated she could be dead.
She stepped daintily over the still warm sand, hugging herself, not thinking about the future, thinking only of the heightening lust in her belly, the quickening passion that strained her clitoris.
"Monsieur," she said, not knowing Arabic, or the Berber dialect.
The sentry turned sharply. The lilting French enunciation brought flames to his eyes, darkened his burnished complexion. He knew no English. He communicated his anger by clenched fists, a thin lipped grimace.
She dropped her arms, stepped closer. In the distant glow of the camp fire he saw her heavy firm tits, rounded belly and thighs. The thick fist of cunt hair was a dark hand across Marcia's puckered labia. Shadows danced across her supple flesh. As she breathed deeply her breasts moved and the shadows slid along the deep cleavage that spilled over the rising and falling belly and disappeared in the curled sweet smelling thicket.
His cock tented the loose fitting pants the natives called serouals, and he said in his native tongue: "The caid will rend my flesh if I desert this post."
But his cock strained and his balls tingled and he knew he had to fuck this voluptuous willing foreigner. He carefully placed the French-made rifle on the ground so as not to arouse his comrades a few yards away. He took her behind the dune near the tent which was placed away from the camp and used as a command post. He spread his burnous on the ground. The wool garment whispered against the sand. He knelt, took her by the wrist and tugged gently. She knelt before him and they embraced. His fingers dug into Marcia's spine, slipped slowly down her back, the nails scraping her sweating muscles. As the fingers cupped her muscular buttocks she gasped, pressed against him, dug her hands into his shoulders. He cradled, patted then squeezed her ripe ass muscles. His fingertips pulled back her butt cheeks and the cool night wind seeped into the narrow crease, cracking the cum crust that spread into her anus.
Rills of excitement daggered her cunt, strained her tit peaks, made her dizzy. And she gasped: "For the sake of Allah, get naked."
"Allah, yes, yes, Allah," he gasped, as he unbuttoned his gandurah and unzipped the seroual, and kicked off his sandals.
Naked, they pressed together, still on their knees. Then they toppled on their sides, still embracing. His slim, hard chest crushed her heaving tits. His narrow hips flattened her belly and his thick gristled cock swelled against her belly's lower slope. She spread her legs, shaking as the cockhead burrowed through the forest of pubic hair and stuck her labia. They tongue kissed and shuddered and rocked gently. He spread back the cunt lips. His fingers massaged the outer labia and made the juices flow and when he was certain she was oiled and ready, he moved her onto her back and settled between her legs. She spread wider, to accept his weight and tensed when the massive cock pushed the labia aside, and advanced along the musky muscular corridor. As he penetrated and she adjusted to the heavy weight she relaxed and let his rugged virile advance make the juices in her cunt boil and the wet muscles surrounding her clitoris smolder.
"Ouch," she winced as the cock bit deeper, touching all the way to the back of her vagina.
Then he was in, spreading wide her vagina. He was embedded in her bitter-sweet smelling cunt to the shaft's base and his balls slapped the lower slope of her cunt.
Marcia flung her legs around his hips, her heels drumming his buttocks as they locked together, motionless for a moment while only the shaft shifted and struck her clitoris, touching off a sudden unexpected orgasm.
"Oh," she gasped as her cum spurted.
Then he began to rock gently and piston masterfully, rubbing the cunt walls with an ever increasing movement. An inferno was building in her cunt and her clitoris filled and. as his cock daggered faster, the gland flung her orgasm in tiny gouts...the gouts becoming large clots as he thrashed her cunt with harder, deeper thrusts.
They grunted, gasped. Her mouth opened and her tongue flicked his lower lip and he opened his mouth and their tongues locked as they rocked together, their bodies tightly clenched, their muscles a solid humid flesh fist.
She closed her cunt on the burrowing pressure, trapping the pounding cock in her humid depths. Her tits throbbed and she grabbed his hands and threw them on the heaving muscles. He clenched the big globes, squeezing the bloated nipples, crushing them in his palms.
He reared back, breaking the clench of her arms, and plunged ahead, setting off her orgasm. She squeezed her legs tighter, holding closer to her spurting gland. Her pelvis jerked right then left and her belly moved up and down, wetly sliding along his taut, muscled abdomen. He tightened his hold on her titties, pinching them and sending daggers of sensation all through her tits, belly and through her cunt, further exciting the cauldron in her pussy.
He pummeled her cunt and she cried out and submitted to his almost rabid assault. His passion rose and matched hers and she lay back, supine beneath his weight, smiling, grunting, twisting back and forth beneath him. She gripped his ribs with her hands but as his sweat erupted, her fingers slid off and her arms dropped to the sand, her fingers outstretched, then gripped the corners of the tattered burnous.
Her belly bounced as she jerked her hips up and into the Arab's downward thrust. They slapped hips and stomach in a rapid, smooth rhythm. Each time that massive cock split her cunt, crushed her clitoris, she climaxed.
She whimpered, then as he stepped up the pace, she whipped her pelvis side to side and her breath burst from her lungs in fitful explosions and the sound was a growl...a cry of cresting lust that was guttural and came from the very depths of her passion crazed soul. The torment in her cunt was suddenly unleashed in a jarring climax. Marcia reared back, lifting her hips, then thrust forward to meet his fast attack. He was buried in her cunt and the huge veined cock bruised the wet, sensitive innards, causing more eruptions, greater, soul wrenching orgasms. She was wet, limp, sobbing. Her breath burst in more shallow eruptions. Sweat blinded her eyes and she saw her lover in a shadowy mist. Her belly rumbled and her cunt was sore. Her tits throbbed. The nipples were distended and they pulsed with blood and swelled to the kiss of the night wind.
His strong hands cupped her buttocks. He lifted her ass to bring her closer to his stiff prick. He plunged deeper. She whipped her pelvis in a frenzied counter attack. Her cunt muscles gripped his thrusting shaft and she clutched him in a hot wet humid flesh fist. Her clitoris exploded, filled again and then erupted, over and over, as his cock struck the tingling spurting clit.
Marcia groaned and the sound racked her chest and kicked through her belly. She was exhausted but her clitoris continued to explode, as if working on its own. She couldn't control her glands. They responded to the Arab's attack and each time the cunt muscles were struck she thought she would faint. But she didn't. And she couldn't stop the burgeoning, insatiable lust. She had to have this cock, had to be fucked until the terrible male weapon tore her apart.
And if it did, she knew she would still want more. For, suddenly, since the blood letting last night, she had to be abused, had to be fucked with a wild abandon that would have terrified her before. Even as she thought about more fucking, her fear rose. As the fear increased so did her desire.
"Fuck me harder, faster," she babbled, throwing her head from side to side.
The Arab understood the massive spasms, the pleading, the jagged sobs. He drilled in short jabs concentrating the driving assault on her clitoris. He kept squeezing her tits and when he felt his orgasm erupt he pulled part way out and bent and kissed her mouth. Their tongues locked even as his shaft sliced her clitoris.
She threw her arms and legs around him, holding him tighter. Her embrace allowed only his cock to move. He pounded her cunt. She responded with a driving assault, matching each of his blows with a ferocity that she never knew she was capable of.
Faster and faster they attacked each other. Her orgasms came in a steady unbroken stream and when he climaxed his jizz spurted across her thighs, her matted cunt thicket and her lower belly.
Marcia held him to her heaving, spewing cunt, trapping his slowly softening stick to her erupting clitoris. She kept him close, praying distantly for more of his prick, even though she felt him shrivel and retreat.
He was so good, she thought.
"Please...no...." she cried as he disengaged himself.
Jizz dropped onto her belly and Marcia scraped the clots off her sweaty flesh and shoved her thumb in her mouth, making sucking sounds, hoping he would get the message.
And, with a soft laugh, he showed her that he did.
She giggled as he propped both knees against her temples and, straddling her head, he pushed his small, soft cock between her pursed lips. Her tongue flicked jizz off the cockhead and he gasped and began to harden. As he got bigger she wrapped her tongue around the shaft and pulled him closer. His cock flattened her tongue and her jaws closed on the massive burgeoning shaft. She teethed the rippling veins, palm patted the hot balls, ran fingertips over his ass, into the crease between the cheeks. To help him along, she stroked the inner ass walls, finally fingering the anus. Her finger lingered there and he shivered and his cock got harder. His cockhead was at the back of her throat. She gagged on the sour spongy tip. The disgust she felt earlier evaporated. What she felt now was a powerful lust that, even now, was unsatisfied.
Maybe if she tasted the cum of this man, a man that had treated her almost lovingly, maybe then she would experience satisfaction.
She plunged her index finger into his ass, penetrating the anus, striking the prostate. He yelped and the prostate jerked and his cum burst forth.
He showered her tongue and the back of her throat. Growling, she swallowed rapidly but couldn't keep up with his outpouring. He dumped what seemed like gallons of the sour jelly down her throat and her adam's apple bobbed as she tried to take it all. But she wasn't able to. The opaque substance spilled over her lips, stuck to the corners of her mouth, dribbled down her chin and lodged in the hollow of her throat. She kept drinking his lust, teething the veins, patting his ass, then plunging that finger into his asshole, making him cum some more.
Steadily, though, the climax diminished and his cock softened. He pulled away, then, fully satisfied, leaving her with a dim ache in her cunt.
She held his hands to her tits. He kept squeezing the stiff peaks, the full globes. She brushed one hand away and directed the finger to her cunt. But the Arab was tired, disinterested now so, before he left her side, she shoved her finger in her cunt and jabbed her clitoris. Even as it spilled seed she felt unfulfilled. Masturbation was never her pleasure, not even when she was a school kid.
"Shit." Marcia pulled her finger out. "That's enough," she told her lover as she sat up. "Maybe the rape brothers in the tent are ready."
The Arab nodded and smiled, not understanding.
She kissed him, then gently pushed him away. He got to his feet, helped her to a sitting position and shook the sand off his burnous. As they turned the sentry sucked in his breath.
A tall, broad shouldered man, in burnous, gandurah and seroual stood beside the dune, staring at them. The distant flames showed a neatly trimmed Van Dyke beard and hazel eyes that sparkled. A scabbard rested on his hip. The handle of the small curved sword poked from the burnous's folds. His hand rested on the handle as he approached the now terrified sentry.
"Ah, my friend, Ahmed Mohand Madj, you will never become a Chorfa, a member of the saintly family of Cherifian." The sentry's knees buckled but he remained in place, even when the bearded man gripped the sentry's wrist. "Give me your hand, Ahmed Mohand Madj." The hand came up, fingers extended. The man with the beard pulled the wrist straight and let go. Ahmed's arm was rigid. The firelight showed moving shadows, coming closer, showed the rigid set of Ahmed's face, showed the excitement and horror that turned Marcia Andrus's pretty face into an ugly mask of lust. She remembered the carnage at the American Aid legation and her clitoris filled and her thighs tightened and her titties rose and fell rapidly. The wind swirled around them, ruffling the burnouses, kicking sand across her prone body. Elbows propped beneath her to support her weight, she watched, wide eyed and fascinated.
"Ahmed, dear friend, I must use you for an example," the bearded man intoned as the others drew closer. "You could have remained with me, followed me into Algiers and clear across the continent. Instead you will die here. Now."
The sword came up, paused; Ahmed ignored the blade's passage. His eyes were fixed on the bearded man's face. Their eyes were unblinking as the blade came down.
Marcia Andrus cried as the blade severed bone, cartilage. There was the muted, sickening snap and then the hushed pumping of blood. A woman in the group screamed and for an instant Marcia thought it was she, screaming.
She bit her lip to keep from reacting outwardly. Inside, her glands rioted. The spurting blood, the slowly sagging body of her Arab lover sent shivers across her cunt, sparking her orgasm.
The hushed sucking sound of her eruption caught the bearded man's attention. He stepped over his fallen comrade and came over to where she lay.
"Very nice," he said in perfect English. He finished the cursory examination. "A trifle plump perhaps. But that is because you've never worked like our women work. A week in the sun, tending the horses, will trim some of that fat. And I'm sure we can devise some night work for you, too, my white American friend." He snapped his fingers and the two men that had raped her left the front of the tent where they had been standing, and came over to him. He whispered something in Arabic and they took hold of her arms, jerked her to her feet. One of the men, the stronger of the two, circled her waist with his strong arm and hoisted her, carried her toward the tent. Sudden fear penetrated the shock and she cried out, kicked, struggled. But to no avail.
He carried her into the tent, where a lamp burned dimly, and dropped her on the blanket.
"We will talk," the bearded man said as he undid his burnous. "Later."
He was gorgeous, she thought. All muscle, with lots of hair on his chest and belly and arms. He was thick muscled, like a weight lifter. And the thickest muscle of all was between his legs. His cock was huge, like a weight lifter's arm, and hairy. The cock head glowed and the veins strained in the sheath of skin.
She drew back, gasping, when he came to her and she didn't know why she was frightened. The sight of a man this rugged, this mean looking seemed to excite her more than anything she had experienced since the massacre in the office last night.
He scowled, then smirked as he reached for the curved bladed sword. She knew then what she had only sensed.
"Please...don't...." she begged in a small soft voice.
He slapped the flat of the blade against his calf. "A white woman begging? How refreshing." He didn't move and that encouraged her.
"I'll do anything for you, be anything to you. Only, please, don't hurt me."
A short harsh laugh. Then: "What will you do?"
"Let me show you." Her heart thumped. She was dizzy and the sound of her rasping breathing made her head hurt.
"My name is Ben El Said. Say it, white bitch."
"Ben El Said," she whimpered. "Now, tell me what you will do, and say my name."
"I will fuck you, Ben El Said. I will suck you off, Ben El Said." His cock hardened. "I will let you fuck my ass, Ben El Said." The cock-head glowed. "I will fuck your soldiers, Ben El Said." He was breathing harder. "I will lick their shit, Ben El Said." He was tense. His cock was straight out. Her voice broke and her body was sweat slick. "I will fuck your animals, Ben El Said." She was quivering all over and her cunt pulsed wildly. "I will let your women piss in my eyes, Ben El Said." They were both shaking. His hands clenched at his sides and her tits lifted to the breeze that blew between the tent flaps. "I will suck off your women, Ben El Said, and let them whip my ass....."
"Enough," he screamed, throwing himself on her belly, pinning her beneath his hard muscled body.
She opened her pussy to his advancing thrust. He drove his cock into her yielding cunt in a single fluid motion. The pain was a bright, white column of steel tearing into her belly. She threw her shoulders back and spread wider to take all of his prick. Her cunt, bruised and dripping with lust oil, nevertheless had difficulty taking all of his shaft in that one driving assault. She cried out, lay, spread-eagled with only his cock touching her flesh.
Ben El Said didn't mind not touching her tits. All he wanted was her cunt. He concentrated his awesome strength on that yielding drenched hole. He pounded mercilessly, bruising her sensitive muscles, making them ache, then throb pleasurably.
Again, Marcia Andrus thought of last night-the carnage excited her passion and she enjoyed this brutal assault. Let him fuck her to death, she didn't mind the outcome of this rape. All she wanted was that big cock in her cunt, shredding her insides with his powerful thrust.
"Fuck me...fuck me good, Ben El Said," she babbled in a hushed rasp. The voice was from the bowels of hell itself and the tone shocked, frightened her.
"Yes, I'll fuck you good. Then you will find out what we Berbers do to our enemies."
The threat fell against her brain like a drop of water on an inferno. All she knew, or cared about, was his big cock, fucking her with a brutal abandon. The deeper he thrust, the faster he bruised her cunt, the more excited she became.
She churned her hips, lifted and slammed her belly against him. Her ass slapped the floor, raising sand clouds. The rough floor burned her buttocks. His savage fucking tore her cunt walls. She didn't mind the pain. For the pleasure this violent stallion was giving her far outweighed the pain he was causing.
Marcia twisted from side to side, quicker now that she felt his spurts. She tore at his cock, forcing him to plunge deeper and faster. He grunted, showered her with his sweat, and he fucked her harder, keeping up with her feverish pistoning.
She wanted his hands on her tits but didn't ask. This brute would most-likely cut them off, out of spite.
Moaning, whimpering, growling and cursing in alternate breaths, Marcia grabbed her tits and squeezed. When Ben El Said saw what she was doing he pulled her hands away and slapped the massive, heaving breasts, sending sharp pleasure-pain reverberations all the way to her skull.
The Arab caid slammed harder. He pulled back to his cockhead then drove all the way up to his shaft's base. Each assault drove her wild. It was like being fucked with a cock three feet long and a half yard wide. The blistering advance left her gasping, shaking, recoiling. She felt the vibrations along her spine and up to her shoulders and neck. Each thrust threatened to rend her guts, but didn't and she was left, in that instant when he retreated, with a seed-spilling clitoris.
Each orgasm, more powerful than the last, left her breathless, unable to take any more of his hard fucking. But each time he slammed into her pussy, igniting her clit, she begged for more, had to have more of this brute. And he complied with her hoarse wild-eyed bleating.
He tore at her cunt, spurting his cum and still hard he fucked her harder, turning this orgy into a non stop fucking session. She couldn't believe a man could be this potent, could keep his cock this hard, could fuck her so hard, so good without stopping. And yet he was doing just that. He was also driving her insane with his great fucking.
This cock crazy urge that had been dormant all her life escaped and would make Marcia fuck herself to death. And Marcia was unable to control this demon that was about to take hold of her soul and mind. And, most important of all, her body.
Ben El Said lunged forward, grunted, reamed her cunt with his cock, then exploded the last of orgasm, and pulled out, still hard and dripping. She grabbed his shaft, sat up to touch the burning stick with her tongue. He let her lick the jizz and ordered her to swallow the tongue load which she did, willingly. The sounds she made as she consumed the orgasm was the same sound a pig makes at the trough: wet lipped, nasal, vulgar. She didn't mind the sound, didn't give a shit how she sounded. The only thing on her mind was the taste, the sight of this big evil man. This man that was still hard, still glaring at her, still smiling in his evil way. She had to have him again and whatever he demanded of her, whatever torture he inflicted on her voluptuous body she would gladly accept, as long as he fucked her cunt, her ass, her mouth.
And, as she contemplated further abuse, she recalled last night and what these Berber brutes had inflicted on her co-workers. She saw again the naked men lined up along one wall by the window which overlooked the main street and the Hotel Oasis. She saw the machine guns hoisted, the safeties unsnapped, and heard the click of the weapons against the scabbards as each man braced his weapon against his hip. The naked men whimpered, cried, begged. The enemy without a flicker of remorse, opened fire. The sound was ear splitting; Marcia nearly passed out. As the smoke cleared and the stench of death swirled, the enemy, swords out, went to the fallen bodies, some still alive, and severed the cocks and balls of the dead and dying.
Marcia, pinned against the opposite wall and witness to this carnage, felt the heat explode in her pussy. She whimpered, fought her captors, fought the overwhelming lust in her belly. Her two captors saw her reaction, smiled and nodded. Once at the camp they took her into the command center, stripped her naked and threw her on the ground. She didn't struggle, didn't cry out, showed no reaction as they positioned her on her side and fucked her ass and cunt.
That assault had been the prelude to this delicious attack. Each encounter was greater than the last and she wondered, as she suckled Ben El Said, what delight awaited her.
TWO
"Have you finished?"
Ben El Said's voice was muffled against the wet sucking sounds she made as she suckled his softening cock.
He roughly pushed her away. She fell on her butt and elbows; she sucked in her breath, expectant. From the cruel way he looked, she was in for more Berber style lust-letting.
"Yes," she said softly, eyes lowered, shoulders down, her tits rising and falling evenly, a river of sweat zigzagging down her belly, making the blonde pubic bush sparkle.
"You have a very nice tongue. Now show me what else you can do with it. By telling me what you Americans and the French pigs have concocted for us."
She took a deep breath and began: "My government has given the French enough money to aide De Gaulle's Fourth Republic in Indo China and here, in Algeria. The American Aid Mission, which you raided last night, was formed to make sure the money was properly used."
"And what else? To spy on the Front de Liberation Nationale?"
"I was only a clerk typist. If there was any spying going on, I didn't know about it."
Ben El Said was about to speak, then stopped, went over to a camp chair near the lamp, and sat. He watched her for a few moments then stood, dressed and motioned for her to follow him out.
The cold wind bit her sweating flesh and she shivered.
"Fear, my young American slave."
"That, and the cold."
"We will warm you up." He held her wrist, dragged her to the camp fire.
The women of the tribe were finished with their meal and sat and gossiped in small groups. When their caid approached they stopped talking, watched him and the girl and waited for their chief to speak.
Ben El Said flung her to the sand. She fell on her face, her long blonde hair inches from the crackling embers. She lay still, feeling the warmth of the sand soothe her belly and titties. She opened her legs, cupped sand and forced the warm grains to her cunt. The heat eased the ache in her snatch.
The caid said something to the women in Arabic and the women began to move and shuffle about.
Ben El Said pulled her to her feet and turned her toward the women. They stood in two columns, facing each other across a space four feet wide. There were thirty of them and the line stretched from six feet from the campfire to the tents. Each woman held a handful of thick reeds three feet long. They tensed, leered, as the caid said:
"Your ass is so big, American. We must trim some of that fat."
Here it comes, she thought. More agony! More of what she was beginning to like. As long as there was a cock waiting inside one of those tents.
"March between those two columns," he ordered.
He pushed her. She stumbled, recovered and started down that long even line. Whack!
The first reed whip slapped across her buttocks, making the big dewlapped cheeks shiver. Sweat appeared and shimmered on the alabaster smoothness. Then a second slap and a red uneven welt appeared.
