It is impossible for any informed American to be unaware of the tragic problem of kidnapping these days, for every week, it seems, new and spectacular headlines emblazon our daily newspapers or scream out at us from the television and radio news broadcasts. like the terrorist fad of hijacking airplanes which has plagued our society for the past few years, the crime of kidnapping with its somewhat romantically adventurous overtones, attracts opportunists, neurotics and the immature in addition to those who are passionately dedicated to some goal which requires financing.
No matter what the motive behind the illegal act, however, kidnapping is an ugly, dangerous game which it behooves members of our society to give thoughtful consideration to, in view of the current acceleration of the act. That is why we, the publishers, are proud to present this timely and hard-hitting new novel by author Carl Van Marcus, a well-known freelance writer who has made his home, among other places, in the northern part of Spain. This exciting, action packed book is set in the land he knows like the back of his hand, and the particular political struggle described is a very real one. We warn our readers not to make the mistake of feeling that events such as Mr. Van Marcus describes in An Interrupted Vacation are improbable the author tells us that the idea of the novel arose from an actual kidnapping atrocity which took place only two years ago.
Not only is An Interrupted Vacation an almost terrifyingly suspenseful and powerfully realistic novel, it is also, on a deeper level, an examination of the psychological repercussions of the kidnapped victims. And on a still more sensitive level, it is an exploration of the poverty of love in the modern American family.
We urge you not only to read this book, but to pass it on to your friends. This is a subject which concerns all of us who knows which of us may be the next victim of a brutal kidnapping, which of us may see wife and children subjected to inhuman abuses?
Due to the unrelenting realism with which author Carl Van Marcus has told his story, we cannot recommend this new novel to the immature reader. We do reiterate, however, that all thinking Americans should not miss this important literary achievement.
-The Publishers
CHAPTER ONE
A week after Daisy and Randy Muller graduated from Schenectady Junior High, they found themselves boarding a gleaming TWA 747 at J. F. Kennedy Airport in New York. Their father's business obligations required that he attend a short conference in Munich, Germany, and since the twins had done so well in school Randy had been president of the ninth grade class while Daisy had been Class Colors Chairman and therefore had had the honor of presenting the class gift at the graduation ceremony their parents had decided that they would combine business with pleasure and take a two week motoring trip through Europe.
Munich was marvelous! Since the company was footing the bill, the family installed themselves in the elegant old-fashioned Continental Hotel. Helene Muller, the twins' mother who passion for antiques was exceeded only by her enthusiasm for cuisine, was delighted with the Gothic relics in the corridors, the suite with its sumptuously etched mirror panels and sixteenth century paintings and especially the bathroom with its gold taps. Despite the fact that her husband, Elwood, spent the better part of the time living it up in the beer halls with his fellow conventioneers or searching for best possible "Pop-top" Volkswagen bus camper deals, she wasn't at all bored. Perfectly happy to be alone, she explored the art museums, sampled local culinary delights of white veal sausage, fresh river trout and Wiener Schnitzel and wandered in and out of every dusty antique shop in the older quarters of the city.
As for the kids, they were thrilled when their parents handed them a fistful of Deutsche Marks and told them they could sightsee on their own. After visiting the beer museum they explored the student section and felt very mature and independent.
But when they piled into the brand new shiny white Pop-top and set off in the direction of Switzerland, the trip really seemed to have begun. No longer jet-lagging or suffering from culture shock, they ooohed and aaahed at the magnificence of the Alps, the quaintness of the villages, the deliciousness of the cafe au lait and cheese fondue. Elwood admired the well-built highways while his wife pored over Europe on Five Dollars a Day and the twins shot four rolls of film with their graduation present Instamatics.
Although Switzerland was utterly charming, the Mullers sped through the country without pausing for longer than necessary to eat and take snapshots. They passed even more quickly through France which really only pleased Helene who'd switched to the English edition of the Michelin Guide now. Elwood complained about the price of gas and the surliness of the bereted garage attendants despite the fact that his yearly salary as Vice-President in Charge of Packaging at a corporation (which produced, among dozens of other popular products, America's number one detergent) was sufficient to feed, clothe and fill the gas tanks of several local French families and he was filled with equal annoyance by the supercilious attitude of the waiters who seemed to resent his very existence, though not his thick wad of traveler's checks.
Fifteen year old Daisy's pride was piqued by the blank stares her attempts to flaunt her first year French received, and she grew bitter with envy as in every one-gas-station hamlet they passed through, the local mademoiselles were far more elegantly dressed and made-up than she. Why, she thought morosely as she stared unseeingly out the window at the Provencal countryside, won't Mom let me wear lipstick and mascara? It isn't fair! It just isn't fair at all!
As for young Randolph Muller, his only thoughts were of Spain. For years now, he'd dreamed of watching a real bullfight, and now they were headed for the place where his dearest desire could finally be realized. Mother and Father kept going on about how cheap and colorful Spain would be, and his silly sister wanted a suntan and a sombrero, but he thought only of the shouting crowds at Pamplona.
Finally, to everyone's satisfaction even Mrs. Muller's, for she hated hearing her family bicker the high peaks of the Pyrenees loomed misty and purple before them. Napoleon may have asserted that Europe ended at the start of this mountain range, but for the American family in their "Pop-top" camper, their vacation-of-a-lifetime was just beginning.
If any of them had had even the slightest knowledge of the events which would befall, they would have turned around at once. As it was, however, they all wore happy smiles as they approached the barrack-like customs shed and pulled their brand-new passports from their neat plastic document holders, courtesy of the Schnenectady Travel Bureau.
"Outtasight!" grinned Randy. "Now the real fun starts!"
CHAPTER TWO
"Bilbao!" Helene declared firmly, shaking her thick honey-blonde hair away from her face as she spoke. "That's where you find the best cooking in Spain. It says so in the Holiday Magazine Guide. And on the way we can stop in a lot of splendid old monasteries and castles and "
"Pamplona!" her fifteen year old son interrupted, loudly and rather rudely. "I wanna go to the bullfights!"
"Who wants to see a dumb old bloody bullfight?" his twin sister demanded, scornfully tossing her carefully coiffed chestnut curls. "I wanna see some neat old villages and then go to San Sebastian. Mom's book says that's the most fashionable resort in Spain!"
"You know who's dumb?" her brother sneered. "You are, that's who! You just wanna show off your new bikini on the beach. C'mon Dad! If you're in Spain you gotta see bullfights."
"The Basque country," their mother repeated, plaintively, patiently, "is renowned for its cooking and quaint old customs."
"Pamplona!"
"Well, make up your minds, can't you?" Elwood broke in irritably.
There were times, and this was one of them, when Elwood Muller sincerely regretted ever suggesting that his family accompany him on his business trip to Europe. He didn't give a damn about castles, gastronomical delights, shopping or bullfights. How much easier everything would have been if he'd simply gone alone to Munich, amused himself with some of those cute little girls in the clubs and rathskellers and remained comfortably ensconced in the Continental Hotel without a thought of such mundane frustrations as camping, gas, road maps and customs officials.
Customs officials! They in fact, were the main reason for his bad mood, coupled with the stifling heat which sent trickles of sweat dribbling down his broad chest and made his muscular thighs stick to the fake leather driver's seat. How had they dared to treat him, a respectable American businessman whose sole act of bad citizenship consisted of a few minor parking tickets as though he were some sort of weird hippie freak or something? Maybe it was because of his son's almost shoulder length hair he ought to have insisted that Randolph cut it off long ago. But shit, the pressures at the office were bad enough without having to deal with problems like that when he got home. Surely that was Helene's job, not his!
Helene...Elwood glanced at his wife's delicately etched profile and felt a fresh surge of irritation. Quickly looking away, he spied a rather grubby cafe a few yards on and pulled into the dirt parking lot. They were still in the border town of Les, a dusty little hamlet situated in the midst of the highest of the Pyrenees mountains with unusually scenic views but none of the creature comforts which the young businessman appreciated. Still a nice cold beer, quaffed in peace and quiet away from his quibbling family, was just what he needed after that humiliating ordeal at the border.