The reverberations wiggled through her ass and sparked her cunt and the lust oil flowed. She danced on tip toes, trying to avoid the assault but not trying too hard. As each whip kissed her big ass her cheeks bounced and danced and the flame in her pussy ignited and became an inferno of lust that caused the clitoris to sing and throb. Marcia Andrus cried out, covered her throbbing titties, crushed the massive spheres against her arms to assuage the pulsing, tingling in her nipples. She rubbed her tits with her palms, finally, and wiggled between the laughing, chortling, cursing Arab women. They slammed their whips against her bobbing, goose fleshed ass cheeks and she yelped and rubbed her legs together, trying to bring herself off. And they kept whipping her ass and taunting her and spitting at her and still she relished this encounter even when her body was covered with their saliva and her ass was smeared with welts, and the ache in her cunt became too much to bear. And she flung herself on the ground and writhed there at their feet and spread back her labia and begged for someone to fuck her, ease the pounding of lust that tortured her cunt. And the women snarled at her and raised their whips and slammed the reeds across her big tits and that only aroused her more.
"Please," she bawled. "Someone. Please fuck me."
Marcia Andrus writhed and tore her ass on the sand and jammed her thumb in her cunt and ground the nail against the clitoris and her orgasm flowed but the satisfaction was only minor; the massive ache in her cunt was yet to be assuaged.
She cried again for relief, but all she got was the steady assault of the reeds on her titties and belly and she thrashed about, rolling between their legs, bumping their feet and they kicked at her and occasionally the toe of a sandal struck her side but she felt no pain there; the only pain was the iron column that pressed against her clitoris...the pain that only a massive brutal cock could ease.
Finally, Ben El Said ordered the women to stop. They stepped aside to permit him access to his captive.
"You're a pretty sight," he smirked.
Her belly and tits were crisscrossed with welts. The flesh stung from the assault and from her sweat. Her skin was red from the beating and the exertion of her bizarre sex dance. Her pussy still ached; the pressure intensified as he stood over her fallen body, looming like a colossus, virile, cruel.
He was talking but the pressure in her ears muffled the words. Marcia grabbed his ankle, rolled against his leg and, spreading her legs, wrenched the curved sword from the scabbard. He grabbed for the weapon, thinking she was about to kill herself, then he stopped when he saw what she was about to do.
Gingerly reversing the sword's curved tip she gripped the handle and shoved the end of the handle furthest from the blade into her cunt. There was no preliminary, no wasted time, for her cunt was boiling over, her clitoris strained with lust, her cunt pulsed with an unsatisfied passion.
While Ben El Said stood back and watched, smirking, she fucked quickly, forcing the handle in and out, wrenching her pelvis to bring her clit against the ribbed ebony handle.
The fire light glowed along the sharp edge, flicking beads of light across the encampment, flickering diamonds of silver across the aged, wrinkled, burnished faces of the women who stood by their tents, silently watching, stoic, unmoving as this tortured thing writhed in the sand, lifting her ass, shaking her hips, sobbing, her tits rising and falling, her skin sweat slick-ened and pale in the glow of the fire.
The men of the tribe left their pipes and beds and joined the women, watching their caid's captive in torment. They began to grunt amongst themselves, their eyes never leaving the voluptuous woman.
She was cumming now. They all felt her relief as her orgasm popped across her rippling thighs. They slowly advanced, wary of their Caid and what he would want them to do.
Marcia Andrus dropped the sword, panting heavily. She turned teary eyes toward Ben El Said. He touched his chin with a finger, a gesture of deep thought. His brow furrowed, then straightened out as he came to a conclusion.
"Back there, in the tent, you made many claims, expressed many desires. Now we shall see if what you said was truth, or chin music." He turned to his soldiers. "Drop your serouals, and line up."
There was laughter and a solitary sob. Marcia flinched, fearful. And, at the same time, a rising heat consumed her crotch.
THREE
They smelled so sour; they tasted salty and she detected the aroma of horse flesh. They were huge men, even the old ones had pricks that any young healthy American male would be proud to have.
Huge and demanding. They gripped her head, yanked her long blonde hair if she didn't suck them like they wanted. But she was so tired. Her knees were raw.' Her jaw was sore. Her throat ached and her mouth burned. Yet they didn't let her go. They forced her down the long line, then back again.
She choked and coughed and gagged and they taunted her, pinched her tits, nudged her plump stomach with their feet, slapped her face when she hesitated before taking the next man.
She sucked them all twice. Then she collapsed at their feet, her back to the camp fire. The glow was so soothing. And they didn't touch her. Maybe now they would let her sleep.
"Get up." It was Ben El Said barking the command. "I said get up!"
He kicked her butt and she whimpered and scampered to her feet. She trembled. He advanced, holding the curved bladed sword at his side. Now was the end, she thought. He had had his fun and now she was to die. Slowly, she knew. That was how these savages were. She looked at herself, to keep from seeing the inevitable. Her body was cum crusted, covered with welts and the bites of the sand fleas. Sand stuck to her tits and belly and ass. She felt the coarse grains in her asshole and up her cunt.
She was despicable. A willing victim, she helped at her degradation. Not worthy to live and yet she must live. She must know another sun rise, another fuck.
Marcia Andrus backed away from Ben El Said. He laughed, snapped his fingers and someone stopped her retreat. She didn't struggle; she was too tired for that.
"Down on your knees." The caid pointed to the sand with the sword's tip.
Without a thought or a word she knelt. He motioned and a soldier grabbed her wrists, tied them behind her back and stepped away. The fire's waning light threw a pale glow across her blood engorged nipples; they shone darkly like a forest pool, touched with misted light. Her cunt was a deep dark crevice ex-huding a tantalizing aroma.
Marcia was exhausted, a willing slave and she played that part to the hilt. Eyes downcast, supple flesh goose bumped she waited patiently, unquestioningly for her master to do whatever he chose.
Ben El Said approached slowly, prolonging her fate, relishing the mood he was the master of.
When he reached her he raised the blade and touched one thrusting nipple.
"Oh," she gasped, and flinched.
Goose flesh erupted on the heavy alabaster spheres. He traced the purplish nipple-thumb with the sword tip. The flesh tip thickened; more goose flesh exploded. Marcia winced and whimpered and her shoulders trembled. The spasms made her breasts dance, slap together softly, made her belly quiver, brought the lust oil across her labia and down to her thighs.
The caid chuckled. The sword tip massaged the aureole. A thin barely discernable line formed where the blade touched. The caid was a master at this; he used enough pressure to excite without tearing the flesh. But after tracing each thrusting nipple he became bored. He wanted blood and she didn't struggle as he exerted more pressure, turning the thin lines into tiny red strings.
Marcia Andrus whimpered as the passion needled her nipples, aureoles and the sagging tips of her breasts. More excitement raged in her cunt. But she mustn't let on, must not let him know that what he was doing was driving her into paroxysms of ecstasy.
"Uh, uh," she growled as the blade cleaved an imaginary line down her stomach, traced the wide "O" of her navel.
She couldn't hold back her desire now. The raging upheaval in her pussy was too great to ignore or hide. He was laughing at her, but no matter. Let him ridicule her frustrated desire, let him prolong the agony before he thrust this brutal weapon into her bowels. Waiting only prolonged and intensified her need, made the ultimate release that much more sweet.
"On your back," he snapped and she fell on her trussed wrists. Her bound arms formed a pillow at the base of her spine. Ben El Said lightly shaved her supple thighs. She bowed her mouth, let breath escape. Her tits lolled and her belly quaked with anticipation. Showers of lust lubricant spattered her thighs, and the flat edge of the sword. The awesomeness of this weapon, the remembrance of what it had done to Ahmed Mohand Madj, the sentry, sent torrents of desire along the nerves of her snatch.
Ben El Said bellowed an order and a flunky quickly obeyed. She saw, in the flunky's hand, a long ebony column, smooth sided, with a leather belt at the weapon's base.
"Bring the eunuch," the caid ordered and a fat, balding Arab, wearing a tattered French officer's uniform appeared. "This gross human being saved my life once," the caid told her. "Now you be good to him, show him your gratitude for prolonging your life. For if it were not for him and his needs, you would be dog meat right now."
The eunuch, giggling, shucked his trousers, exposed his shriveled loins to the tribe. There was no reaction, no verbal taunting for one of their own who was cursed with eternal torment.
The eunuch strapped on the dildo, hunkered between her legs. His foul sour stink made her gag. The caid came over, glaring.
"No, you don't," he rasped when she began to retch. He brandished the sword beneath her nose. The sentry's blood was crusted on the edge and gave off a bitter stink. "Open your mouth." She did and the caid placed the dulled flat edge of the sword horizontally across her lower teeth. She choked; the neck veins stood out. But she didn't dare move her head. "That'll choke off your gagging."
The caid stepped back and the eunuch continued his pitiful pummeling. She bent her knees, flexed her cunt muscles, squeezed out enough oil to provide easy passage for this thrusting inanimate invader.
The bitter stink of sun baked, blood crusted steel lay heavily on her tongue. The weapon's pressure weighted her jaw and made her mouth ache. The sickening fumes swirled around her mouth and made her dizzy.
She was going to vomit. She felt the clots at the back of her throat. But then the fat eunuch pushed and pulled with greater speed and the pressure sawing at her snatch awakened embers that, in turn coalesced and became an inferno, and she was no longer aware of the blade in her mouth.
She bucked her hips and whipped side to side and the fat gross foul smelling half-man thrashed into her pussy, giggling, mumbling Arabic endearments which she could only guess at by the intonation with which they were spoken.
Marcia Andrus let the fat man rail her in-sides without allowing her enemy, her tormentor to see her reaction. This dreadful evil assault awakened in her pussy a bizarre need...a need for more of what she had already been subjected to. She couldn't wait for the eunuch to finish whatever it was he had to do to achieve satisfaction. Then, perhaps, Ben El Said would find the one thing that would give her total satisfaction.
The eunuch plunged away, stiffened, bleated and spattered his lips with sweat, then pulled away, breathing heavily. The ebony shaft dripped. Her orgasm slickened the terrible weapon.
Ben El Said unstrapped the dildo, gently pushed the eunuch aside and turned her over on her face, pushing her mouth into the sand. Stepping on her lower spine he exerted enough pressure to force her ass cheeks open but not enough to injure the vertebrae.
Marcia whimpered, gasped on the sand that caked her lips and tongue tip, and shuddered as the cold wind whipped across her back.
The caid kept one foot on her back, and, bending, he worked the dildo's tip between her cheeks. She yelped as the force bit along her anal corridor.
"Now don't you shit, my white skinned slave," and he chortled, hoping she would further humiliate herself by shitting.
White hot shafts of light drilled her ass, probed closer and closer to her puckered hole. The Arab's cock had stretched the tiny opening, but not enough to permit this awful weapon access to her intestines.
Ben El Said moved the weapon slowly but steadily along the narrow corridor. Her buttocks were goose fleshed. The sloping muscles were tense and the tiny white curls of hair that sprouted from her cunt and along the underside to the lower ass slope were drenched in the orgasm that was still wet and clinging to the dildo.
The caid ignored her whimpering, her shuddering. He laughed and pushed the weapon further, deeper into the dark dank recesses of her stomach.
"Ow...oh...Christ...." she yelped, her back rippling.
Marcia's pelvis jerked. Her fingers were clenched. The tendons stood out on her forearms. Her shoulders pulled back as the weight, forcing through her ass, folded her body inward, against this intrusion. She gagged, then gasped as the dildo choked off her breath and filled her stomach with its horrible force and strength.
The heat of the intrusion coated whatever pain she would be experiencing if it hadn't been for the fatigue and the desire in her guts. The heat of this slickened weapon turned the orgasm clots into steaming snake nests, uncoiling and spreading, soothing, massaging like a lover...a friend...and she sighed deeply and accepted her lover.
The dildo pumped in short, sticky, sawing movements, making sucking sounds as it violated her bowels. She felt her bowels churn and surge and spatter the dildo, but she didn't care. This was another humiliation and was no worse than what had already happened. What snaked through her crotch...the worm of lust...was already attacking her clitoris, tickling her cunt, exciting the passion lurking in her soul.
Marcia Andrus locked her cheeks around this intrusion, let the weight drill her guts, excite and trigger her orgasm and she came, with a sigh and a gasp and a deep exhalation of relief.
Laughing, Ben El Said pulled the thing out brutally and flicked the waste on her back. The clots thumped her back and the smell rose like flies around filth.
There was noise around her, but she was exhausted, about to faint, fully complete. She had done it all and had survived and had achieved more orgasms in these last hours than she had in her whole adult life. This was an erotic nightmare but one that satisfied and she wondered if this, indeed, had been a dream that she would awaken from, frustrated, angry at herself for allowing bizarre daydreams to become a three dimensional reality in her night dreams.
But she knew that this was no dream, no nightmare to awaken from. This was the reality and if she should awaken in an hour, or a day, what would be lurking there, waiting for her to regain consciousness?
As she passed out, a desire to know what was on the other side of consciousness nudged her. made her try to stay awake. Fatigue won out; she fainted.
FOUR
The sun on her back, the flies buzzing at her nose, ass and cunt brought her out of a fitful sleep. A horse whinnied. A dog barked. A few feet away a kettle bubbled. Feet shuffled over the gritty sand. A shadow fell across her back, creating a block of coolness.
She turned her head toward the presence. The caid loomed over her backside.
"We're going now." He nudged her ribs. She winced. "Are you awake?"
"Yes," she whispered, her mouth and tongue dry and sour.
"When he is through with you, I'll have my fun." The caid slapped her ass with the flat side of the sword and her buttocks jiggled and she winced and cried out. "You like that, you bitch. Yes, you do. And what we've done will only be a prelude to what is in store when we return here. After he is finished."
The "he" that Ben El Said spoke of was Mustapha Ben Boulaid. commander of Wilaya One-the military province based in the Aures region. Boulaid was in Algiers, conducting the gutting of the town, the last rites of this modern community before fleeing to his mountain refuge.
The leader was holding court in the top floor suite of the Hotel Oasis, across from the bombed and burned out building which had served as the headquarters for the American Aid Mission.
Marcia Andrus refused to look at the hollowed shell as she was led from the caravan, into the hotel and up to the penthouse.
Mustapha Ben Boulaid looked like a prosperous gentleman farmer or rug merchant. His burnous as white silk; the purple silk gandurah had silver buttons; the baggy white duck serouals were lightly creased as was the fashion; the European sandals were new and spotlessly white. He smoked a long Havana cigar and gestured with it when Ben El Said entered the suite.
"I see the girl is still alive, Ben El Said. Alive but in need of fumigation. The bath is over there, girl. Leave that sack you're wearing in the hall." He raised his eyebrows and nodded at the caid when she returned, naked, ignoring both men as she walked sensuously toward the bathroom. Her breasts slapped softly. Her belly and ass jiggled provocatively. She was numb. Not the laughter and obscene words that accompanied her into the bathroom, nor the hot water that gushed over her tired body from the shower tap, awakened her. The abuse she had been subjected to tore a part of her soul, her mind away. She was brainwashed, turned into a walking, fucking machine.
She washed, dried and came out, rubbing the towel over her shoulder and neck.
"Now that is much, much better," Mustapha Ben Boulaid exclaimed. "We will feed you. Miss. Then we will talk."
"I've told Ben El Said all that I know."
"So he has said. Eat. Then we will talk."
He asked questions and she gave the same answers she had given the caid. Satisfied that Marcia was only a clerk flunky, Mustapha Ben Boulaid began undressing.
"I've had only a few white women, mostly cold-blooded European cunt. I've never experienced an American."
"She's quite good," the caid said, at the door of the suite.
"Don't go, friend. I have a game that only three can play."
As they stripped, they talked about Marcia as though she wasn't there. like she was an object, without mind, soul or heart. And, she dimly supposed, that was what she was. Her lack of self respect told her that much. Her cunt was all she was interested in right then. As she saw the two healthy, naked men approach, and take her by the arms and fondle her tits and nuzzle her blonde hair her glands popped like corn in hot grease.
That's all she was. A damn fucking machine.
They backed her into the bedroom, tickling her tits with their lips and teeth. Their hands fondled her belly and their whispered intentions made her juices flow.
Their cocks brushed her legs and they were wheezing when they saw how excited she was. Her tits heaved. Her cleavage and belly were sweat slick. Her cunt exuded lust oil and that bitter musky aroma of lust.
Marcia Andrus was ready to be fucked. Whatever they wanted to do to her was all right. No matter that the battleground was silk sheeted and four-postered instead of the fetid, burning desert sands. What mattered was the cock, the fuck. And both these men had big cocks...big enough to screw her until her exhausted body cried out for them to stop.
Mustapha Ben Boulaid was hung bigger, heavier than Ben El Said. He was also hornier. "Give me this randy piece, Ben El Said."
"She is yours." The caid retreated to a corner chair, and watched, a faint cold smile turning his otherwise handsome face ugly.
Ben Boulaid, without preliminaries, pushed
Marcia and when she landed in bed on her back, the leader climbed on top, settled between her legs and, with his thumbs, spread back her labia. She was wet between her legs and breathing hard. Ben Boulaid smiled, muttered his approval before pushing the head of his cock between the puckered lips.
"Ugh," she grunted as the massive organ bit her cavity.
"Too tight?" He chuckled, pressed harder, entering her in a single movement.
She gasped, tensed then relaxed as the big stick filled her cunt and the slow rocking motion soothed her frantic passion. The big Arab was damn good. He knew exactly how to fuck a passionate woman. Slowly, at first, then as her lust mounted, he moved faster. Each pass of the shaft bruised her clitoris and three passes later her first climax spurted. He moved faster now, with shorter, jabbing thrusts. like Marcia, the Arab was breathing harder, the pumping of his cock penetrated deeper and as he fucked he reached the back of her snatch and the feeling of having so much rugged man in her pussy was dizzying, made Marcia gasp and whine and rock against him, then thrash as he stepped up the pace.
He was making her go off again, without even touching her titties. As she climaxed he grabbed her swollen goose-fleshed knockers and pinched the nipples, sending needle sharp pain into the sensitive caps.
Marcia beat the bed with her heels, making her thighs dance. He palmed her tits, growled obscenities, pumped with a harsher force until she thought her cunt muscles would bleed.
But as the lust-letting increased and his attack grew more ferocious, her desire heightened and the orgasms that followed each pass of his cock were greater, deeper. She thought each eruption would be the last but he didn't cum, didn't grow soft. He wasn't going to let her rest and that realization sent rills of anticipation along her cunt, forcing out more passion juice, making her clitoris tingle and twitch and fill to bursting.
The Arab pounded her pussy and she felt the first spurts of his orgasm. Marcia bounced against his belly, slid along the knotted muscles, watching him stroke for stroke.
Faster and faster now they churned, locked together in this gasping, grunting, fervid embrace. She moaned and tossed her head from side to side and the Arab pounded her cunt, relishing the pain he was causing her body. But she felt no pain, only an excruciating pleasure that tore her insides, enflamed her cunt, made her pussy tingle and her clitoris ache pleasurably. This big, burnished heavily hung stud was driving her into a frenzy and she was helpless to fight her reaction. For she hated to show her enemy the pleasure he was imparting.
Mustapha Ben Boulaid gloated, snapped his jaws and poured his cum into her burning, still hungry cunt. He slammed two more times then pulled out, still hard, and as he started for the other side of the bed she grabbed his prick, pulled him close and turned over on her side, her big butt cheeks jiggling.
"Fuck me back there. I'm clean. And I hurt so for a gorgeous cock up my ass."
She couldn't believe that she was saying those words. The thought was revolting. Yet she spoke, and the thought excited her further.
"The bitch is very nice in the ass," the caid Wild. "I can attest to that."
"She is so willing to please. An American trait, I suppose." Ben Boulaid crowded against her ass, massaging her heavy ass.
"Anything you want...anything...let me give it to you...anything...." She babbled, over and over, wincing when he opened her ass and probed with his index finger.
"She is tight and clean and she smells so sweet." The leader laughed, choked with anticipation.
"Stop talking you big cock...ugh...." She gurgled as he salivaed his cock head and, holding her on her side, pushed in and up. His fingers dug into her hip. His cockhead burrowed into the steamy sweet crease.
Sweet pain...sweet...sweet pain...delicious ecstasy...oh...this was so wonderful...her whole body recoiled, then accepted this massive intrusion. He was fucking her in the cruelest way possible and the brutal degradation only intensified her longing, her pleasure. She had never felt a man this big in her ass and as he neared the puckered hole she giggled with anticipation. That ramrod could only tear her and. at the same time, touch off her climax. Her orgasm was already building, intensifying, threatening to make her faint.
Jesus, don't let me faint. Not now. Not while this huge, wonderful experience was happening. Rob me of life, but don't rob me of this awful pleasure!
The Arab reached her hole. He was an inch from being all the way in her smoldering ass. to his shaft's base. She screamed, frantic now. He drilled into the anus. She grabbed her titties, squeezed, twisted the large purple ringed nipples, pinched the sensitive caps, clenched her thighs, trapping her pulsing clitoris.
"Fuck me...fuck me...."
The phrase was a jagged nail scraping across a blackboard. The words tore her head as the cock tore her bowels. She screamed the phrases, repeating them faster and faster until they were an unbroken chant. And he slammed into her ass, keeping time with her chanting, Using his cock as the metronome.
Marcia rubbed her legs together, in rhythm with his savage attack. But she couldn't keep up with him. He was fucking faster now and she felt the first tickling spurts of pre-cum way up in her intestines. He was going to blow off before she had her orgasm!
Her frustrated screams reached the corner of the room. Ben El Said fell on the bed, in front of her heaving belly, and he seized her titties, chewed them brutally, while he moved down to gain greater access to her dripping cunt.
Marcia babbled his name, threw her head back and with eyes shut tight, she opened as wide as she could to give the caid all the room he needed.
The caid worked his cockhead into the puckered crease, twisting left and right, to separate the tightly packed muscles. She screamed and raked his shoulders as he bit down hard on her nipples, slapping her ribs while he chewed the thrusting tips. His cock entered, slowly, then faster. He was half way in, the cockhead rubbing her gland, as Mustapha Ben Boulaid climaxed.
"EEEEEE...! " She jerked and gagged as hot cum shot into her belly, choking off her breath.
She writhed between the two studs, feeling the twin burning shafts tear her eager, willing flesh. Marcia wanted more...she couldn't find the word to give concrete meaning to this perverse desire snaking through her brain but just beyond the light of comprehension.
What they were doing was pleasure; but there was a greater pleasure if only she could find the right word to trigger their desires.
"Aaaahhhhh...." She reared back, jerked her pelvis as both men climaxed.
They fell away, panting, leaving her with this nagging passion that was only a distant, nebulous echo, spinning off what had just been perpetrated on her body.
Ben El Said stumbled toward the bathroom. As he passed the window he glanced out, tensed. "The French. They are entering the lobby."
An instant later footsteps pounded down the hall and stopped outside the penthouse door.
"I know a way out," Mustapha Ben Boulaid whispered. "Grab the clothes. And the slut. She will be our hostage."
FIVE
The basement of the hotel was dark, smelled of the humidity, trapped rodent odors, and the furniture stored there. Cobwebs covered the dozen or so bricks that had been welded together to form a door in the side of the wall.
Ben Boulaid eased the panel shut. "We're safe here for as long as the enemy remains." He looked around, saw an old trunk. It was standing on end and was as tall as Marcia but twice as deep. The metal reinforcements were dusty and the sides were cracked. The thick leather exterior remained together, save for the minute cracks.
"We have time before the French decide to look elsewhere for us," Ben Boulaid opened the trunk; the hinges squeaked. "Have you ever been locked inside one of these?" he asked Marcia.
She trembled. This was more like what she wanted. But it still didn't have a name. "No," she said in a child's voice.
"Then you will never know the real meaning of "togetherness" until you have been made love to in one of these."
Her clitoris tingled, swelled. The gooseflesh exploded. Her breasts hardened and the nipples blushed darkly in the shafts of light that seeped through the cracks in the wall.
Yes, this was more to her liking. The dirt, the stench, the bizarre companions. This was what had been missing all her life. It took the cruel Sahara sun to start her thoughts spinning, and the dank basement of this hotel to slow them down, and lock on the one of two twists needed to satisfy her passion.
like before she was the willing participant to her own debasement. She helped tip the heavy trunk and when it lay on its back she helped open the lid. The interior was dusty and smelled of old linen and towels. It was empty.
"I have a neat twist for you, precious," the caid smirked. "May I borrow...."
Ben El Said gestured at the object Ben Boulaid held. The leader handed over a woman's high heeled leather shoe which had been left on the chair he was sitting on.
"Get in," the caid ordered. "Lie on your face."
Feeling the heat explode in her snatch, but not allowing the sweet torment to show, Marcia climbed into the trunk, stretched out and tightened her ass in anticipation.
Ben El Said whispered: "If I only had wires...current...ah, I'd make you dance naked."
The words stung, created images that made her weak with fear...and something more. The same overpowering urge to feel this different almost unholy passion made her glands dance.
Marcia whimpered as he moved on the other side of the trunk. She heard the tightly muscled arm come down, slicing air as the weapon rapidly approached. She tensed, cried out as the heel struck her buttock, sending shocks through her heavy cheek. Waves inundated her cunt, daggered her snatch, tore at her gland.
"Does she like it, Ben El Said?"
"I think she does. But we shall see."
Marcia Andrus was too weak to respond. All she could do was lay still, let them beat her into submission. She had already submitted to this strange kinky routine. Only she must not let them know, if she could possibly keep it secret. If they knew they might withdraw and that would be too horrible to even think about.
Whack!
The heel came down again, harder, the greater force jarring her spine, starting her juices flowing. The smooth round spike branded her ass and she begged silently for the heel's kiss on her other cheek.
Again the heel came down and she whimpered and her hips jerked, a reflex action caused by the blow. Her insides were in turmoil now for she was thinking about the electrodes that Ben El Said had hinted at. She could almost feel them biting, chewing, tearing her titties, her clitoris, her anus. And even the smarting heel could only impart a mild sensation compared with the hundreds of volts of electricity surging through her writhing tormented flesh.
"Burn me!"
The scream came out before she could stop it. As the plea shattered against the dank walls of the basement she knew that the ultimate passion, the ultimate release would be found on the curled twisted wires of some inhuman torture machine.
The heel pounded her big ass. The cheeks bounced and danced and slapped together and the circled red marks covered her hind muscles. Marcia again jerked her pelvis and her climax began, but it took the thought of the electricity to touch off the powerful eruption.
Marcia wanted the electrodes. But she was afraid, too. And her fear heightened her need. Death, she suddenly thought, would provide the ultimate orgasm, the final fuck that would send her off into a peaceful oblivion. But that, too. frightened her. For some reason she could not fathom, the fear of death was mild compared with the fear of what lay ahead of her at the hands of these two brutes.
"Get your fat ass out of there," one of them ordered.
Marcia was too numb to discern the voice's owner. She complied, meekly, not looking at either of them, feeling their body heat, their rising cocks, their harsh breathing and their sweat and foul breath. The stench of the basement cloaked them, added that last ingredient to this nightmare orgy.
"What do you want me to do?" Her words came through the cotton that coated her tongue.
"We want you to...." Mustapha Ben Boulaid thought a moment, then said: "We want you to dance. Slowly. Quietly so we won't awaken the Frenchmen."
"I need music."
"Clap your hands softly, Ben El Said."
The man slowly clapped his hands. Marcia didn't know what she was doing. She lifted her feet, dancing lightly across the damp cold cement; her tits bounced and her ass ground against the sore anal and cunt tissues. The discomfort added a certain amount of pleasure to what she was doing and she discovered, as she stepped closer to Ben Boulaid, that her glands were surging and her pussy lips were slick with juice and her thighs were taut and the fires in her belly and snatch were gathering strength and that, in a few seconds, she would have to be fucked again.
Shadows danced around her shoulders as she shattered columns of faint sun light. She lifted and lowered her legs in time with the hand clapping. The lust was building. She did a slow turn and when her back faced him he swung his arm. The heel gouged her ass.
"Ooooooo...."
The exclamation shuddered in her dry throat.
Marcia moved closer to him, hoping to feel his warmth against her hungry flesh. He backed away, taunting her with snarling curses, swinging his arm to keep her away. But the blows that snapped her ass, then her belly and finally her tits only increased her longing, her need for his cock.
"The bitch is insatiable," Ben Boulaid exclaimed when she whimpered, begged softly for his cock.
"I have to have it," she moaned.
Ben Boulaid waved to his companion who stopped clapping. "Why, of course. Lie down, woman."
She dropped to the floor, spread wide, cupped her Venus mound, spread back the lips, worked her thumbs over the puckered labia and massaged the red lined crease, forcing the juices out. He knelt beside her leg, searched her eyes.
She stared back, not understanding. It was only when he refused to unzip his pants that she realized what was about to happen. "Oh, no," she whined.
He turned the shoe, poised the heel against the flat of his hand, then brought his arm forward. The heel spiked her cunt, entered. She yelped, flattened her ass to the floor, begged him to stop, fought the horrible, delving pain, retched as the burning dagger gouged her cunt, bit her clitoris and forced her to climax.
He didn't stop with that, though. He kept turning, twisting the object, rending her sensitive tissues with the dirty spiked heel. She climaxed in spite of the agony. Not even the sight of his hand, searching for his fly, excited her desire for more of this abuse.
Mustapha Ben Boulaid got his cock out. He was hard. "Stroke me." The command, softly spoken, was, nevertheless, emphatic.
With her last bit of strength she pumped his shaft.
If he orgasmed he might then stop this torture. Marcia pumped faster. He erupted and his hot seed shot across her belly and splattered her cleavage. Her tits rolled together, smeared the jizz. A final grunt, a last drop of cum and he was finished, and bored with this game.
He let go of the shoe. Leaving the heel imbedded in her snatch he turned to Ben El Said: "Take a look, comrade. If they're gone, we'll go."
Marcia lay back, weeping, thankful that this phase of her reeducation was over.
SIX
Mustapha Ben Boulaid smiled when he was told the enemy was still in the building. "Then we have time for more fun. If you're in the mood." He looked at Marcia.
Marcia sat up, stared bleary eyed at her captor. "Whatever you want of me."
"What I want of you is your twat." Mustapha pointed. "In there."
"Shall I lay on my back. Or on my face." She spoke without enthusiasm.
"Your face is broad, Germanic. But it is still very pretty. In a mannish sort of way. So lay on your back. So I may kiss it, if I choose."
Her thighs whispered as she settled down in the trunk. It was a fairly tight squeeze. Her arms hung over the trunk's sides. Her knees were bent slightly. Her head was tilted forward; the base of her skull rested against the trunk. The cramped position made her spine hurt. But, she thought impassively, the angle and the tight quarters wouldn't hurt her back that much.
Marcia told herself that for one reason: to keep her mind off the evil that this animal was about to inflict. Her cunt still throbbed. It would be a long while before she forgot how that heel felt, gouging her cunt.
Mustapha Ben Boulaid folded his clothes and climbed on top of her belly. like before he didn't waste time. No kissing, no tit fondling, no words of endearment. Just that massive rock drilling into her pussy. She didn't have time to wet herself. Not even enough time to fantasize which, in turn, would get her love glands gushing.
Marcia winced from the discomfort as the big man pushed and pushed and imbedded his stick to the shaft in her dry snatch.
Mustapha Ben Boulaid pushed, grunted, stopped. "She's drier than a bone. Ben El Said, come her. Warm her up."
"What will get her hot?" the caid asked, beside the trunk.
"She is cock happy. Aren't you?"
Marcia was too tired, too sore to respond. Mustapha asked her again. She grunted in-audibly. He slapped her mouth, drawing blood. She sobbed. He asked the question once more, and she bleated:
"Yes. I love cock."
"Then we shall give you plenty of cock." Mustapha beckoned.
The caid undressed, straddled the portion of the trunk beside her head and knelt, dangling his long, soft cock over her mouth. Marcia Andrus didn't need to be told what was expected of her. She opened her mouth. Her tongue flicked air inches from his cockhead. He squatted, positioned his prick. Her tongue flicked saliva over his spongy dome. He sighed, pushed closer to her gaping mouth, wet teeth, bowed lips, unblinking eyes.
Her eyes watched the slowly descending prick. The organ loomed like some mountain, dropping on her face in slow motion. Only this mountain was smooth, hairy, spurting a whitish jelly.
The few dribbles landed on her lower lip and that was the aphrodisiac that got her glands oozing and the palpitations going in her heart.
"Her juices are gushing," the man in her cunt said, matter-of-factly.
"She's a ravenous beast," the caid replied, choosing his words carefully for exact meaning.
She was a beast, a hungry beast that could only be satisfied with cock. If she had ever doubted that before, her reactions now dispelled any doubt. Realizing beyond any doubt what she was frightened her. But not enough to impede her cock hunger.
"Let me suck you," she rasped. Her rapid breathing made her tits jiggle. The passion swelled her nipples, made them blush, and sent shivers to her belly and twat.
Mustapha felt the vibrations, laughed harshly and began to move quickly, in and out of her pussy. She was primed now. And on her way to being satisfied.
Two big cocks in both openings, filling her up. Wasn't that what she had to have?
El Said tilted forward to get more of his prick in her mouth, down her throat. She opened wider, lashed his shaft with her tongue, suckled in the pre-cum. Marcia whimpered and begged for more cock down her throat. El Said braced himself on the trunk's sides and thrust closer, banging her lower jaw with his shaft.
Ben Boulaid attacked with greater speed, slicing her insides, striking her clitoris over and over. He gradually intensified the rhythm as her hips whipped with greater abandon; her gasps became louder and came faster.
Marcia's cries were muffled behind the massive prick flattening her tongue. Her teeth teased the shaft veins. Each stroke excited El Said more and he banged quicker. His cockhead rammed the back of her throat. His heavy girth crushed her jaw, threatened to dislocate her jaw. She held him tightly, chewing, panting, spilling saliva and breath over the pistoning instrument. He responded with a rough forward thrust, knocking her head against the bottom of the trunk. He moved with deeper thrusts, choking her breath, making her gag as he reached his orgasm. Faster he thrust and she choked on the first blasts of cum. The eruption intensified and she swallowed rapidly, taking what he thrust down her throat, feeling the cum scald her throat, form a pool of heat in her belly. All thought was concentrated on this spurting mass, this bruising weight that tore at her chin. For the moment the cock in her cunt was forgotten.
Her snatch kept jabbing into the downward pummeling prick. Even when he increased the pace, threatened to split her in two, she didn't feel the pressure. Her mind worked on the sliding fat fist pumping sweet juice into her gullet. The hard driving cock seemed to strike her brain as well. Arcing red and green and white lights flashed with each sweet pounding. But there was no pain, not even in her cunt. Only a sweet gentle persistent pressure all through her cunt and belly and brain.
Marcia threw her head back as the final massive burst shot down her throat. He withdrew, dripping his syrup into her eyes. The cum burned, added to the deep glow in her belly and head.
She tried to speak, but her throat was clogged. She swallowed but by then El Said had retreated to his clothes. As Ben Boulaid railed her pussy she heard the caid mount the basement stairs. The sounds distracted her. Ben Boulaid sensed her distraction and, reaching up, without missing a stroke, he slammed the trunk lid down over them. The weight thudded his back, pushed him forward, nearly tearing him out of her hole. The sudden withdrawal of light made Marcia blink.
The close confines, the quickly rising heat in the airless box excited her desire. like being caught in a womb, she thought. A fucking womb. The experience heightened her already overflowing passion. Her clitoris pulsed. She slammed her pelvis and Ben Boulaid chuckled.
"Now that is how I like to be fucked. like you really want to."
She did. Now that she and this beast were locked in darkness she fucked with greater speed, greater urgency. And she imagined, as he came down on her thighs and belly, that she was being driven fucking-wild by a man that really loved, really cared. For a man could love and care even if he was brutal, harsh. A man like that could impart tenderness without being feather-soft.
Marcia imagined that she was being loved, not used. And as Ben Boulaid railed in short up and down strokes she imagined what it would be like to be fucked by a virile, loving man. A brute with heart.
Gone, for the moment, were the depraved urges that had forced her to submit to all these indignities. Or was this merely a resting place on that plateau of emotion?
Who the hell cared!
Marcia was being fucked real good. That was all that mattered.
Grunting, spilling sweat, the Arab lashed her cunt. He brought her off a dozen times before he climaxed. The stench of their sweating bodies, and orgasms filled the box. He lifted the lid, gasped, blinked, and climbed out.
"I think they have gone, Mustapha Ben Boulaid." The caid quietly closed the cellar door.
"It is time, then."
SEVEN
The cork forest known as Chenes-Lieges lay between El Milia and the small isolated Mediterranean port of Collo, in the second Wilaya. Wilaya Two, commanded by Rabah Bitat, was occupied by over one hundred thousand Algerians. The populace was sympathetic to the FLN cause.
This isolated region was chosen by Ben Boulaid after he had seen the French Legionnaires two miles behind them. The pursuing group was small, but if Boulaid was spotted by the Legionnaires the French paratroops would be called up. He decided to stick to the roadways which skirted the Mediterranean and take refuge among the cork trees.
As they outdistanced the squad behind them Mustapha cradled her face. "I feel the need now for more of you."
She didn't flinch. like a good whore with an ember of lust in her snatch that didn't burn out, she got on her knees before his burgeoning cock. Her back was wedged against the back of the small sedan's front seat. She unzipped his fly, unbuckled his serouals and pulled them down. The prick tented the white silk monogrammed shorts. She pulled those down and the prick sprang up, striking her chin.
She tried to feel nothing as she took his cock-head between her teeth. But as she lightly chewed and tongue-patted the spongy tip, and felt the pre-cum, her own juices flowed and she felt the rising heat of his prick in her pussy.
An instant of fear at what was waiting at the end of this drive passed and once more she was immersed in the present. The large stick swelled her jaws and jammed at her throat and showered hot jizz into her mouth and down her windpipe.
She gurgled, swallowed quickly, not missing a beat as she tongued and sucked. Her cheeks expanded and contracted while her tongue laved, and her teeth chewed.
Squatting there, her back pinned to the back of the seat, her skirt hem on the floor, she reached under her ass and, finding her cunt, she parted the labia and stroked and patted her cunt. Marcia worked up to his rhythm. Her ass jiggled. The whisper of cotton against her bare buttocks was lost in her fervid breathing.
She pinched her clitoris, pinching off the orgasm. The orgasm spurted between her fingers just as his climax blew down her throat, filled her mouth, and drenched her chin. Mustapha came quickly and pushed her aside, his eyes on the road ahead. He and Ben El Said conversed in Arabic, their voices ragged as they exchanged terse instructions. She was left on the car floor, unsatisfied.
Marcia looked up at her captor, watched for a sign that he would want her again. But he was too engrossed on what was ahead, and behind them. The column of Legionnaires was gaining, it seemed, even as the sedan tried to outdistance the Frenchmen.
As the column drew closer the conversation inside the sedan grew more agitated. As the voices became harsher, more excited, her lust grew stronger. She tried fingering but that didn't work. She wanted the warmth of another body on her belly, in her snatch, playing with her ripe tits.
Marcia tugged at the cuff of Mustapha's serouals.
"What the hell is it!"
"Will you fuck me?"
"I will kick your head in if you don't leave me alone." He kicked her leg. Lightning crackled from the bruised flesh, upward. She turned on her side, to face him, and grabbed his ankle. Swearing, he kicked at her but this time he struck her cunt. She spread her lips and the second kick hit her clitoris. And again he assaulted her pussy and she came. He kicked her again, relishing the abuse, and before fear could set in, she climaxed and passed out.
They dragged her out of the car the moment they penetrated the cork forest.
They trotted toward a clearing up ahead. Waiting for them were a half dozen Berber riflemen.
The clearing was a half mile in diameter. Before they reached the far end the sky was filled with billowing parachutes. Shots were fired. The Berbers fired wildly, hitting some of their targets, rending the chutes. The riflemen retreated through the forest, pursued by surviving paratroopers.
El Said, who had been dragging Marcia, let go. Mustapha was at the head of the retreating riflemen; El Said guarded the rear.
They were deep in the forest when the paratroops were joined by the column of Legionnaires. One of them, a tall, slim, handsome officer stopped for Marcia. She was conscious but weak. He made certain she was out of firing range before he rejoined his men.
The Berbers were chased into the woods but after an hour's pursuit the chase was given up.
The officer came back for Marcia. He lifted her and as he carried her to safety all the pent up fear and loneliness exploded.
"Love me," she whimpered, clinging to him.
The squad leader heard, smiled, and said: "Captain Leonard, we will go on." He waved the walkie-talkie. "If you need us, just call, sir."
Leonard waved them on.
He selected a small grove of trees a few yards from the road. It was cool and surprisingly quiet. As the traffic flickered past he helped her to the cool damp earth.
"They don't deserve to live," he said once her blouse and skirt were removed.
She looked into his bronzed face. The dark eyes were gentle, soft. The mouth was ruggedly set but not brutish. The tiny mustache glistened with sweat.
"Don't talk about them. About anything."
Marcia Andrus reached for his tunic. He smiled, eased her hand away.
"I'll undress myself. You save your strength."
Once they were naked she held him at arm's length and admired his smooth supple muscles. He was young and in excellent condition. His cock was thin and long and the tip was pale red. The tip turned scarlet as the blood rushed through the shaft.
He pressed against her belly, took her breasts and she lay in his arms, passive, and let him fondle her supple globes. But when he felt her shake, and smelled the musky aroma of her pussy, he tried to mount her. She stopped him.
"No. I want to taste you first."
She scooted down and pumped his shaft twice, felt the hardness, the strength, the heat of his manhood. She turned around and pressed her lips to his cock and while she kissed him he stretched out on top of her and parted her labia and kissed the warm oozing muscles.
Without moving they kissed deeply. Neither one rushed the ritual. As she licked the underside of his shaft he lapped at the vaginal corridor, coming close but not touching her clitoris.
Marcia played him the same way: kissing his shaft, drinking the bitter sweat from his sac. nuzzling the sprouting hairs. And Captain Leonard followed her lead. He probed her cunt with his flexed tongue, pushing against the sore muscles, then pulling back when she winced.
They laved each other, and prolonged the pleasure for as long as they could. But then the juices pounded and they intensified their kissing, their sucking. He nudged her clitoris and when she cried out he lashed the tiny gland. She slickened the shaft, tugged at the hairs with her teeth, lightly closed her jaws on the stiff shaft. She felt the cum surge along the shaft and rubbed her mouth back and forth on the stiff cock.
Their hips rocked and they wiggled on the cool ground. Insects buzzed and twigs crackled beneath them.
They grunted, suckled deeper, thrashed each other until, finally, with a massive spasm, they climaxed.
For a few moments they didn't speak. He pressed his cheek against her belly, nuzzled the cunt thicket. She kept kissing his soft wet cock, not trying to get him hard, only trying to taste him, tell him how much she loved him for his gentleness.
"I've been on patrol, even before the rebellion," he said. His voice stroked her feverish brain. "It's been a long time for me, mamselle."
"For both of us."
As she lay beside him the nightmare of the desert seemed a distant dream. It couldn't have happened. Yet it did. Only because of the shock of the brutal murders of her co-workers. What she had had was a nervous breakdown. But now, as she lay in her lover's arms, she knew she had recovered.
EIGHT
"A person doesn't get over nervous breakdowns so easily," she mused aloud.
Maurice Leonard lightly nuzzled her left tit. As the nipple stiffened she repeated what she had just said. The droning voice distracted him. Letting the tit go he raised his head.
"Are you still being tormented by what the Arab bastards did to your people?"
"Maybe." What she was thinking about was what they did to her after the massacre; the degradation...the entire episode returned in razor sharp clarity. Marcia Andrus hadn't lusted after that kind of kinky action for three months now...since her rescue by Maurice Leonard and the Legionnaires, and her return to Algiers which had been purged of the radical F.L.N. But these last few nights while Maurice slept beside her, dreams of that series of desert incidents had tortured her. And now she had day dreams about all that. The man in her dreams was the caid: Ben El Said.
Even now, as she thought of him, her clitoris hardened. Her snatch gave off that musky passion scent and Leonard took her in his arms and gently teethed one thrusting dark red nipple.
"Your dreams may be haunted but your days will be filled only with pleasure," he whispered in broken English.
She rolled against his slim body, crushing her big tits against his teeth.
"Oh...oh...." Marcia trembled and draped one leg over his leg and pressed her belly against his hips.
"I'm so glad we've found each other, Marcia." Maurice nibbled her earlobe while he patted and squeezed her swollen titties.
Her belly was smooth and warm; the big navel exuded the perfume of her cunt. Her snatch gushed love oil and her breasts were swollen and pulsed.
But that extra ingredient was missing; the ingredient that only a brute like Ben El Said could provide.
"Darling," she said, pushing away. "One position we've never gotten into is butt fucking." She saw his surprise but went on. "Now if fucking my ass is distasteful, why don't we do it dog style?"
"Why don't we?"
Leonard got behind her back and she stood on her knees and palms. He got hold of her dangling titties, lightly twisting the nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.
"That's right, darling," she said over her shoulder. "I like it when you pinch them...oh...and your cock squeezed up against my ass-crease feels real great, too. Now just get some of that sweet pre-cum on your cock and then stick it all the way in my ass...all the way into the hole. And then, Mo, we'll have ourselves one helluva party."
While she babbled, breathlessly anticipating the kiss of his cock in her pussy and ass, he pulled her close and pressed his hardening stick in her ass crease. Marcia quivered, tensed. She shook her ass, slapping those dewlapped cheeks against his cock, generating heat that made his cock stiffen faster.
"I wish you'd fuck my ass." Her voice was throaty, laced with passion.
The officer couldn't bring himself to perform such a violent and vile act upon her flesh. He told her so and the sob that escaped her throat was part gratitude, part frustration. Mostly frustration as his gentle fondling failed to push her to the pitch of lust that the Arab marauders had done.
"Oh, honey, I'm not getting anything out of this." She pushed harder against him, trying to impale his cock in her ass.
But he retreated and she knew this wasn't going to get done like she wanted it done.
Marcia didn't know what to do beyond letting him fuck her like he wanted. And, later, when he was finished? She couldn't think of that. The alternative was frightening. Unless she used her imagination to create fantasies which would serve in place of the real thing.
Maurice Leonard tailgated her ass while he crowded closer to her supple sweating back, and squeezed her ripe breasts. He was hard and hot and probing through the whitish clump of hair gathered and curled along the underslope of her ass. The soft hot ass folds brushed his big shaft and he panted and probed, quickly finding the cunt, lifting into the dewy smoldering hole.
She slammed backward while he thrust upward; he hit her clitoris and the impact sent up bright orange and green lights, like always. With each jarring thrust the lights exploded and left her breathless. Panting, her titties heaving, she jerked against his cock, immersing his stiff prick in folds of wet cunt.
Maurice drilled her yielding hole. She matched his awkward attack. They fucked in short ragged movements, grunting, gasping, slamming into each other, their flesh making soft wet sounds as they came together.
Marcia worked her big ass around, in a sweeping arc, feeling his soft curled hair on her upper ass slopes. His arms were bands, drawn tightly around her waist and his fingers were teeth of steel traps, crushing her breasts.
And still she wasn't satisfied.
As he flailed her cunt and she worked against him in a counter rhythm, she imagined herself on the Sahara, in a Berber tent, with a vile camel merchant in her pussy, fucking her without regard for her feelings, her emotions.
As she imagined all this, her heat rose and her body beat him with a greater urgency which he mistook for mounting passion. He fucked quickly, hitting his orgasm before she was ready.
"No." she whined as he discharged.
She tried to keep up with him but he was too fast; he emptied himself and went soft, leaving her up there on the crest of orgasm. Marcia waited until he had withdrawn and was holding her against his chest. While he kissed her mouth she shoved one of his fingers into her snatch. He pressed the clitoris and she gasped sharply and ground her hips. He fingered her gland and she burst her orgasm.
"Ah, that's better," she sighed, returning his kisses.
But it wasn't really. The routine of their love making, established during these last three months, was becoming a bore. Maurice wasn't anxious to give her the kind of raw violence that she craved.
They discussed her problem over dinner that night in a sidewalk cafe. The descending sun turned the cobbled streets and smooth sided stucco facades into pastel shadows.
She didn't notice the sunset as she explained what it was she needed. He listened, then said:
"I can't hurt you but, if making love out of doors is what you want, then we can do that, like we did that first time."
"But why don't you take me like I want to be taken?"
He thought a moment before answering. When he replied his forehead was rutted, his eyes faraway, as he tried to hold back a memory too terrible to talk about.
"I once was a witness to a terrible act. Against a member of another pro Algerian terrorist group. He was captured, taken downstairs to the basement of our headquarters here in Algiers. We worked him over and that's merely skimming the surface. What we did to him was awful. We French are as devious as our Arab enemies. Our methods are just as brutal. The equipment we use just as effective at extracting what we want to know."
"And ever since you've hated violence?" Marcia's heart thumped wildly as her imagination worked on what he had told her.
"That kind, yes. The violence, the obscenity of gunning a man down is acceptable," he replied with a rueful smile.
"And you're not interested in satisfying me that way."
"I couldn't. And enjoy it."
"I'll enjoy it. So what's the difference?"
But Maurice Leonard remained adament. And, in the end, she accepted his terms: an afternoon of loving out of doors.
She still hoped for something more exciting than that. But she was willing to accept that much, and hope for more.
After all, she mused, the imagination is a wonderful thing. It can transport prisoners to freedom, at least in their dreams. So why couldn't it create for her the perfect lover?
NINE
She lay back on the blanket, naked, watched him undress on the other side of the tent. He was a gorgeous brute. He looked even better out here in the wilderness, between Algiers and Blida.
He saw her looking, and posed. "like what you see?"
"All that I see, Mo."
He walked slowly to the blanket, his hard cock lifting and lowering. She reached for him and when he was beside her on the hot, hard sand, she kissed his stomach, her tongue leaving a wet trail past his navel, to his cock. He tensed and pushed her to the blanket and swung around so they were in the sixty-nine position.
Since this was her party he let her set the tempo. The way she wanted it was slow, at least at first.
Marcia Andrus returned to his belly button and he touched her deep navel. Their tongues entered the holes. She winced and sighed while he probed the smooth round opening. There was a tiny hair growing inside the navel and he clasped the hair between his teeth and tugged, and she giggled and raked his flat, muscled belly with her teeth.
She spread her legs wider, wrapped them around his head and he took her like that. They nuzzled warm flesh, tasted salty muscle and then the curled pubic thicket. He was first to settle on the sex zone. He split her crease, thrust his tongue into the warm and wet meat pie and suckled the juicy tenderness just inside the bittersweet cunt.
Marcia took a deep breath, to quiet the upheaval in her snatch. She didn't want this to end. Ever. By prolonging her orgasm, and his, too, it would extend the rapture that they were teethed the hair, blew warm breath over his creating for each other.
She hesitated before taking his cock. She shaft and balls, and then bypassing the burgeoning stick she opened wide and took his sac in her mouth. She worked the sac with her tongue, laving the burning testicles, gently chewing the goose fleshed sac, sending him into fits.
His prick slapped her jaw and she felt pre-cum on her cheek. He was already deep in her snatch and was teasing her clitoris with the tip of his tongue. She couldn't prolong this any longer. She let go of his sac, seized the shaft and licked the veins, to the spongy tip. Working in time with his frantic laving she encircled the cockhead and then, lightly chewing the shaft, worked down the length of the organ until the cockhead was at the back of her throat.
They were gasping, writhing, locked together, their ankles wrapped around their heads. They lapped hungrily, forcefully, concentrating on the other's sex gland, trying to restrain the climax until the other was ready.
Marcia climaxed first, showering his mouth and chin. He bombarded her mouth, flooding the back of her throat with scalding clots. They choked, gasped, their adam's apples working feverishly to accept the other's orgasm.
Just as she crested he finished and started to shrink. She kept at him, all the while her orgasm spurting. But he quickly softened and she was left with a ton more of stuff still inside her clitoris.
As he nibbled her lips, his tongue licking off his cum that spotted her lower lip, she asked him for his belt buckle. Unsure what she wanted it for he nevertheless complied. Then stood back, horrified, as she shoved the nubbed edge of the silver plated buckle in her cunt, against her clitoris. While he watched dumbly she strummed her cunt, her tits rising and falling, the nipples hard and thrusting, her belly shuddering, her thighs taut and her cunt gushing lust oil, then orgasm. Faster and faster she worked the buckle until, finally, with a massive sigh, she let go of the object and let the force of her orgasm shoot the buckle across the tent where it landed at his feet.
"You see my darling Mo, my need is great." She sat up, blushing, sweating, hot eyed, her skin flushed and her body still twitching. "I have to have it rough, precious. That's what I've been trying to tell you all these months."
He watched her face, probed her expression and saw the raw passion of the primitive animal. What she saw was his revulsion. She turned away, scowling.
"I'm sorry if I've offended you, Maurice."
He came to her, then, and put his arm around her shoulder. "I love you, Marcia. I've even begun rounding up my friends for the bachelor party. Before the wedding. But...."
"Being married to a freak doesn't appeal to you." She said it tonelessly. An accusation thrown into the wind by a stranger.
"You're not a freak...."
"Then damn you, don't treat me like one!"
"I love you. I want to help you, if I can...."
"Oh, shit...."
The argument raged. Their voices hid the cautiously approaching cavalry. The occupants of the tent didn't realize they had been found until the tent flap went up and a familiar face appeared. She recoiled.
"A man takes a quiet afternoon ride and what does he find but an old friend. That surely is serendipity."
The man speaking was Ben El Said.
TEN
It was happening all over again, she thought, horrified. The slaughter, and her reaction to it.
A final agonizing twitch in the early evening twilight and her lover, Maurice Leonard, sagged and died. The bonds holding him to the poles implanted in the sand and held down by rocks, gave slightly and squeaked as the dead weight strained the leather thongs.
She was trussed the same way ten feet from him. They had forced her to watch the systematic gutting of her lover. And she had watched wide-eyed as the knives and swords violated his handsome physique.
Mercifully it hadn't lasted long. Now he was dead, out of his misery, while her torment was just beginning.
Ben El Said, from the shade of his tent, had watched and participated in the orgy. Now his eyes rested on his female captive.
"It was inevitable, our meeting again," he said as he approached her spread-eagled body. The poles that held her upright were shaped in an "X" with a third pole bracing the other two. "Algeria is vast but our movement is also vast. It was but a matter of time before we overtook you."
She sagged on the "X". Her head was down. Her breasts drooped and the sand that caked her flesh turned her skin a dirty gray. Not very appealing to look at but the caid was interested.
"I've thought of you quite often," he said, taking her chin in his hand and raising her head. "I've missed your fucking. You always seem to enjoy whatever we do to you. Isn't that correct?"
He gave her a few seconds to answer. He was about to strike her face when she replied, in a thin, weary voice:
"You understand me. Perfectly." Already the lust oil was flowing.
He snapped a riding crop against his serouals, knocking loose dust. He circled her body, prodding her buttocks, feeling the tremors begin. He brushed caked sand from her buttocks and she moaned at his touch. He laughed, nodded at his men who stood in a semicircle, obviously excited by the sight of a voluptuous naked white woman. His hand lingered on the soft meaty rump. Then he flattened his hand and brought it down hard on the cheek. She yelled in pain and shock. The cheek danced and the caid snorted his pleasure.
Again he slapped her ass and watched while the cheeks danced and became red surfaced. Then he noticed the riding crop in his other hand and, flicking it over her ass, he began to get hard.
The caid increased the pressure of the stroking. Finally he lashed out, tearing a thin jagged line from the slope of the left cheek to the upper ridge of the right cheek.
Marcia bawled and her body jerked with each assault. Deep in her cunt the embers, dormant since her rescue by Leonard, began to glow, then flare, then pop and surge and meld into a single flame which, in turn, erupted into an inferno, and she railed against her bonds and her whole body was a solid wall of trembling flesh and her tits swung back and forth and the spasms coursed along her belly and into her cunt where the clitoris, a throbbing bloated organ, spilled then spattered her climax over her rippling thighs. The torrent of lust, so easily begun was hard to stop. Even after the caid ceased his assault her climax exploded, drenching her legs to the calves. Ben El Said stood back and after he had seen enough of this writhing sexual animal he stripped and leaped onto her belly, suspended over the ground, his hands clawing her fevered muscles. He rammed his cock into her pussy and fucked her quickly, giving her none of the pleasure he was experiencing. He came quickly, jumped off and turned away, leaving her hanging there three feet off the ground, her loins spewing orgasm and spattering the still warm sand with opaque clots.
She was coming like a punctured water sack. The heat beat her shoulders and back and the smell of the gutted corpse a few feet away excited her juices. Her clitoris quivered and her cunt dripped lust oil. Her thighs clenched. Her belly spasmed. The sound of her orgasm was muted, popping. She drank in deep draughts of air, choking on the sand flies. Her titties rolled and geysers of sweat streaked her reddening flesh.
Marcia had to touch her clitoris, had to squeeze off her climax. Her hands remained tied. She tugged at the thongs and they creaked, but held. She sighed and sobbed, frustrated.
"Something wrong?" the caid wanted to know.
"I hurt so. I need...."
"Cock? Yes, I know you. Now you will know my men."
She looked up, dazed, trembling. They circled the "X", reaching for her stiff tipped tits, trembling belly.
Marcia was excited, frightened, too. These men were grimy, bearded and smelled of the desert, and their horses. Their eyes glinted. Their fingers lingered on the scabbards beneath their burnouses. Hatred flamed across their faces, turning their haggard faces evil. The smell of their passion overcame the stink of their sweat, and the moldering corpse.
The men took a step toward her, surrounding her in heat. The caid stepped between her and the men.
"You once told me what you would do for me and my people if you had the chance. Do you remember?"
She didn't have to think; she dreamt about doing those terrible things nearly every night now. "Yes, Ben El Said. I remember."
"I especially like the one about letting my peopje shit in your eyes." She started to cry. "Doesn't that appeal to you?"
"Oh, no...."
"Cut her down."
They cut her free and dragged her, on her back, across the sand, to a large tent. The desert floor blistered her back, packed between her ass cheeks, clung to her labia. It was like being dragged across hot coals. She writhed, the fear rising in her throat like bile. She wanted to scream, wanted to beg. And knew that her entreaties would do her no good. She knew, too, that this time El Said would not let her leave this camp alive. Before she died she would go through the tortures of the damned. As Leonard had.
The final orgasm...death...held no appeal now that she had seen up close how that orgasm was reached.
They pulled her into the tent, flung her on a blanket and retreated, leaving her with the caid.
"Since we last were together I have learned an old world trick. One that you will like. One that the man that taught it to me was certain you would respond to." He began to disrobe. "You remember Mustapha Ben Boulaid? Of course you do. He is back with his own group, in Wilaya One. Before rejoining his people he gave me this." From beneath his burnous he extracted a long, narrow, hollow tube. The object, a foot long and made of ebony, had a leather harness attached to the base. "With this, a man can fuck a woman almost forever." He stepped into the harness and tied it around his waist and fitted the weapon over his penis. She noticed that an ugly scar ran along the lower slope of his belly and was partially covered by pubic hair. In the blinding sunlight she hadn't noticed it. After fitting the false penis over his own cock, and tightening the harness, he saw her looking at his stomach.
"A present from our one-handed friend: Ahmed Mohand Madj. He was always a poor marksman. As you already know." The huge rod slapped her thigh as he positioned himself between her legs. "I'm using this to stretch you for my men. They've had a very long siege, away from women. I won't have them kept waiting while a bitch adjusts to their cocks."
Without another word he reared back and thrust the awesome weapon into her snatch.
"Ooowww...." The echo died in her throat.
She shuddered, recoiled from the advancing brute, tried to get as far from the terrible instrument as she could. But to no avail. The dildo was too long. Her attacker too persistent. He imbedded the tip deep in the smoldering cunt.
She couldn't breathe. Vibrations made her dizzy.
Ben El Said corkscrewed the dildo, reaming her out, touching off her orgasm. She flung her knees up, then wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him closer. He laughed and pronged her snatch.
"Now you're ready. In front."
Wheezing, he jerked back, nearly tearing her insides, and with trembling fingers, unstrapped the weapon, threw it across the tent, and fell on her belly. After the dildo his big cock felt like a feather in her pussy. A feather that quickly became a massive rock, burrowing into her cunt, twisting and turning, tearing out her orgasm, and rekindling the desire at the same time.
The brute thrashed her cunt, gripped and squeezed her butt cheeks, dug his fingernails into her massive hind slopes, lifted her ass to draw himself closer to her writhing snatch.
Ben El Said tore into her pussy and she responded with a forceful counter rhythm that left her breathless and made the oppressive heat inside the tent even more unbearable. Marcia Andrus was about to pass out. But not before this fuck was finished.
She rolled her hips, bucked her ass, slammed her belly into his belly, scraped her buttocks on the floor, tore the blanket and nearly knocked the man off her Venus mound.
"Bitch...bitch...." he shrieked, climaxing.
She wouldn't let him go, not even when he went soft. She held him tight and rocked side to side trying to coax another hard on. But he was soft and wouldn't be able to get it up for awhile, at least.
What was coming next was the rape by all those men. She heard them outside the tent, shuffling near the flaps, scuffing their shoes on the baked desert sand. What they would do to her body, besides fuck it, made her shudder.
"Don't worry, you sex starved slut. They won't have you just yet. I still have further need of that big ass of yours."
And he climbed off and retrieved the dildo. She shivered but this time it was anticipation, not fear, that made her body quake.
ELEVEN
He showed mercy. Before forcing the big weapon into her ass he moistened the shaft with oil. Or camel shit. The smell was terrible whatever the lubricant was.
"Some of my men like the rear entrance. In war time a commander can't be too careful what kind of man he recruits."
The flippant remark fell on deaf ears. Her whole soul and body were numbed by the gruesome brute force, pushing into her crease. She was full right up to her heart. She took deep breaths and that eased the sudden fullness. Almost objectively she traced the object's path into her asshole and up and into her intestines. Her cheeks rippled with each thrust and her ass walls split apart, permitting the weapon's passage. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, first from the pain, then from the pleasant pulsing in her ass and cunt.
Ben El Said plunged deeper and struck the wall opposite her clitoris. She gasped wide-eyed as he touched off another orgasm.
He was, literally, fucking her to death. The pain, the weakness, the excruciating pleasure made the world spin, then fall into fragments, leaving her stranded on a fireball which was surrounded by the black void of the universe.
The caid drilled her asshole; she responded by bucking, heaving, throwing her hips from side to side, rapidly twisting her ass, whipping at this bruising slab of marble imbedded in her bowels, crushing her clitoris against his hard driving assault.
Marcia felt the force of his thrust diminish. Before he withdrew she got her hands under her cunt, spread the lips wide, and finger-sawed her clitoris. She orgasmed as he pulled out of her ass. The withdrawal was like a final plunging fuck. She groaned and collapsed.
Only not as good. She was still hungry for more.
"Are you selling tickets?" she muttered, face down on the blanket.
"Tickets?" Ben El Said snorted, laughed.
He unstrapped the dildo, tossed it aside. The caid was ready for her degradation. He was all primed for the indignities that would be inflicted on her helpless flesh.
She was, too. Knowing what would happen brought up the fear; knowing what was going to invade her snatch, making her cum endlessly, triggered another orgasm.
Marcia Andrus thumbed her clitoris, her ass raised, her knees supporting her lower torso. The caid couldn't resist. Jerking her hips up, holding her steady, he bent his knees, crowded closer to her ass, brushed his cockhead across the cunt fur that protruded from the ass crease. Then, as she yelped and swung her big ass, he invaded her crease, pushing in slowly now, savoring the feel of her moist hot ass-walls around his shaft.
Marcia coughed as the steady force pushed deeper, exciting tiny needles of sensation all along her corridor. She felt the pounding in her cunt. Her clitoris tingled and filled and spurted as he struck her asshole. He concentrated on the puckered hole, drilling into the small opening and heaving hot columns up her ass and into her pussy. Her palms braced on the floor, her tits dangling, she tightened her crotch, squeezed her clitoris, squeezed off her climax.
The Arab animal was killing her with his brute masculinity. Fucking her cunt and ass was tearing her apart but he made her love this slow death. And he would make her love the quicker death waiting outside the tent.
"Well, Ben El Said?" she rasped. "When does it begin?"
"Right now." He went to the entrance. "Is it ready?" he called. "Yes," came the reply.
Ben El Said reached for her hand. "Come, bitch. The fun is out there."
What he showed her was a hole in the sand. The two men, digging the hole, stepped back as the caid led her to the shallow pit. He pushed her in. She fell on her knees; the top of her head was below the pit's edge.
"Stand up," he ordered.
And she did.
The sand invaded her nose. Flies circled her forehead. Something slimy crawled into her ass and she yanked it out. Some kind of small snake. She crushed the tiny head between her thumb and forefinger, and dropped the corpse at her feet. Her eyes remained on the small lifeless thing by her toes. A moment before it had been alive; now that life was gone.
She wondered if they would end her life as quickly. Somehow, for some unfathomable reason, she wasn't concerned about her death. The only thing on her mind, right then, was the sharp pain in her clitoris. The pain of her pent up orgasm. The throbbing obliterated all reason, reduced her world to the tiny area of this pit. where her enemies...her lovers would soon rape her pussy, her ass...she didn't know what else they would force her to do.
They surrounded the pit, throwing shadows over her blonde hair, grimy face. Their burnouses were open. Their garments were separated ; their cocks were exposed. The burnouses kept them from being burned by the sun.
The heat waves misted their pricks, misted their squatting movements. One of them lifted a shovel of sand, flung the sand in it in her face, shocking her, bringing her around. Then the first man dropped into the narrow pit, rubbed his foul smelling body against her belly and tits, forced her against the rear of the pit. Her butt and spine rubbed the tiny, heated grains of sand. The cock smeared her thick cunt hair against the mound. He bent, bit a tit, made her cry out. And he laughed, enjoyed giving the pain, forcing his cock between the labia. He drove into her snatch and she didn't try to resist. At first, the sour stink revolted her but as he fucked her cunt she felt the fires leap and become an inferno. She responded. She snapped her pelvis, slapping her belly against him, working her cunt against his cock. He yelled a word in Arabic. The ground shook as a heavy man reached the pit's edge; he dropped into the pit, crowded behind her back and she whimpered as the stink, the probing pricks invaded her senses. Bright lights leaped and she choked and retched. The assault continued. She barely felt the hot cum in her ass and pussy. And then they climbed out and she sagged against the sand walls, dizzy.
She didn't hear or see the next man. Or the next.
Then cold water was thrown in her face. She was propped up and the next man was fucking her pussy.
And it went on. How long she didn't know.
After a lifetime they stopped. She was too weak to react and they saw it and Ben El Said grabbed a shovel, motioned one of his men to hold her up while the caid flung the sand into the pit. The flunky climbed out and Ben El Said finished scooping sand. She was buried to her chin. A heavy coarse fabric, like a tent shred, was held over her head and three foot high poles were imbedded in the sand around her head, and the protective covering was stretched across the poles, shading her head from the sun.
They were very thoughtful. They wouldn't allow her to get sun stroke. Not right away. Later, for sure. Which meant they'd keep her alive overnight, then tie her down in the sun and leave her like that.
Maybe they wouldn't. Maybe they would gut her like they did Leonard. Her head buzzed from thinking so much when all she should be doing was...what? Anticipating their next unique twist? Planning her escape? Praying for a dues ex machina, a god from a machine to swoop down and rescue her?
Shadows which were like columns moved closer. Then the first man, his cock hard, squatted in front of her face and grabbed her ears to steady himself, and pushed the prick head against her teeth. She gagged. He jerked her ears, swore loudly. She opened her mouth. The long, slim cock filled her mouth. She opened wider, ignoring the stench, the sour salty taste, the disgust in her guts. She kept the vomit down, concentrated on bathing this stinking shaft with her tongue.
She sucked rapidly and even enjoyed the act a little. The bitter cum clotted her throat but she didn't mind it now. The jizz was like a drug, a triple martini. Her head lolled and her mind went blank. Only her jaws and tongue worked. On reflex.
The next man and the next left their jizz in her throat, her tongue, her teeth, her lips and chin. She was beyond tasting, feeling now. She didn't even hear their ribald shouts, their drunken lurchings that raised sand clouds.
A gourd of wine was opened. The noise grew louder. It was night and she hadn't seen the sun go down. A fire was lit. The laughter increased and she was forgotten.
The ground squeezed her tits and belly and ass. She was smothering. Her mouth was dry. Her head throbbed. Sweat burned her eyes. Crawling things bit her ass and cunt and nipples. Distant passion echoes got her clit surging. She couldn't reach her cunt; her hands were trapped at her sides. The insects chewed her pussy, chewed her clitoris and set off her orgasm.
She began to weep and her eyes burned and she felt them swell. She was no longer afraid, only disgusted with herself. If she had the means she would kill herself. She didn't want to live the way she was.
Self-hatred quickly turned on the men that had awakened these perverse cravings. If she got them in a hole like this she would burn their eyes out. Not all of them. Only one. The gloating, drunken big shot in the tent. The caid. She hated him more than she hated herself.
If she survived this she would get her chance. She knew this like she knew who she was, what she was.
She closed her eyes and must have fainted for the next thing she knew the camp was in an uproar. Shots were fired. A platoon of horses skidded across the sand, stopping near the camp, ringing the small force.
More shots. The sound of bodies falling, and curses shouted into the night. Then a pair of legs stopped in front of her eyes. She looked up. A tall man looked down.
The voice had a familiar quality. But she couldn't place it.
TWELVE
"We'll get you out."
That hard to place quality was gentleness. At least at first. As the journey across the desert progressed these strangers, her rescuers, began to drink and to eye her voluptuous body, partly clad in the tall man's burnous.
He spoke little English and she understood very little Arabic. She learned that he was a lieutenant in a group of Pro-Algerian freedom fighters who, un-like Ben El Said's FLN wing, was dedicated to achieving the unified Algerian state and the expulsion of the French through peaceful means.
"We are not F.L.N, murderers," the lieutenant said.
"I'm not political," she replied. "What I am is exhausted."
"We will stop shortly and you will be able to rest."
She held onto the horse's reins. She rode like a man and the animal's spine and girth cut into her cunt. Her juices were flowing and, at first, she thought she was bleeding. But then the familiar pulsing began. She shivered, from the cold and the awakening passion.
The lieutenant reined to a halt and the two dozen riders behind stopped. "We will camp here for a few hours," he told the man behind him. "I wish to interrogate our prisoner. Would you like to watch?"
"I'd rather sleep." She climbed down, hugging herself to keep warm.
The fire was built and the flames leaped into the starry night. She knelt before the fire and the heat penetrated her sore muscles. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ben El Said being led beyond the rim of light. Some of the other men, not involved in the interrogation, huddled around the fire and talked softly and passed the wine gourds.
One of them offered her a drink which she gladly accepted. The wine was strong and she felt the fumes in her sinuses. The glow spread and relaxed her overwrought nerves and assaulted muscles. She curled up before the fire and, when a piece of foul smelling meat, fresh from the fire, was offered, she accepted, and ate without noticing the aroma.
Surrounding her were the muted voices, the sounds of wine being drunk and meat being consumed. like a lullaby, these sounds soothed and lulled her into a tranquil state. She wasn't prepared for the screams which rent the night.
The men continued eating and drinking without looking up. Marcia Andrus wheeled around, facing the screams. A second fire glowed behind her. The officer and three of his men were semicircled around a prone figure. The man on the ground was Ben El Said.
Her first impulse was retreat, get away from his screams. But, as she recalled the suffering this brute had inflicted, she found herself joining the group.
The caid lay, naked, on his back on the sand. His feet were close to the fire. A two foot branding iron with an inverted "C" on the tip smoldered in the blaze.
The lieutenant spoke in Arabic and the caid spat at him. Once more the iron came out of the fire and smote Ben El Said's chest. Another scream of pain and rage followed by the sizzling stench of his flesh.
Marcia stared, transfixed. The lieutenant saw her shadow on the sand, turned and offered her the iron.
"No," she whispered.
"For all that this animal has done to you," the lieutenant insisted.
She still refused, less adamantly, though, and watched and listened. For every question the caid's reply was a curse. And the white hot iron came down on his naked chest.
A wine gourd was passed and the lieutenant drank deeply before he continued. She took a drink and the wine subdued her rioting nerves. The heat from the fire, the wine, her exhaustion made her sit.
"I have an idea." She muffled a belch in her hand. She told the lieutenant and he nodded his approval.
She shrugged the burnous from her shoulders and her naked, glistening body shivered when the cool night wind cut across the full curves. The lieutenant noticed, as did his men. In the diffused shadows the bruises and welts didn't show. What they saw was a lush-bodied, naked woman advancing on their prone captive. The talking around the campfire stopped. All the sounds now were the crackling embers and the harsh heavy breathing and the steady night wind.
Marcia settled beside the caid; his eyes were wide and he tried to avoid her unblinking stare. She turned his head toward her while she fondled his cock. Smiling, leering, she told him:
"I want you to fuck me, you bastard. If you don't get it up, right now, they'll burn your cock right down to the stump."
He snorted, jerked his head away. She pumped his shaft, fondled his balls and chuckled as his erection burgeoned. She swung around, to face him, and straddled his cock, pushing down, wrapping her cunt around the heavy shaft. like before, she got a thrill as the big cock burned along her pussy, crowding her snatch, crowding her clitoris.
The caid's body moved against her downward stroking.
"There, lover," she grunted, leaning forward, pressing down harder on his big prick. "Isn't this fun?"
He snarled. She punched his diaphragm. His head snapped back, he retched and his cock softened. She wiggled her hips, tried to hold him and when she couldn't, she climbed off and crawled across his heaving chest and dropped her ass on his face.
"Suck me off, bastard," she snarled.
She leered, tossed her head and tits as the tongue slithered into her cunt. Marcia bounced on his face. Her laughter soared. His tongue smote her clit and she drenched his mouth with cum.
"I said my ass, you shit. I want you to suck my ass, dammit."
She howled, ecstatic; his tongue caressed the ass walls. But when he stopped short of her asshole she straightened her back, lifted and then dropped her butt on his face, slapping his shoulder at the same time. He invaded her anus, gagging on the deposits lodged there.
More laughter. She couldn't stand the wet snake in her ass, tickling her bowels that only hours before had been assailed with that ebony dildo, and his prick. She wished for that dildo now; she imagined ramming the monster all the way into his guts. But the weapon wasn't in sight. And the officer was nudging her shoulder.
"We have to continue the questioning, mademoiselle."
"Uh," she gasped, climaxing. She climbed off. "I showed him what'll happen if he doesn't cooperate. And you know how these big shots are: they can take pain; it's part of their code to die under torture without divulging anything to the enemy. But to be humiliated by the enemy? That is worse than the torture. He'll open up."
Her meaty rump pistoned in a clockwise motion as she dragged her feet across the sand to where the burnous lay. Only the garment wasn't there. She looked around and saw it in the hands of a skinny, long-haired Arab youth. His wine-glazed eyes told her what he wanted. He flung back his burnous and his cock rose to meet her gaze.
"Okay, kid." She slung past him, jerking the garment from his hand, and settled down in the shadows near the fire where she could hear the caid without being seen by his interrogators.
The boy followed.
He was hung big and had that sleek healthy look that only the young seemed to possess. Without a word, without taking his eyes off her alabaster belly and tits, and cunt thicket, he stripped and fell beside her. He was young, inexperienced and needed help getting into her box. But once in he took control and railed her pussy. She bucked her hips, made her tits dance from the exertion, closed her thighs on his sinewy legs, felt the pressure of his cock in her snatch and ass. Each probing slam excited the nerve endings and playing her sex organ like a violin under the control of a Paganini.
"Ugh...ugh...ugh...." She babbled other mono-syllables which were forgotten the instant they were said.
The cock, the fuck was all she heard, felt, experienced. And the fuck was great.
The kid pulled back, almost falling out, then as the head touched the outer lips, he drove ahead, attacking smoothly, like an expert. The expert's touch touched her off. Her orgasm flowed like the wine being drunk all around her.
Shadows moved out there, circling her and her boy lover. As the shadows closed in the caid screamed one final gut-wrenching scream and then he was suddenly quiet.
The shadows were close. She smelled man-smell, saw the distinct outlines of the soldiers. They watched the fucking like children watching two dogs screwing. She felt ashamed but then that passed with the downward rush of the boy's cock. He gave a final push and he climaxed. Then it was over and he climbed off. She lay with her legs spread, inviting.
One soldier, older, the weight of this political cause bowing his shoulders, approached, and stopped at her feet. Without thinking she cuddled her tits, rolled them, pressed the nipples with her thumbs, making the swollen peaks dance.
The soldier threw back his burnous and was on her belly an instant after the garment fell to the sand. As the man flailed her pussy she wondered if the lieutenant had gotten any information out of Ben El Said.
Then the older man grasped her breasts, crushing the hot spheres, and she forgot about the dead caid.
THIRTEEN
The fucking went on most of the night. An hour before dawn the officer nudged her. She had fallen asleep with the last man still screwing her cunt.
She jumped, blinked. "Wha...."
He pressed a finger to his lips, knelt, his knee touching her outer leg muscle. He looked fit, rested and she tried to remember if he had fucked her, too. He hadn't.
He took her hand, guided her around the sleeping men, scattered across the nickel-sized area between the camp fires and the tethered horses. He took her behind the horses where they wouldn't be disturbed. He thumb-massaged her labia and that sent shivers along her spine into her snatch. Her gland twitched as he stroked the puckered lips. She lay against him and frenched his mouth. He opened and their tongues touched. She flattened her titties on his hairy flat pectorals. He tensed when she hefted his cock. He was big; soft he was larger than most men. She pumped slowly but nothing happened even though he was kissing rapturously. He rocked against her tits and belly and his muscles were knotted. He was in the lover's stance except his cock was soft.
"Can't we do something about this?" Marcia gave his prick a jerk.
"Something can be done. If you'll let me do it."
Her heart leaped at the tone of his voice, the softness edged with faint hardness. The promise, soon to be realized, of another bizarre aspect of the male-female game.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Submit." He reached for his pants, got hold of them, took from his pocket a tightly coiled leather ball. Leather thongs so slim they looked at first like wire.
Without speaking he uncoiled the ball of leather and wrapped the thongs under her arm pits, knotting the leather and cinching the knots across her tits, making sure the knots covered her nipples.
The tits tied, he drew the leather tighter and she gasped and sat up. "Say, mister...."
He silenced her with a reproachful frown. "Don't ruin the mood."
He said it like he meant it so she shut up.
The thongs were drawn across her belly, tied and looped between her legs. This was what she liked, the leather kissing her cunt, then sawing the tender flesh as he drew the leather ends tight.
She bit her lip to keep from crying out.
The leather was wound around her hips and he pulled the leather so the wire-sharp line was stretched across her buttocks. She caught her breath. The thongs compressed her ass and bit into her snatch. The leather was positioned against her clitoris. He pulled tighter and she saw the stars dance. She saw different images, mostly imagined; images that slid as he pulled against her unyielding flesh. Images danced and wiggled with each jerk of the leather.
Her cunt rebelled, then acquiesced. It was like she was being drawn into a fetal position in a leather womb. She liked the feeling, like being closer to him, and the leather.
He was on her belly now, rubbing his muscled hardness on the wet leather. Breathing hard he worked his cock between the leather and into her snatch.
Fucked twice at the same time. The sensation was unbelievably satisfying. She was determined to make this a good fuck for him, too. She rolled her pelvis, slapping her sloping belly along his hips. He met her languid rhythm, increased the tempo and she, with a giggle of delight, kept up.
The sharp, cutting leather counterpointed the back and forth pistoning, the slap of his muscles on her soft lush breasts, belly and thighs echoed along her spine and buttocks and each muscle was circled in warmth and the leather kept cutting, squeezing and pinching and she was under the influence, completely at the mercy of this cutting edge.
He pummeled with a greater urgency, drew the leather tighter by jerking the ends together. She whipped her pelvis, and whined and wanted to wrap her legs around him and draw him closer to her belly and cunt and she cried out with frustration.
The shadows which had couched imaginary images moved again, with the officer's troops.
Marcia and the officer thrashed each other, grunting, tearing at each other, fucking faster, with breath-smothering writhing. They tensed and erupted simultaneously.
As they settled back in the warmth of their arms, their flesh, the shadows moved faster as the troops hurried toward the couple. Words were hurled at the officer and he sprang to his feet.
"The French. They've found us."
The battle was short; the Arabs were outnumbered and, as the French advanced, the officer and a half dozen of his men untethered the horses and escaped in the shadows.
Marcia was left, trussed in the leather, with the dead and dying. As she tried to free herself the leather chewed her cunt and tits and the effect left her dizzy. In spite of herself she felt her glands stiffen and her crotch erupt with love dew.
She kicked at the leather traces and only succeeded in tightening the cinches. She continued to struggle and heard, above the wet slapping of her muscles and the leather, the approaching foot falls. A flashlight beam fell over her kicking legs and she tensed when the holder of the flashlight gasped, called out.
"Look what's tied up in a pretty package for us."
She shut her eyes against the glaring lights; tried to shut out the raucous laughter.
"He's dead. The Arab leader."
"You know anything about this, lady?" The voice was harsh, on the other side of the blinding light.
"No." Marcia Andrus huddled closer to the icy grasp, clutching her guts.
"Take her back to Algiers. We'll see what she doesn't know."
As they dragged her toward the horses she thought she saw the officer watching from the shadows' sanctuary.
FOURTEEN
The basement stank. The odors of unflushed drains, unclean blankets, mice and rat shit were everywhere. She tried not to notice and, instead, concentrated on the interrogators.
These men had been at her for three hours. They took away the burnous and made her stand, naked, before them while they demanded to know of her involvement with Ben El Said and the F.L.N. Her repeated denials went unnoticed. Then they questioned her about Leonard's death. She told what had happened in a dispassionate tone of voice. And the way she answered, without emotion, convinced them that she was lying, that all along she had been an F.L.N, sympathizer.
"You were spared twice, mamselle. The first time when the Berbers murdered your coworkers in the American Aid Mission. And the second time when your lover, one of our noble heroes, was butchered. Coincidence doesn't happen twice, mamselle."
"I'm innocent," she shrieked as they carried her, kicking, out of the interrogation room, down the narrow, dimly lighted corridor, to another room at the end of the hall.
The steel plated door was pulled open and she was carried into a room fifteen feet wide, twenty feet long and twenty feet high. In the center of the room was a stone table, no wider or longer than a human body. At the side of the table, neaiest the door, was a machine, three feet high and four feet wide. Sprouting from the cabinet were long wires with suction cups attached. The console's face was to the door. On the face were six dials with switches attached beneath each dial.
Marcia Andrus was hoisted onto the table and strapped down, with her legs spread and her arms over her head. Her fingers touched the table's edge.
The table on which the console sat had adjustable legs. One of the soldiers pulled on the table's edges and jerked the telescoping legs. The console now stood five feet from the floor. An operator could stand before the machine and manipulate the switches without sitting. He could also see his victim's reactions.
An operator stood before the machine. Another Legionnaire attached the suction cups to her nipples and belly and thighs.
"Oh. Christ," she whimpered, jerking at the straps. "No, no, not that."
A short, husky, powerful built Legionnaire, a Major, stood beside her on the other side of the table. He jerked her head toward him.
"What you are about to feel is only a fraction of this machine's power."
He nodded at the operator. The first jolt felt like needles jammed into her tits and belly and thighs. The current rocked her head back, made her shoulders and buttocks jump, and her jaw clamp shut. The vibrations shuddered her skull as though she had been struck on the head with a ball bat. The reverberations went down her sides and into her cunt. Her tits tingled and offset the thudding in her brain.
"Again," the major commanded.
The second surge of power rocked her back. Her spine and back of her head slammed the table. Her teeth clamped on her tongue and she tasted blood. The needles became hot daggers, gouging her nipples, her titties, her belly and bowels, her thighs and cunt. She retched and the major ordered the current shut off.
"Now, mademoiselle, tell us what your role was in this sordid affair."
She whimpered her innocence but that didn't please the officer. He conferred with his two aides. They removed the suction cups from her thighs and spread her labia, inserted the suction cups on either side of her walls. Another pair of wires were draped across her legs. On each wire there was a narrow clamp. One clamp was attached to her clitoris.
"She has a big clit, sir," the aide said. "like a thumb."
"Then the attachment won't slip off," the major responded, lighting a cigarette.
A panel underneath her butt was opened. The aide reached under the table and shoved the other prong into her ass. She shuddered and gagged when the cold metal bit into her anus.
Two more suction cups were found and affixed to a pair of wires and then attached to her thighs.
"Give her the maximum."
"It will kill her, sir."
"Not a single jolt."
"Yes, sir."
The operator adjusted the dials.
She cringed and wept. Yet, beneath the surface of fear, another emotion lurked, like a rapist behind a tree. like that rapist her desire for pleasure loomed and pounced, overtaking her, shattering the fear, leaving only the naked nerves that had to be satisfied, had to feel the raw surging electricity, had to be raped, simultaneously; every inch of her heaving, sweating flesh cried out for the rape, for the gouging, rending blast of power.
The switches clicked dryly. An instant's hesitation and then the power tore into her tits, her stomach, her cunt, her thighs, her ass. She screamed and quaked.
It was like being chewed on her tits and belly and thighs, being fucked with a hot poker, and goosed by a white hot dagger. Stilettos assailed her body. The assault was a series of gouging white hot slivers. But then, after the first shock, the slivers seemed to thicken, come together to form an encompassing wreath-like form, like London fog spreading over her in-sides, her nerves, intangible yet a very real presence. And, as the initial shock abated, a rapidly spreading warmth took its place. The warmth was like the warm wet kiss of a thousand lovers; the gasping embraces of a regiment of love-starved men; the thrusting pricks of a battalion of satyrs.
Heat waves washed, inundated her insides, pulled and prodded and flooded her pussy until she tasted the passion spasms in her throat.
"EEEEEE...."
A final lurch in her bowels and cunt and she exploded. Her lust sizzled on her burning skin and beaded like speckles of grease on a red hot stove. Her loins recoiled. Her clitoris, all the sex nerves in her cunt were assailed, every nerve was raked by talons of electricity, and the buzz-saw in her nipples, her stomach, her pussy and ass ground into her yielding flesh and her orgasm was a massive tidal wave, spurting down her thighs, drenching the hollows behind her knees.
Her orgasm was an endless eruption; lava down the sides of a mountain. The cum burst in a single eruption, powerful, gut wrenching. Marcia was breathless; each nerve vibrated. She was going to explode. Her limbs were about to be severed from her trunk.
And yet the riot in her cunt was not only a swirling, single scalding tornado, it was also a drill churning her muscles.
Then her orgasm heightened and there were no words to describe the ecstasy she felt.
Her spine lifted a full inch off the table. Her buttocks thudded the hard stone surface. Her shoulders dug into the unyielding stone. The back of her head and the table collided. Her breasts rolled and slapped. The belly muscles shivered. Her thighs rippled. The cunt pelt smoldered. The labia turned a darker red. Her knees bent and her calves tightened. The toes curled and the ridge of skin around the nails turned pink. The current surged for eternity...for her entire life it seemed. A state of rapture where the cunt and its relief were all that mattered.
The myriad teeth gnawed. The drill churned. The pokers disemboweled. The daggers raked. She was consumed in a whirlpool...a scalding, blinding, brain numbing whirlpool.
Her clitoris was all that was alive; the rest of her being was as if it had never existed. The clitoris hummed and tingled and belched forth orgasm. The tiny gland strained and spit. Over and over, and even though the clit was swollen to bursting it didn't rip apart. Even though the gland felt as though it would.
Pain and pleasure. The duality of her nature. The pain gradually receded leaving only the overwhelming pleasure.
The animal that was her soul growled, then roared, its fangs bared, its sinews tense, its ravenous appetite unappeased.
She screamed defiantly for that was the only way she could get more of what they were giving her, and no matter what fear still lingered. What she had to have was more of this excruciating pleasure and if the experience killed her...
Her lust wouldn't let her dwell on that.
"Enough," the major bellowed.
The current went off. She trembled a moment longer. One last spark in her snatch and one last orgasm and she fell back, retching, quivering spasmodically.
"The bitch can certainly take punishment," the operator said.
"We'll see how much more she can take," the officer replied, examining the glowing tip of his cigarette.
FIFTEEN
They gave her a moment to reconsider her innocence. The major smoked and asked his questions in a toneless voice. The aides stood at rest awaiting orders. Marcia Andrus lay on her back, trussed like an animal awaiting the butcher's knife. Her brain felt scrambled. Her thoughts were disconnected. She tried to form thoughts, but all she thought about were her clitoris, her ass, her tits, and her cunt. Nothing else mattered.
The major's questions were too involved, wouldn't penetrate her feverish brain. The words sounded like audio tape running backward. The tones slid and oozed. And made no sense.
"If he had said: "fuck" she would have understood. And would have responded. But the words he used were non-sexual. They didn't penetrate.
"She still refuses to confess," the major sighed. "Another jolt, please."
"It will kill her," the operator insisted. "But there is another way, sir."
The suction cups were removed. The panel beneath her ass was left open. As they moved about, pushing the machine to one side, dragging over something heavy that she couldn't see, their motions circulated the foul air, and the breeze whispered across her tits and underneath the table, and across her tense ass cheeks. She relaxed her buttocks. The cool damp air penetrated her asshole. The tender muscles throbbed and smarted as did her entire body.
What would happen next?
Her mind was more lucid now. But that question only raised some fear, as well as anticipation.
There was a fine line between what gave her pleasure and what would kill her. These men were not experts. They only knew how to plug in and throw a switch. Carried away by their game they could easily cross that line. And, if she died...well, she was just another war victim. There would be others to take her place on this rack.
An iron based, square shaped object was placed beneath the table, directly under the open panel. The base stood two feet high and was four feet by four feet. Attached to the side of the base was a lever that projected on an angle. The handle remained clear of the table.
Squatting, the operator pumped the lever. The oiled machinery squeaked nevertheless. like any tool not used regularly the portion of the apparatus being pumped came out slowly. More pressure was exerted on the lever and the curved, domed shaft lifted toward the open panel, and the shaking buttocks on the other side.
The shaft was six feet long, fully extended, and a quarter of an inch thick. It smelled of grease. The odor intensified as it reached the open panel. Marcia couldn't see it, only smell it and wonder what it was. Excitement tempered with fear made her tremble. She took a deep breath to keep the tremors from erupting, to keep the bile from spilling.
The smell was stronger now, bitter. The sound of the approach louder. She wondered what this mechanical thing was. But she had an idea. Visualizing it made her juices erupt; the lust oil dotted her alabaster thighs, slickened her cunt hair and the aroma of her passion mingled with the harsh smell of the grease. Distracting her thoughts was the sound of movement nearby.
The major was naked. He dropped his uniform on the floor. He was middle aged but retained the hard muscled fitness of youth. Tall, broad shouldered, hairy chested, with a prick that looked like a weightlifter's arm. The balls were covered with hair. The prickhead was bright red and the veins surged.
The major pumped his shaft, directed the jizz flow at her face. The cum scalded her eyes and she blinked and flushed the jelly with tears.
Two things happened right then: the major climbed on the table, straddled her spread thighs and as he parted her lips the shaft parted her ass cheeks.
The cold tip was quickly warmed by the heat of her ass. She tensed when it drove slowly but steadily up her ass and it seemed to expand as it reached her anus. The grease lubricated her clenched anal muscles and the pressure forced her to relax. The dildo, used by Ben El Said, had stretched her sufficiently to accommodate what was being inserted in her ass now.
Marcia grunted, lifted away from the advancing iron shaft. The weight of the major forced her down, pinned her buttocks to the table. She cried out and sucked in lungfuls of stale air. The shaft advanced. The lever squeaked like the cry of a small mouse. Then her cries pierced the major's foul grunting and gasping noises. The shaft pierced her anus and filled her intestines.
The major rose above her belly and bore down, gouging her cunt in a series of sharp telescoping movements. The twin assault felt like two iron fists striking her sensitive insides, drilling at her cunt and ass at the same time.
Marcia's bowels steamed. Her cunt gushed. Talons tore at her breasts. An eagle crouched on her belly and clawed her entrails.
She bawled as the twin pressure became too wonderful to bear. She snapped her hips at him, clutched his cock in her snatch, ground her pelvis as the burrowing pressure rose in her ass. The pressure in her cunt grew stronger as his thickening mass pounded her snatch with greater strength.
Marcia felt wetness in her crack and knew that he was climaxing. She jerked her hips twice more and climaxed. They flailed each other; their spurting glands collided; the heat of their bodies and the stink of their orgasm drifted and clung to the sweating walls.
The major thrust once more, dumped the few remaining shards of cum and then pulled out. The shaft, she suddenly realized, had stopped, imbedded in her ass deep enough to prevent movement. Her stomach was clogged and she tasted something sour at the back of her throat.
Heat flashed through her snatch. The warmth pulsed upward. like after a good fuck, she thought.
The major rubbed his jaw. His palm rasped across the stubbled growth.
"Oooooo," she sighed.
"Well, well, we have ourselves a real tough young lady." He reached for the proffered shirt. He put on the garment and then stepped into his pants. His gaze never left her body.
He seemed to like what he was looking at, she decided after studying his expression. His cock was tenting the breeches. Yes, he was going to fuck her again.
How many ways were there to fuck? She felt sure this French animal would know them all.
SIXTEEN
The harness smelled of horseflesh. As the aide carried it out of the shadows, into the dim overhead light, she saw that it was a bridle and bit.
The major forced her on her knees. Her buttocks slapped the table leg. The stone abutment was cold, slimy and chilled her hot ass.
On her hands and knees the major swung his legs over her shoulders, squeezed her jaws open, and the aide slipped the headstall over her face, worked the bit into her mouth, locked the sour sharp object against her teeth, and tightened harness straps across her tits. He drew the leather taut and stifled her breath. Her heart slammed and she felt dizzy.
"Come along, my filly. Your lover is waiting."
They led her like she was a horse. Her belly and ass were goose fleshed and the chill of the dank hall invaded her snatch and ass.
She wept as the bit cut her mouth and tongue. She slowed once and the major jerked and she fell on her face. The aide pulled her up by the hips and once she was on her hands and knees again the aide lashed her buttocks with a riding crop. The whipping continued and intensified during the journey down the hall.
The lash dug tiny flakes of skin; red "c"s erupted on her supple hind cheeks. She whimpered and tried to keep up with the major. But he walked faster, tearing her mouth and when she stumbled the aide smote her ass with the whip. At the door which led to the courtyard the major stopped and turned.
"Spread her open."
The aide shoved two hands inside each of her ass cheeks and pried them open. She cried, frightened, aching. The major pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and greased his fingers and came around to her buttocks.
"I have to get her ready for her lover," the major said.
"Can't have her fucked to death." The aide smiled.
The major guffawed. "Not right away. And," he said to her, "not at all if you sign a confession."
To ridicule, discredit the United States, she thought. Her reply was a muffled obscenity. The burst of nationalistic pride astounded her.
The major leered, satisfied that he had done all the coaxing he could do. He shoved two oiled fingers up her ass while the aide held her shoulders to keep her from falling. She winced, retched and the fingers brutally probed her anus. His weight on her shoulders strained her back but opened her ass wider. He coated her ass, then rubbed the sticky fingers over her labia.
"Aaahhh," she moaned, softly, tossing her head.
He entered her pussy, probed and moistened the cunt walls and, at her clit, he fingered the gland and to her surprise the gland responded, swelled and was about to spill over when he withdrew.
"She's ready." The major unbolted the door. The morning sun baked the six cement steps which led to the courtyard. The skin on her palms and knees burned. Cinders scratched the baked flesh.
"What have you there, Henri?" An older white-haired Captain called from a building at the far end of the yard.
"A filly," the major called back.
Their voices caught the attention of a dozen recruits gathered outside the yard, taking their mid morning cigarette break. The young soldiers caught sight of the supple reddening woman. Her shoulders were hunched and her back was straight. Her big ass-cheeks wiggled. Her tits were drawn tight against her sternum and ribs and the nipples thrust between the leather thongs.
Her skin glistened, blushed. She held her head down, averting the probing gazes of the gathering soldiers. Their laughter, their obscene words jarred her senses. The major reined her to a halt in front of the dozen or so troopers.
"Your last chance, gentlemen, to touch a white woman...this woman," the major droned.
"Where is she going, sir?"
"To her lover. Down there." He pointed to a one story wood frame building where the Captain stood, smoking a cigarette.
The recruits touched her glistening ass. She recoiled and the major swatted her ass with the whip.
"Behave," he barked.
Marcia Andrus sobbed, great gasping bursts of breath making her lungs heave. They hesitated but, on orders from the major, they patted her ass, traced sweat rivers down her spine, tugged the long blonde strands that hung over her shoulders, fingered the white thicket between her legs and along the lower ass slope.
The sun, the human heat, the lash's kiss stung her senses. Her head reeled. Her muscles, unaccustomed to this cramped position, strained. Her hands and knees throbbed and smarted.
Marcia leaned forward, top heavy. But the major came around in front of her face and lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in her eyes. He crouched, held the lighted tip inches from her nose.
"Pass out now and I will shove this in your twat."
She whimpered, kept on going. The recruits followed. They crowded around her ass, snapping their fingers against her dewlapped butt cheeks, jerking the cunt hair wiggling along the lower ass crease.
If it wasn't for the heat this would be exciting, she thought. Even with the heat the slapping, the threats and obscenities, and the leather harness brought up her desire for cock, for more of this abuse.
She remembered the Arab's leather thongs and that excited her more. The major smelled her bitter passion scent and reined her to a halt. He took a deep drag on the cigarette, made the tip glow with a greater intensity, then he ground the cigarette on her right butt cheek. She screamed, shivered, fell on her head and upper arms, grinding the sand against her tear streaked cheeks. Sparks showered, and burned her calves and heels. The major lighted another cigarette, beckoned to his charges who advanced, their cigarettes glowing.
"On her ass," he ordered.
The first embers hurt terribly. But then numbness set in. Then a heat curled through her ass and cunt. Cigarettes were held under her ass hair. The strands curled, disappeared. They turned her on her side, held the burning tips to her cunt thicket. The hairs curled and she felt the burning kiss all the way into her vagina, clear to the backbone and anus. Her clitoris curled. The passion swelled the organ. The smell of burning hair added to her desire. She wondered what awaited her at the end of this long walk.
"That's enough." The major jerked the reins.
like Pavlov's dog she responded. She got on her knees and palms and meekly followed her master. She cried softly and she didn't know why. Her fear had passed. Anticipation, excitement remained. What, then, caused the grief?
She felt no pain, only the pleasure of the unexpected. Orgasm awaited her. How it would be achieved could only be imagined. Would her lover be a convict, one of the Legion's incor-rigibles?
The building resembled a stockade although there were no bars on the windows. And it smelled like a jail. The stink of unwashed flesh, unclean living quarters was strong.
They were still about two city blocks from the building. She couldn't see anyone from this distance. She could only imagine, anticipate.
Her loins gushed and the major seeing her excitement, guffawed. "The filly can't wait to meet her lover." He jerked the reins. "Faster, filly, faster. Can't keep your lover waiting." His raucous laugh rattled against her eardrums.
As he pulled her faster her thighs rubbed, whispered. Her sex gland filled and erupted. The heat, the anticipation, the uncontrollable desire raged in her snatch.
They were closer now, less than a block from the darkened entrance. The stink was thicker, less like the smell of human waste, more like the stink of...
They were on a trampled dirt path which would take them inside the building. Clotted feces lined the path in irregular heaps. Flies swarmed over the piles. The insects smelled her odor, flocked to her ass and cunt holes, buzzed around her mouth, stuck to her lips. She shut her eyes to keep from being blinded. Their stings were tiny pins, pricking her ass, her pussy, her cleavage, her titties.
She was being chewed by tiny teeth. All over. And especially where her most sensitive parts were. They swarmed into her ass and she had to tighten her crotch to kill them. Her vagina held them and, again, she drew herself tight, mashing the insects.
The sensations were almost too powerful. She was bleary-eyed and her body was light. She felt as though she were floating.
As she sagged, the major yanked the reins. The bit tore her mouth and she awakened. Her ass flinched. The hind melons shook and as she leaned forward, following his lead, the buttocks reared into the air.
The sun boiled her flesh but the feeling she had was bliss. like being on a resort beach, enjoying the sun and admiring glances from the men. She smiled, closed her eyes and didn't feel the sand and dirt under her palms and knees. Nor did she noticed the ever-increasing stench. They were at the entrance; the major told her to stop and she complied, her eyes still closed. He shouted a command into the building. His voice was hoarse, choked from the dust and flies.
She heard two noises which reached her at the same time. She threw her head back, eyes wide.
A whinny. The sound of .hooves on the dirt floor.
Marcia realized, in that instant, that she was at the entrance to a barn. That the sounds, approaching, belonged to a horse...a stallion. That they were mating her with...
The stallion was young, pure white. The cock rested in its sheath. The sheath was stretched with the youthful, vigorous male flesh. When the animal saw what he was being led to the sheath filled, the prick lunged along his abdomen.
"This is your new lover, cunt," the major growled.
"Christ...." She fainted.
SEVENTEEN
Henri pressed a comforting hand on her shoulder; she lay curled up in the dust, the smell of the yard around her body like thick mud.
"Not to worry," Henri said. "We don't expect you to take all that he has to offer all at once. A few inches at a time will be sufficient."
Marcia was too numb to even cry. A spasmodic gasp lifted her tits. Otherwise she remained still.
The stallion whinnied, kicked at the dust, strained at the bridle and bit. The sounds thudded. She heard, comprehended but wouldn't allow herself full understanding. To know exactly what she was going to be fucked with would have driven her insane. The safety valves that we all are endowed with prevented her from thinking this terrible act all the way to its inevitable conclusion.
She imagined a big cock, a supreme fuck. The pleasure of having in her cunt the biggest prick in Algiers. No reason to think past the act.
Henri said to his aide: "Get the barrel. I believe it is kept just inside the door."
The barrel, he explained, was used for breeding. If a mare was unable to accept all of the stallion's cock this barrel was fitted over the mare's cunt and would keep the stallion from gaining more than six to eight inches penetration.
"You see how we think of your welfare?" Henri lit another cigarette.
"We can't afford to lose her yet," the aide said, placing the barrel at her side.
The barrel was three feet high and wide enough for her shoulders to pass through. One end was open. The other end was covered with thick wood. A panel, five inches in circumference, was in the middle of the wood covering. Before the stallion could get interested some of her lust juice had to spread over the opening.
Henri and his aide spread her out in the dust and dung and held her open. She let them manipulate her body, get her body positioned; she wouldn't think about the animal pawing the dust a few feet away, its eyes wide and riveted on her smooth white flesh, the blonde cunt hair, the pulsing red nipples and massive solid titties and quivering belly flesh.
The animal pulled on the reins and snorted and salivated. The cock was fully extended, a block of white iron that was thrust along the full muscular belly.
Marcia Andrus heard all this but wouldn't let the sounds register. She remained passive while the major fondled her tits, and the aide opened her cunt and ran two fingers inside of her vagina.
"For a broad that-likes to fuck she certainly isn't cooperating, sir."
The major, still crouched over her face, let go of her tits. "Maybe she's bored with the mundane." He unzipped his pants. "Would you like something different? For a change?"
Marcia stared up at his cock, dangling a foot from her mouth. He squatted, his hands braced her temples. His cock fell into her cleavage and his ass made short, back and forth motions as he rubbed his cock between her swollen breasts.
The drilling heat passed along her sternum and ribs and made the belly muscles shake, and the passion oil flow.
"She's spilling, sir."
"Our little filly loves to fuck. All it takes, sometimes, is a little encouragement."
His prick was about to erupt. He squeezed her jaws and when she opened he shoved his cock along her tongue, to the back of her throat. The burning jelly made her gag and she choked but swallowed the cream. The major pulled out, sweating, looking around. The recruits were staring, from the other side of the courtyard. He zipped his fly, a germ of an idea quickly growing.
"Has she cum yet?" he asked.
The aide fingered her cunt but all he got was lust oil. "Not yet, sir."
Henri snapped his fingers, beckoned the recruits. "Those of you not interested in a free fuck please retire to the other side of the yard."
There was laughter and no one moved.
Henri lined them up, found some rope and tied her ankles to the barrel. A tree across the way provided shade. Henri tied her wrists to the trunk. Her shoulders and head were propped against the trunk and she saw each man approach.
They were of all races: white European, black African, Berber. All shades. All sizes. She noted each man dispassionately, opened for each, flinched when they rammed their cocks into her dripping snatch, twisted and turned, speeded up or slowed, depending on the rhythm of the man. She let them lead. She tried to enjoy the fuck and would have if it wasn't for that stallion, facing her heaving breasts and belly. The animal was still aroused; she had heard once that a horse could keep its cock hard for hours, could service a dozen mares in an afternoon.
She trembled and sobbed and turned her head away. The stallion's heavy breathing grew stronger, louder. He was making almost human sounds of frustration. She turned toward the animal.
He was being led to the tree! "Please," she blubbered, "not yet."
"Almost," Henri said.
The last man was mounting her belly. She had to make this last!
She whispered to the youth, a heavily hung, broad featured black African. He didn't understand English so she tried French. He understood enough to know what she was talking about.
He set a languid rhythm, back and forth, pushing a little deeper with each thrust. His thick buttocks and knotted thighs were glistening ebony. The thickness of his shaft stretched her labia and the depth of his cock struck the back of her pussy each time he shoved it in.
His balls drummed the lower slope of her cunt. His heat, his heavy male smell titillated her senses. The slowness, almost loving way he fucked her pussy aroused her passion.
This one was good. He touched every muscle in her snatch and each time he entered he struck her clitoris.
"You're geat, my lover," she whimpered.
"Keep it up...keep...fucking me. Ah, oh, yes, my big black lover, fuck me good, make this last fuck great enough to send me off...."
Her hoarse whispers excited the black youth even more. He sawed rapidly. His prick bruised. The cockhead rammed the back of her snatch and she felt the pounding in her throat. She jerked side to side, forgetting what awaited her after this man was finished. All she concentrated on was this huge prick drilling her guts, fucking her fast and still faster, making her climax over and over, making the muscles in her snatch throb pleasurably, making the tiny gland spew cum, making her thighs ripple, her belly quiver, her titties roll and the blood swell the nipples almost to bursting.
Oh, lord, it was great! So wonderful and it was the last fuck she would ever have...the last cock she would feel in her guts that would love her in a rugged, virile way without killing her, splitting her insides, forcing her organs into her throat, and then out of her cunt and over the ground.
"Don't...stop...."
The youth fucked faster; his orgasm was close. She felt the first bursts of pre cum.
"Oh, my dear, don't stop...they'll kill me when you're finished...."
But the youth was already blowing his rocks. His grunts overrode her soft entreaties. His rippling back and leg muscles strained. His shaft burrowed deeper, lodging against the inner cunt walls.
Marcia's thighs tensed and her belly slammed into his belly, temporarily slowing his downward thrust. But the youth was too strong, too excited. His strength pounded her belly and she fell back, hardly moving now as he climaxed and began to withdraw. But, then, her passion rose and she closed her cunt, trapping his purplish cockhead in the outer labia. She held him, begged softly, and he pushed into her snatch and this time her clitoris strained and her cunt exuded love oil and she threw herself into this fuck.
She fucked him for the pleasure he imparted, and to prolong her life. For the stallion was six feet away, head down, watching the fucking. The animal was stomping the dirt, kicking clots over the black youth's calves. But the youth didn't mind. His body was twisting and straining and fucking her with the kind of skill and drive that she hadn't experienced since that first day in the desert, with Ahmed Mohand Madj. Which proved that a good man didn't have to tie her up, whip and degrade her to give her pleasure. A big cock and lots of natural technique was all that was needed.
Finding this out, this late in the game, made her laugh. She laughed till the tears came, and the black youth drilled her to the threshold of orgasm.
Marica tightened her crotch, held him against her clitoris and, as her orgasm spilled, she twisted her pelvis, gritted her teeth to keep from screaming.
This was the last fuck, and one of the best. Her cum boiled and spattered his shaft, and balls, and drenched her thighs. The black man, smelling her passion, was driven crazy with desire, or maybe he knew this would be her final fuck. Whatever the reason, he stayed in her pussy until he couldn't stay hard anymore.
Then, as his prick dropped out and slapped her thigh, he shoved his face to her thigh and suckled the taut flesh, and lapped the jizz and cum. Marcia cried out, strained to see him. The black curly head bobbed between her legs. The tongue was a long almost vicious snake, licking rapaciously at the sweet musky tender flesh just beyond the outer labia.
Deeper and still deeper the snake moved, suckling, touching every succulent inch, probing, testing and tasting every particle of sweet meat. Her belly and ass writhed. She lifted her hind cheeks to get closer to the virile probing tongue. He stayed close to her thighs, his head surrounded by the hot dewy muscles.
They grunted; his warm breath filled her cunt. His tongue laved and teased her snatch until she thought she would go insane. She screamed at him, begged him to fuck her faster for her orgasm burned and strained. The youth whipped her clitoris, unmindful of the clenched muscles smothering him. Her climax exploded but he kept at her organ, lashing the tiny thumb non-stop.
She emptied, re-filled, held him tightly, rocked her thighs and wished for his hard cock in her mouth. Her jaws and tongue and throat ached for a hard hot spilling prick.
And, as if by telepathy, the youth's comrades bellowed and razed him until the black man, his balls throbbing with cum, swung his ass around, dropped his cock into her open mouth. He settled down on her face. His thighs smelled of bitter salt. His hairy cock and balls tickled her nose and mouth and his cock nearly choked her with its large girth. Her jaws were swollen and the back of her throat was crammed with his cockhead. Her teeth sawed the under side of the shaft, scratching the veins, dragging his cum along the shaft.
He lapped her cunt, grunting and gasping, filling her snatch with hot breath and his tongue. She suckled quickly, bathing the shaft all over with her snapping tongue tip. Her teeth chewed and she pumped her breath against his prick head.
He choked her with his large rod and she wished she could have this big cock in her mouth always. His massive male presence overwhelmed her, awed her with his strength; he could dominate her without whips and tethers.
But, then, so could that sentry: Ahmed Mohand Madj. At least he might have if they had remained together longer.
The Legionnaire drilled her throat and lashed her clitoris and he was moving with faster, more urgent strokes. She tasted the watery, bitter pre-cum. She bawled, knowing this ecstasy was about over, knowing what was waiting ten feet away, pawing the dirt, anxiously awaiting its turn.
The black youth trembled, thrust ahead, emptying his balls, and withdrawing. Their tear streaked faces were inches apart now. He bent to kiss her cum flecked lips. She savored his robust male-animal scent, the pressure of his mouth against her feverish lips. Then he was gone and she was confronted by the stallion's rolling eyes, and the bitter laughter of the major.
EIGHTEEN
As the major and the aide dragged her away from the tree and into the center of the courtyard she glanced wildly at the black youth. He stood at a distance, his eyes shifting from her voluptuous titties, to the huge cock which swung back and forth with each movement of the stallion's legs.
She sobbed, pleaded for mercy, but to no avail.
They lifted her by the belly, turned her face down and dropped her to her dirt. She landed on her tits, the breath knocked from her lungs. While she was momentarily stunned they hoisted her to her hands and knees and shoved her, head first, into the barrel. Her head banged the thick wood barrier on the other end. Her ass protruded out the open end. Her tits were raked by the slivers and jagged wood chunks. The wood was wet, smelled of urine and thick gouted chunks caked to the staves. A circle of light penetrated through the opening which was an inch from her mouth and nose.
Marcia was jammed into the end with barely enough room for her shoulders. Her titties were trapped along the undercurve of the barrel. Her belly rested in the curve and her spine scraped the curved rim at the open end. The heat and the flies warmed and tickled her ass cheeks and her cum slickened twat.
Heavy foot falls approached; she recognized the major's strong strides. His hand cupped her pussy; he immersed his fingers in her cunt; she almost swooned from the pressure. Her clitoris was crushed under his thumb; his fingers scratched the cunt walls.
He pulled his hand out. He had enough cum on the fingertips. He came around to the covered side of the barrel and smeared the jizz over the open panel. Next came the sound of the horse being led to the barrel. For the moment she imagined that huge thing mounting her ass, splitting her bowels. But the animal was taken to the protected side of the barrel. Hoofs clattered on the barrel's roof and the sides creaked and strained when the animal settled its weight on the roof. The animal's prick slammed the barrel and her head ached from the reverberations. While the stallion was being positioned Henri smoked and watched and, when the positioning took too much time, he grew impatient. He lit a cigarette and walked softly to her ass. Her cheeks were perfect slopes with the smooth sleek crease giving off a pungent perfume. Whitish-gray hair sprouted from the lower crease. Henri slapped her ass. She recoiled; her cry was muffled. The barrel shook, rolled slightly. The animal pounded the barrel with its front hooves.
"I'm not the only one that is impatient," Henri chuckled.
He stroked the stallion's nose, calming the animal while his aides carefully coaxed the animal's hind flanks into position. Then the major came around to her ass and the sight of those lush cheeks got his balls throbbing.
Inside the barrel the air was becoming increasingly fetid, hard to breathe; the stallion's underbelly shut off the panel, stifled the light. She was alone in a closed, airless, dark box. She wept, not knowing what was going to happen. She was helpless, at the mercy of these brutes. She knew that they wouldn't kill her, not yet, not this soon. Her agony would be prolonged. There would be more fucking but less pleasure for as the number of men increased, as the more inventive the couplings became, as the more exotic the settings for these couplings became, the less her enjoyment would be. For she knew that eventually they would grow tired of her, that her flesh would show the abuse and she would become less desirable, and they would kill her. Not quickly. These savages never did anything quickly.
They would fuck her in the ass, in the cunt, in the mouth and she would take all the lust, all the punishment they tortured her with. And there would be less enjoyment, less pleasure. The pain, as her body rapidly aged, would be more pronounced. And the pay off would be the slow death that these French pigs were very good at inflicting.
The major brandished his cigarette at arm's length, showing it to his recruits. "This, gentlemen, is the way to heat up cold cunt." And he jammed the cigarette at the tight ass crease.
She shrieked as the sudden burning pain stung the hole. He slapped her ass; She wiggled and he forced her open, forcing the still glowing, bent cigarette up her ass.
"My Christ," she shrieked. "Oh, my Christ."
This, she knew, was but a prelude to what was about to happen; the major never performed the act all at once. There was always the overture before the first act. Her bowels stewed and her anus rebelled at the stinging, burning ember. But as her anal juices snuffed the ember another sensation coursed along the anal corridor. The feeling was pleasant, not un-like the feeling she experienced with the young black stud. She tossed her hips and the dewlapped cheeks made wet, hot, enticing sounds as they slapped together.
Henri rubbed his hands together, moistened his lips. This cunt was very inviting. One final fuck before the stallion invaded her bowels. Why the hell not? Showing his men how a real man fucks, regardless of who is watching, would be a real object lesson for them; his screwing her right there would show them that their major had no modesty, was unafraid to expose his massive cock to the eyes of others. The major was proud of his cock, so why not show it off?
She heard the slide of the fly over the panting and kicking of the stallion. His gnarled fingers were on her ass, on her cunt, prying her open, working his fingers into her cunt to get her oiled and ready. For what? For his cock? Or the stallion's stick?
Marcia felt the spongy prickhead at her crease and was almost thankful. The inevitable was postponed for awhile longer.
As Henri pushed his shaft between her spread-eagled thighs she wondered what they were doing with the stallion. A ripple of lust went through her snatch as she tried to imagine what the stallion was being forced to do up there.
Henri slammed into the yielding cunt, whipping his ass side to side to get enough traction to thrust deeper as the black kid had done.
About then the stallion was calmed. The aide held the stallion's flanks while another aide held the reins tightly, and stroked the animal's nose.
Marcia wiggled her ass against the major's hard driving pummeling. Her insides were becoming a steaming cauldron. Her clitoris was a thumb being pried back. Ecstatic pain shifted quickly and became extreme rapture. The brute could still fuck her into a state of raw animal abandon. No love, not like the feeling she experienced with the African lad. But more like scratching talons satisfying an itch.
Just as she thrashed herself into a frenzy she smelled an overpowering, bitter stink. It was like the odor of a forest after a summer rain: pungent, decaying, nauseating.
Something slapped her jaw and made her head snap against the top of the barrel. Whatever it was pressed hard against her teeth. If she didn't open her mouth this foreign object would shatter her jaw.
Her mouth fell open. This bitter massive object rammed ahead. Her jaws were stretched. Her teeth were pressed down into her gums. Her gums were cut by the knotted underside of this stinking thing. Her tongue was crushed against the side of her mouth. Her throat was invaded by the tip of this thing.
It was moving, back and forth, rapidly, making her teeth ache, making her gag, making
Henri's big cock in her snatch seem small. This terrible thing...and she was beginning to realize what it was...was keeping the rhythm that Henri had started. Sawing her mouth the exact same way that Henri was sawing her cunt.
The stallion, as it fucked Marcia Andrus's mouth, slammed its hooves at the barrel, showering her thrown back, cramped shoulders with slivers. The vibrations traveled along her spine and her titties. The slivers along the underside of the barrel tore her tits, stuck the nipples and the feeling was like knives grating her breasts.
The cock in her cunt railed her pussy. The cock in her mouth nearly smothered her, nearly snapped her jaw. But she was strong. She held the cock, breathing hard on the cockhead, praying that she would be able to swallow the jizz, the cum, whatever a horse's climax was called. For she would be expected to please this animal, drink all the orgasm he had. If she didn't they would turn her over and let the stallion fuck her in the cunt.
The final fuck. The one that would send her off the edge in paroxysms of ecstasy. Wasn't that what she had always dreamed of?
No. She had to remain alive, to some day find another man like the African. If the youth wasn't able to get her again, and she felt he would not be allowed to fuck her, then she might find some man as good as the boy. But she had to live to experience this unknown man, this sought after thrill. To survive she had to take the abuse, enjoy what she could, and hope they wouldn't ruin her body.
The stallion whinnied, pounded the barrel, kicked the wood covering near her chin. She tried to suck but there was too much shaft to move her tongue and lips. All she could do was hold him, breathe on the cockhead, and wait for the torrent.
And it came suddenly, even before Henri ejaculated. The major was still fucking her twat when the stallion, bellowing at the top of his lungs, lunged and orgasmed. The climax was scalding thick oil. It inundated her throat. She gagged, swallowed, took all of it in, kept at the spurting mass, tensed her ass and clutched the major as the animal boiled over. The climax spilled over her jaws, drenched her chin, gushed into her nose and cheeks. But she didn't cry out, couldn't scream. And, as she controlled herself, she found herself accepting this awful abuse, this degradation, and, although she didn't like what was happening, she didn't hate it, either.
The stallion kept plunging, as did the major, and then, when she thought she had experienced all that any woman could experience and still retain her sanity, she felt long nailed fingers on her ass, forcing the cheeks wide even as Henri plugged her cunt.
Somehow, one of the men had worked himself on her back and forced his cock into her asshole. She pictured the man's ass up against the major's nose, and that made her laugh, and choke.
Every hole was being fucked now, every possible degradation was being inflicted and she was surviving. And wasn't that what life was all about? Surviving, regardless of the indignities her enemies punished her with?
The fucking went on. She didn't know how long the fucking would last. The stallion numbed her head, scalded her throat and belly. The fucking at her ass went on and on; even after the first spurting orgasms boiled up her ass, stiffening her spine, the fucking continued back there. And Henri drilled her snatch with his cock; his insatiable jizz-producing gonads sent streams of hot cream into her snatch and over her lips and down her thighs. The white stuff streaked the area beneath her snatch, moistened the ground and sent up billows of dust.
And, from far off, came the noise of hammers, pounding. What the hell was going on?
The noise must be the blood, surging along her temples, coursing through her brain. Her nerves were alive, too...vibrating, feeling each nuance of the assault, reacting like a virgin being fucked for the first time: an instant of pain and trepidation quickly followed by the satisfaction.
Marcia was climaxing. Her hips jerked. Her thighs locked. Her inner muscles spasmed. Her clitoris spewed its load, and kept boiling over until there was nothing left in there but a deep satisfaction.
By then the weight in her cunt and ass had withdrawn and the stallion was being separated from her mouth. It took a few minutes to get the animal away from her stretched jaws. But, finally, he was pulled from her, and she sobbed and spat.
They left her in the barrel while the hammering continued. When that stopped she was pulled out.
Marcia blinked and steadied herself on the top of the barrel. Absentmindedly she traced the ruts caused by the stallion's hooves. She sagged against the slivered rim and shook her head. Mist cloyed her eyes and the hot air felt cool in her lungs. She drank in draughts of the air, ignoring the flies on her ass and cunt and tits, and mouth.
Henri was at her side. "You've tasted horse. Would you like to feel him in your puss-puss? Or would you prefer to sign a confession."
If she signed she would be killed right away. If she refused she would be killed but the ritual of death would be slower. As long as she was alive there was hope.
"Fuck your confession, you bastard."
He recoiled, eyebrows raised. "Well, then, you big-titted bitch, we will let your lover fuck you until you bleed." He twisted one nipple. Waves of heat, thin, like needles, flexible like a snake's tail, shot through the sagging tit. "Take a good look at your wedding bed." His opened palm swept to an area directly in front of the barrel, near the barn door.
What looked like a "V", laying on its side, had been hastily constructed. The bottom side of the "V" was jagged, and was six feet long. At the intersection there were two holes. Wide enough for two feet, she thought. The top side of the "V" was angled in such a way that anyone laying on the bottom half would be cramped at the narrow bend of the contraption. But, as the "V" stretched toward its tip, the space widened.
A woman with big titties could be placed in that thing and there would be plenty of room to get her into the contraption, without pinching her tits, or crushing her ribs.
But what was the purpose of the thing? From where she stood she couldn't see any hole for a prick to fit into.
The major took her elbow, pulled her to the "V". She saw, then, that the sides were reinforced with iron props, to keep the thing from collapsing.
And at the base of the "V", carved in the base of the upper half of the "V" was a wide hole. She had seen an opening that big in the barrel.
She knew what the hole was for.
"Have a happy honeymoon, you American slut." The major snapped his fingers. The aides descended.
NINETEEN
As they shoved her down the open end of the "V" she measured the opening midway between the tip and the intersecting edge. It was enormous. She felt a cramp in her snatch. The cramp quickly became a twinge of...something else. Part fear, part awe of the unknown, part anticipation for what was about to happen.
Her feet poked through the openings at the bottom of the contraption. They jerked her feet through and tied her ankles with rope. The raw strands cut her flesh. Her hands were cinched over her head; the rough thongs dug her wrists. The wood smelled of the sun and fertilizer. The sun seeped through the cracks and she squinted against the burning rays. The contraption wasn't that solid. Would the stallion's weight collapse this wood coffin?
Marcia would find out. Damn fast.
The stallion was brought to the bottom slope of the "V". He was reluctant at first. But coaxing, tugging and her sex smell got the animal on the wood spine. His hooves rattled. Slivers fell about her face and she shut her eyes.
The stink of the animal's underbelly choked her nose and mouth. She coughed. Her tits scraped the wood overhead. The slivers tickled and when the animal thundered as it struggled into place, her hips moved and slivers tore her ass.
Marcia shivered. The smell, the cramped surroundings, the slivers, all started a heat building in her snatch. She cried out and her tiny voice clattered.
The stallion's cock was guided through the opening. The massive weight struck her knee. Sensations exploded. The wet rock-like head brushed her knee and her body quaked.
A hand reached in, at the top, and jerked her long hair, pulling her up to the opening at the head of the contraption. The jagged wood scratched and she felt the tearing in her cunt and ass. Her gland vibrated. Her cunt gushed. The stallion smelled the fermy woman's smell and began stomping the wood barrier.
Marcia Andrus shuddered and tried to draw herself into a ball. Strong hands held her chin and shoulders. As she tried to jerk free the hands held her still. She kicked at the wood slats and the animal thundered back.
Tilting her head slightly she saw the massive drooling cockhead push through the hole. The enormous size frightened her; if he fucked her cunt he would tear her in half.
She struggled as the head moved closer to her curled pubic bush.
No, no, this isn't what I want. I don't want to die. I want to live, to fuck, to breathe fresh air....I want to love a man...to be loved by a strong gentle man...to fuck and get fucked with equal passion...equal rapture...not this way...please, sweet Jesus, not this way...
The cockhead was six inches from her hole. It looked like a grayish-red boulder, dripping orgasm, shoving closer to her puckered snatch. Closer and closer as the stallion flattened itself on the top portion of the "V" and drilled through the hole in the heavy wood.
The hideous stinking gristle was oozing cum in her snatch; he drenched her lower belly, Venus mound and thighs with the pre-cum. She shrieked. The men holding her steady chortled. She wiggled to escape this descending terror.
Something wet kissed her forehead. She opened her eyes. She and the animal were inches away, staring into each other's eyes.
"AAAAAHHHHH...."
The animal flinched, shook its head, crowded closer to the wood barrier, slammed into the hole. Marcia felt the head pound her cunt; painful waves radiated and she thought, at first, that her snatch had been violated.
But, no, the weight of his organ head had struck her Venus mound. Without entering. The animal reared back, slammed forward, but all he was able to do was strike her cuntlips.
He was too big to fuck her snatch!
He whinnied, frustrated, kicked the wood, vibrating the frame and sending slivers into her thighs and belly and cunt. He showered her face, threw his mane, striking her forehead.
The horror of what had almost happened abated somewhat and she was left with a feeling of elation. Horror quickly turned to joy, to passion as the cockhead spewed cum, dumping the jizz on her thighs and belly and snatch; it felt like wet hot towels slapping her body. Her titties, swollen now, thrusting and touching the top segment of wood, jiggled and scraped the slivered over-piece and needled hotly along the hot rolling jugs.
She clutched her cunt muscles together and the pressure flattened her clit in a hot humid muscle sandwich. She jerked her pelvis and the quick snap of muscle on her clitoris made her climax.
The pressure built and then blew off and she sighed and moaned and shuddered. The stallion slammed the wood, over and over but was only able to crack the upper surface.
Marcia Andrus sighed, relieved and shut her eyes.
"The hole can be made larger," Henri gnashed in her ear. "Will you sign that confession, linking you to the death of our beloved Maurice, and your involvement with those swine, the F.L.N. ? "
Marcia wanted to give in; she was too tired to fight them right now. But she knew that she was close to death right now; that at any moment the stallion could come crashing through the wood, crushing her life out. She was this close to death and found that it wasn't that awful, after all. She held out this long and she knew they wouldn't kill her without her signature on that confession. She would hold out a little longer.
The major barked the offer again. She didn't answer. The major swore and waved for the stable master to move the stallion away. After the animal was at a safe distance, Henri grabbed his riding crop and shoved the handle through the opening. She felt the handle touch her cunt and she raised to meet the downward thrust. The tip pierced her labia and she wiggled and took the handle in her snatch and whipping her hips dragged the handle over her clitoris. She imagined that big horse cock up her twat and tried to feel the harsh brute force. The image flashed in clear detail and heightened the lust that leaped through her pussy.
Marcia struggled to control the eruption in her snatch but wasn't able to. Even as she tried to prolong the orgasm the jelly bubbled over her labia and dripped across her flexed thighs.
"Uh, mmmmm...."
She took deep breaths and her titties lolled and slapped and were stung by slivers. She was at peace. For the first time since this horror began she knew they wouldn't end her life. Not until she signed that confession. If she could keep from signing the document she might live quite awhile.
For how long she didn't know, couldn't even guess at.
It's not how long you live, but how you live. Someone said that. The motto was a good one to follow.
"Ah, shit," the major snorted. "We've had our damn fun. Now to business."
Marcia was pulled out of the "V" and dropped, in the dust, on her butt.
"I'd enjoy tearing your eyes out," Henri snorted, snapping the riding crop across her cheek.
She winced, the tears erupted and she flung a hand over the jagged, angled wound.
"If I didn't need that pretty face intact and unharmed I'd turn those features into pulp." He booted her butt and she fell on her side, groveling. "Since I can't abuse what will be seen by the reporters and photographers, I can at least work on those parts that will be clothed. When we hold a press conference to announce your confession."
Swinging his arm he brought down the riding crop on her buttock. She screamed, rolled part way from the next blow. Feces and dust smeared her side and tits as she scampered, on hands and knees, to escape the next blow.
This is how she had to behave, the way the sadistic major wanted her to react. She had to play this charade his way. For herself as well as him.
Henri, red faced and sweating, screamed epithets, swung the riding crop, followed her across the courtyard, raining blows on her ass, her back, covering the reddened supple muscles with wiggling gouges, making the red lines writhing thin worms which undulated across her big solid ass.
The major snapped at the lower cunt-ass line where the two holes met. He tore loose flesh fragments, tufts of hair. She padded faster to escape his heavy footed advance. She stumbled, fell on her face. He paused over her prone figure, admired the streaked quivering butt muscles. He pressed the heel of one boot on the right cheek and bore down. Marcia wailed, pounded the dust, raised dust clots, flung feces in the air. The shit fell on her spine and she whipped her shoulders to dislodge the revolting stinking deposits.
Henri ground his heel on the buttock. He felt the muscle flatten and he leered, and moved to the other cheek and crushed the ass-cheek, grinding his heel, feeling the rippling muscle beneath his weight.
Marcia cried, choked on the dust and shit and grabbled handfuls of dust to keep from screaming. The heat which spread through her ass was going to ignite her flesh, consume her ass and her cunt, send her into a feverish trance. Already the ember in her cunt was kindling, becoming an inferno and there was no quenching the flames. They licked her pussy walls, turned her climax into lava, strained her clitoris, turning the tiny throbbing gland into a volcano.
"EEEEE...."
Her toes drummed the ground. Her fists flung dust. Her tits were crushed in the dusty waste and were smeared with the muddy ooze. Her belly thumped up and down, flinging clouds over her ribs. Her climax spilled into the dust and the smell of her passion flew above the dust and shit stink.
"You bitch," Henri roared, "have you climaxed?"
He kicked her over on her side, then her back and the sun burned her tits, belly and thighs. She clenched her eyes shut; he kicked her thighs apart, probed her cunt with his fingers, flicking her clitoris, sending her off again.
The major cursed loudly, face flushed. He raised a boot over her face, paused when she flinched and covered her eyes. The gesture made her titties rise and the major put his foot down without following through. With the toe of his boot he prodded the left tit. Marcia winced, flattened her ass on the ground. Chuckling, he traced the swollen peak, wiggled the nipple with the underside of the boot, chuckling all the while, enjoying the excruciating agony he was causing.
Marcia whimpered, shuddered. Heat waves were coursing from her titties, aimed at her snatch. She cringed, frightened of her reaction when she orgasmed, knowing exactly how the major would react to her climax.
Laughing softly, Henri rubbed the underside of the black leather boot across the thrusting nipples. She jerked her shoulders, shied away from him. She wanted to flee. But she couldn't. She was hypnotized by this new thrill. Henri was overcoming Marcia's facade of disgust and fear; he was manipulating her emotions and was enjoying this new degradation. Enjoying it, immersing himself in the fear that turned her pretty face into a mask of terror.
"You and I...we've done almost everything." Henri unzipped his fly. "We've enjoyed it all, but the one thing we haven't done...." He parted the front crease of his shorts. Leering, he pulled out his cock; it was soft. "I hope you enjoy this, bitch."
He directed streams of urine at her face. She shut her eyes tightly, her mouth twisted, her lips drawn across her teeth.
Marcia was revolted. She retched, wanted to vomit but wasn't able to. Her throat relaxed as the thick, hot liquid poured down her cheeks and gathered in the hollow of her throat and spilled down the cleavage. Her hefty tits seemed to fold inward, drawn to the scalding piss.
This vile, disgusting act awakened a glow in her cunt. She forced down its girth. She couldn't...wouldn't allow herself to derive pleasure from this swinish obscenity. But all her efforts were in vain. The passion leaped and coursed and swelled her cunt and glands and her titties rose and fell and betrayed her desire.
The major shrieked and beckoned to the recruits. They left the shade of the trees surrounding the courtyard and came over, eager to participate.
"This slut is piss-crazy," Henri shrieked. "Look at her...look at those titties...look how the lust spits from her pussy. He shook the last drops on her nipples. They swelled tighter. "Come over here," he bellowed to his men. "Give her one helluva thrill, boys. One helluva wet thrill." He shrieked with laughter.
They gathered around her trembling body, unzipped their flies, directed their piss at her shoulders, tits and belly and cunt.
The bubbling, sizzling urine cascaded along her rippling muscles, coated her titties, washed the mud from her belly, filled her belly button with tiny dirt pyramids, spilling over her mound and making winding sheets of the feces clotted to her cunt thicket, shot the dirt over her thighs.
Marcia Andrus wailed, hysterical, outraged, bubbling with cum. She covered her face to hide her shame, to keep her eyes and mouth from the bath. She kicked at them, howled her anger, thrashed beneath this humiliating piss bath, clenched her fists, prayed to get close enough to the major to kill him.
The men moved aside, did a sideways dance, to avoid her kicks. They kept pissing at her tits and the spray ricocheted, over her ribs and the ground. As she railed against this assault the fires flared in her pussy and her clit tickled, throbbed, swelled and spilled its contents. The orgasm kept on, matching the intensity of the pissing. Finally...finally it ended. The humiliation was done. For the time being. Her excitement was slackened, her perverse cunt-rage was assuaged.
What sickened her more than this insult was her reaction to it. What the hell kind of twisted human being could get satisfaction from this abuse ?
Just herself.
Marcia wept softly as the men zipped their pants and retired to the trees, and the shade.
Only the major remained, tapping his leg with the riding crop. "Well, slut, what do we do next? What pleasure can we give you?"
Marcia opened her eyes slowly, blinked and drew herself into a ball, hatred turning her eyes into coals.
"like me to burn your eyes? Shove hot pokers up your ass and cunt?"
She whimpered, hugged herself, didn't answer.
"I'd like to comply, give you all the pleasure your appetites demand," he cooed, "but, unfortunately, we must not damage your pretty body. Bruise it a little, perhaps, yes, we could do that without causing an international flap. But, to give you what you need to be happy...." He made an open handed gesture. "Is unthinkable. Impossible."
Marcia tried to imagine him fucking her with a poker, then turning the poker on himself and being kicked off balance and impaling himself on that poker, severing his balls and cock.
She heated up and he saw her passion rise.
He flicked her nipples with the riding crop. They were stiff again. Henri nodded, wiped his burnished face.
"Well, my dear American tramp, we've had our fun, haven't we? Now we must get to work." He waved over to an aide. "Get her off her ass and back inside."
Again, she was dragged through the dust, her knees buckled and her toes scraped furrows through the dust and dung. The stallion whinnied. The recruits smoked, talked, laughed softly.
A non-com snarled a command. The cigarettes were thrown to the ground; the troopers snapped to attention.
The heat beat her shoulders and columns passed through her body where they lodged in her snatch. Judas Priest, just being dragged along, like a bag of garbage, was setting her off.
No, that wasn't the reason her cunt was gushing, her clitoris was vibrating. The reason was waiting there, behind the double iron plated door, down those dank, dim halls, deep in the bowels of this prison. She would be trussed; the cold damp stone would feel good after the dirt and the flies and the terrible sun. And they would do more horrifying things to her flesh. But they wouldn't kill her. Knowing that she would be flung to the very brink, and then pulled back at the last instant, excited her further. So she would get satisfaction, at their expense, and they would keep her alive, to enjoy more of whatever they dreamed up to torment her passionate body.
At the door, the major turned and gestured and the aides let her fall. She fell on her back, her head snapped against the top stone step and her foot hit the bottom step.
"One last moment of privacy before we all get together in there. A last moment while we remain on the same plateau. Before we send you climbing the walls, clawing the ceiling, reaching a pinnacle that none of us chooses to go to."
The major got his cock out and the aides spread her open and while she sighed and rolled side to side they held her wrists. Henri kicked back her legs, got her crotch open and fed his cock into her twat. He corkscrewed his shaft; she rolled and thumped her belly against his stomach, barely feeling the staff in her pussy. After what she had already experienced, a fuck by this sadistic animal...this shallow man...was like tickling the bottom of a foot already severed from the leg.
Henri plugged her snatch, rocked side to side, shaking loose his cum, flooding her snatch, spilling his jizz on her thighs. He grunted, jammed his cockhead clear to the back of her snatch, and pulled out sharply, shaking the last of his climax on her belly.
"Shit, this woman stinks terribly." The major zipped his fly, brushed dust from his highly polished black leather boots. "Use the leather vest and stockings on her. Take her to the second interrogation room and, while I wash myself off, warm up the transmitter. We will use the sound waves next. Oh, and cover her head completely. So her skull won't split." He twisted her nipple. "Bitch, the fun is only beginning and when it is finished, you will sign. You will beg to do whatever we demand of you. "Yes," he sneered, "yes, you will."
TWENTY
The machine was huge. It nearly filled the fifteen by fifteen foot cell: Three dozen rows of dials; each row one dozen dials each and under each dial a small black switch.
Marcia was fitted with a heavily padded leather helmet and mask, a leather vest with thongs across the front and leather stockings that went up to her thighs.
There was little space between the machine and the walls and, therefore, there was no room for a table.
Marcia was placed against the wall in front of a thick rubber pad as tall as she was. She was tied to the wall; her shoulders and ass were flat against the rubber pad. And the lashes that held her to the wall were of thick leather.
The room was stuffy, close; the air was stale. There were no windows, she recalled. At least she hadn't seen any. The room was lighted by a dim overhead bulb and the door was heavy steel, but rubber padded on the inside.
Four long jointed tubes were attached to the machine. At the tip of each tube was a tapered, triangular microphone with a screen across the front. These four microphones were positioned at each tit and both thighs.
Then as she tensed the machine was warmed up. A strong pulsing hum emanated. She visualized the sound as thick and, for no apparent reason, black. like an expanse of sky on a cloudless night. The tone increased. In the distance she heard switches turned on, dials twisted. The sound steadily built. She felt the reverberations in her teeth, skull, knees and elbows. Her toes and fingers felt the vibrations.
The door opened and the familiar heavy footfalls approached.
"The sound is only a sample," he roared over the noise. "Imagine the waves of sound tearing at your tits and cunt. Then reconsider my offer." He waved his hand and the noise increased. Even with the helmet and mask the roar was excruciating.
Henri demanded her signature. Again, she refused. The excitement was making her cream. She could only imagine what her climax would be like when the machine was at full power.
Henri retreated. The door swung shut and, as far as she knew, she was left with only the operator.
A pause, then the sounds of dials turning and switches being thrown. The hum swept upward, becoming a shriek, then it was past human hearing. Her whole body was jarred; it was like being caught in a tornado.
More switches were turned on. Needles pricked her thighs and tits but they quickly became pokers, then sharper daggers, then finally laser-like beams. They tore her tits and thighs and the tearing stiffened the tit peaks, made her belly throb and the muscles dance like tuning forks. Her thighs were drawn tightly; they pushed toward her cunt, and her snatch echoed with the powerful vibrations.
The tearing reached her clitoris. The gland was rent. The orgasm spilled and her entire body vibrated. Every nerve was stretched and whipped. Her orgasms came faster and she wondered, through the pounding along her temples, how much longer she could take this delightful abuse.
The sound waves plunged through her cunt, her clitoris, her thighs, then back up through her belly and her titties. The nipples, like her clitoris, became tuning forks. The climaxing was desireless, as though her sex organs responded to the stimulus on their own, without her brain.
She couldn't stop the orgasms even if she wanted to. They kept erupting. The lust oil continued to gush and her nerve endings twinged. She begged for this sensation, prayed it wouldn't end. But she was afraid of what would happen to her if it continued. She didn't think she could stand much more of this tremendous mating.
Being fucked by a man was great; by two men even greater; by this machine...there were no words to convey what she felt.
Her ass thudded the rubber matting; her leather clothing absorbed the blows and gave her only the velvet covered repercussions.
Marcia bellowed, writhed, chewed her tongue, twisted and turned and tore at her bonds. She was being fucked to death. It was driving her CRAZY.
She flattened as the power surged to higher decibels. Whips assaulted her flesh; that's how it felt. And she loved the fucking.
From an echoing distance she heard her heart beat and the blood surge in her brain. More power and the clitoris was whipped mercilessly. Her tits were thrashed. The muscles in her guts trammeled. Through it all her orgasm steadily flowed, spilling over the rubber padding beneath her feet.
Marcia couldn't stand it. Her body rebelled. She had, finally, reached her level of passion. She tried to cry out but no sound came. Her shoulders and arms and legs were pinned to the rubber backing. The leather thongs cut her tits. The stockings raked her thighs. Her body shook uncontrollably. It was electroshock, only worse. The sound waves were tearing her muscles from the bones, cracking the joints.
And it continued. Now she knew she was going to die. She whimpered. She prayed.
"Enough."
The machine gradually shut down. As the power ebbed it was like weights being removed from her flesh.
Then the machine was off. She jerked spasmodically. The clothing was peeled off.
"Get her bathed quickly," Henri gnashed. "If you tell what has happened here you will never leave Algiers alive," he snapped in her ear.
She didn't respond. Her head throbbed painfully but her nerves were alive, wonderfully alive. She didn't struggle as they carried her, on a stretcher, to another room at the end of the hall. While they bathed her, found a plain American made summer dress and dressed her in it, Henri fumed.
"Someone saw us bring her here," he told an aide. "The American embassy was notified. The ambassador's aide is waiting in my office." He cracked his knuckles. "If I ever catch the bastard that notified the Americans...."
He swore under his breath. Marcia heard him rant and rave from the other side of a soft pink horizon. She was so relaxed. Nothing bothered her. Not even this evil, stinking Frenchman.
At first she thought her brain was damaged, but, no, everything was the way it should be. Except for this wonderful relaxed feeling she was the same girl she was when they brought her here. The one difference being she didn't crave the artificial or the bizarre. One man fucking her, or maybe two at most, was all she wanted. Right after she had a long, lazy sleep.
But they weren't going to let her sleep, either. At least not there.
Marcia was given a cup of coffee loaded with stimulants. She was awake, tingling.
"Get her out of here before she comes down," Henri ordered.
Upstairs, in the major's office, was a young, slim, bookish, blond-haired man in white ducks and gray sport shirt. He was the American ambassador's assistant. He raised hell with the major for detaining an American citizen without notifying the embassy. The dressing-down, which Henri took without reply, lasted for fifteen minutes. Then Marcia and the aide left.
The sun dazzled and the streets were quiet, deserted during this hottest time of the day. The warmth felt good on her face. They got in a car. Seated in the back seat, a glove covering his stump, was Ahmed Mohand Madj.
"My man told me about your abduction," he said. "Are you hurt?"
She was too surprised to answer, and too grateful not to show her gratitude.
The aide asked for a statement, at her convenience; there were other questions, other formalities to be observed. Which declined to answer his questions and asked to be taken to her apartment.
The Arab leader accompanied her up the stairs into the musty coolness of the efficiency apartment. There, on the threshold they embraced.
"The Frenchman treated you like shit?" he asked once they had separated. "Yes."
"Tonight we are raiding his jail, to rescue one of our colleagues. Come along, if you feel up to it."
"Fuck me like you did that night. Then I'll feel up to it."
They rolled together on the twin bed. Her body ached and he saw the bruises, the welts and tried to be gentle but the passion was too strong and he wasn't able to control himself.
He pummeled her yielding cunt. She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled quickly, taking all of his cock right up to the shaft. He railed her snatch, whipping in and out, bruising her pussy, giving her an orgasm each time he fucked into the deep curve of her snatch.
With each fuck she visualized what had been done to her, and the major that had done it. As her rage, her lust for revenge swelled her passion for fucking intensified. She wanted his cock all the way up her cunt and into her throat.
And she was going to have all of it!
He climaxed and she pushed him out. A startled look on his face, he let her push him down. She swung her butt around, dropped her lips on his cock and suckled wildly. Her cunt and ass were inches from his face. He reached up and pulled her down and they sucked each other rapidly, deeply.
His cock filled her mouth and she had to breathe through her nose to keep from smothering. The veins in his prick rippled and he tasted pre-cum. She laved every inch of the huge hard on, tickling his balls with her tongue tip.
She loved his bitter sour taste; the thick syrup that lay on her tongue and coated the back of her throat, and formed pools of heat in her belly. She grasped his buttocks, squeezed the male-hard rump, and tried to bring him closer to her rapacious mouth.
Marcia gasped, whined, breathed faster as she felt his cum explode, as her climax rapidly approached. She drank his cum, sucked deeply, took it all and loved every drop.
He stayed at her clit. The gland filled, went off and he continued to kiss and nuzzle the dripping cunt walls even after her clitoris failed to respond.
They lay in each other's arms, listened to their deep even breathing and pounding hearts, and the sounds of pre-dusk traffic on the streets below.
"It is nearly time," he finally said.
TWENTY-ONE
The hall outside of the major's office was quiet. The guard had just been changed, and the mid-evening rounds had been made. The major always worked late.
Tonight he will wish he had gone home early, she vowed.
Ahmed Mohand Madj left her with one of his soldiers, a youth of twenty, with fair skin and short beard. He carried the pistol. They waited outside the door and when the explosions and gun fire went off in the basement cell block, they rushed in before the major could draw a side arm and join his troops.
Henri's hand was on the side arm when the door burst open. He saw the Arab's weapon, heeded the command to raise his hands. Marcia slammed the door and locked it.
Henri's eyes widened but that was the only show of fear.
Marcia moved between Henri and the youth. "Drop your trousers," she ordered.
Even as this evil man leered, defiant, his cock filled and tented the breeches. He didn't move. She grabbed the paperweight on the desk and slammed it into his balls. The attack occurred so quickly the major wasn't able to react. He doubled over. She let him sag back, strike his chair and fall into it.
"Comfortable?"
He gasped, white faced, the fight knocked out of him. She hiked up her skirt, climbed over his lap and bracing her hands against the wall behind the chair, she dropped her ass on his face.
"Enjoy the snack." Marcia giggled as she raised her flanks, to keep from soiling herself. She pissed in the major's face, then shit.
Henri gagged, struggled weakly but when his gyrations became too strong the youth hit him in the balls. Marcia emptied herself, climbed down, wiped herself on his shirt, then as he lay weak, retching, blinded by the foulness, she jerked down his pants, nodded at the youth who handed her the weapon.
"This is for the wonderful time, fucker," she gnashed.
She balanced the weapon, then brought the barrel down on his cock and balls. His screams were muffled in shit. Then he was limp, unable to scream, his groin a bloody pulp. As she stepped back she felt a twinge of pity. She handed the pistol to the youth who pumped a single shot in the major's forehead.
As the major's face disintegrated, she grabbed the paperweight from the desk. She was alone, as far as she was concerned. Alone and excited by the carnage, the afterglow of satisfied revenge.
While the youth looked on she shoved the paperweight between her labia, corkscrewed the awkward object, striking her swollen clitoris. The orgasm gushed over the round, jagged chunk of glass, and filled her palm. She squatted closer to the floor, opening her twat wider. Her titties tented the thin cotton bodice; the nipples were straining thumbs.
Her thighs clenched the object, then the outer labia. She strained against the jagged sides. The rough glass gouged her clitoris and the surrounding muscles. The discomfort sent her into paroxysms. She nearly fell over. A pressure on her shoulder prevented that from happening.
"Give it to me," the youth said, taking the paperweight, throwing it against the wall. He threw back the burnous, peeled down the serouals.
"Is there time?"
"For a short one. Yes."
While shots continued in the basement she and the youth lay together. He mounted her thighs, and skillfully eased his cock into her snatch. He fucked quickly, as though anxious to get her rocks off. She came quickly, barely feeling the spurts through her fatigue.
"Now it is my turn." He pulled out, still hard, and helped her over on her side.
He mounted her ass from that side, forcing his prick up and into her anus. Her cum lubricated the shaft and made the quick passage less painful.
A faint smile on her lips, she let him fuck her ass, crush her ass cheeks with his hips, scratch her sloping cheeks with his thick Brillo-stiff pubic hair. She didn't help him; she didn't move. The hardness drilling her ass strained the ass walls. If she moved too quickly he would rip her bowels.
The first cum spurts tickled, shocked as it always did. The fullness spread from her anus, through her bowels and into her stomach. The cum load rammed under her heart.
Ass fucking was a good second-best to cunt fucking. She decided that while they straightened their clothing.
At the door the youth drew back. "The French. They are coming." He slammed and bolted the door, dragged her behind the desk, tipped the desk over and used it for a barricade. Crouched behind the desk he steadied the piece against the rim. She crouched beside him, quaking with fear.
The door was rammed; it splintered. Three French Legionnaires, their pistols firing, charged.
The youth killed the first two with four evenly spaced, carefully aimed shots. The explosions made her jump and she found herself touching her cunt. Her fingers were wet.
From outside the door the third Frenchman returned the youth's fire. As he ducked in, staying low, he lobbed two volleys into the thick mahogany desk, then ducked back. The bullets chipped and gouged the surface and lodged a safe distance from their faces.
Her cunt burned and throbbed. Fear got her juices flowing. She plucked with two fingers, stroking and patted and twisting and jerking the thumb sized gland.
As the youth emptied the clip she strummed her clitoris and the orgasm erupted. He was out of shells and the clips were on the major's beheaded corpse, some distance away.
He took her in his arms, held her tightly as the Legionnaire threw more fire at them.
Only a few more moments until the Frenchman realized the fire wasn't being returned. Then sensing the truth he would take the big chance, enter the room firing. It would only take moments.
She closed her eyes, felt the youth's heart slam, felt his heat and the smell of his vigorous body.
Then, as the Frenchman wheeled into the room, squeezing off a round, he spun, toppled, fell, his weapon flying across the room.
Ahmed Mohand Madj stood over the corpse, beckoning. Outside, in the truck that would take them to safety, he said to Marcia:
"You and the boy, you like each other?"
She and the youth exchanged smiles.
"That's good. Now, if you haven't been formally introduced, allow me: Miss Andrus, this is my son: Ben."
They were fucking Marcia Andrus in the cunt and ass. These two Algerian nationalists, father and son, were fucking her puss and asshole, driving her into a fucking frenzy. And she loved it. And loved it. And loved it....