The beer was lukewarm. And the fly-infested, almost empty bar was even hotter than the air outside.
Nevertheless, Elwood Muller seated himself in a rickety metal chair and downed the watery-tasting beer. Hell, he mused, his thoughts diverting his attention from the gloomy shabbiness of the bar, I like my kids, but shit, why haven't they got any manners? Why doesn't Helene do something about the weird clothes they wear and that awful music they listen to all the time? Christ, if little Daisy doesn't start wearing a brassiere pretty soon, God knows what's gonna happen...
Glancing out the dusty grease-stained window, he caught a glimpse of his teenage daughter's pretty face peering through the window of the Pop-top camper. Her girlishly high-set breasts, already nearly as full and round as her mother's, strained against the translucent fabric of her thin cotton halter top in a way that both annoyed and unconsciously excited him.
How pretty she is, he mused, ignoring his subconscious sexual stimulation. Wow! Sure makes a guy feel old when he sees his kid looking like her Mom did when he married her...
Daisy at fifteen did look quite as mature as her mother had at twenty. Even without the aid of the makeup she so ardently craved, there was something about the way she carried her ripe young body a certain awareness of her own sensuality which made her seem older than her years. She knew instinctively, as her mother never had, which clothes would best flatter her curvaceous figure, and some inborn feminine intelligence told her how to attract men without being cheap.
No, it was no accident that Daisy Muller had been Class Colors Chairman of the ninth grade class! Although her grades had not been as high as her father would have liked, she was clever enough to make all the boys fall a little bit in love with her while managing to avoid having the other girls resent her.
Elwood pulled his eyes away from his attractive offspring and signaled to the bartender for another lukewarm beer. A faraway look appeared in his clear gray eyes as he recalled the last time the family had taken a vacation three years ago. They'd rented a cottage on Cape Cod, and he remembered what a little tomboy Daisy had been then, always fishing or sailing with her twin brother. She'd refused to wear anything but a ragged pair of dungarees and a faded and shrunken tank top which pulled tightly over the almost invisible mounds of her budding breasts.
And now! Sexy bikinis and perfume and even a going-steady ring on her finger! Christ! The time flew by so fast a guy didn't have time to catch his breath!
There was an uneasy feeling in the successful executive's stomach as he paid the bartender and walked through the blazing afternoon sun toward the camper.
Three years from now, he reflected moodily, little Daisy would be eighteen...the same age her mother had been when she let him make love to her that long-ago spring night in the university rose garden...
* * *
Inevitably, even after deciding on a route which led first to Pamplona and then on to the coastal cities of Bilbao and San Sebastian, the Mullers got lost. Their three maps were of little help as each was a slightly different version of roads which in any case were only planned, not yet constructed. This irritated Elwood, who prided himself on his organization and efficiency, and in each of the isolated villages where they stopped to ask directions, he felt the need to fortify himself with another of the consistently tepid beers.
The twins and their mother didn't much care where they were or how skillfully they negotiated the network of ill-paved mountain roads, for they found themselves caught up in the spell of the ruggedly towering mountains and fertile green valleys with their miniscule villages. Never having seen peaks higher than the Appalachians, Randy and Daisy were so awed that they ceased their incessant quarreling.
"It's like another world!" Daisy exclaimed as she and her twin brother explored the third little settlement they stopped in. "And these funny old men in their hats and the ladies in long dresses look at us like we came from another planet!"
"Yeah, it's sure freaky," Randy replied, for once agreeing with his sister. "And they talk so weird. It's nothin' like what we learned in school."
While the twins wandered up and down the narrow village streets exclaiming over the donkeys, long strings of red peppers hanging from unpaned windows and un-Spanish looking fair-haired natives, their parents sat in the local bar sipping, respectively, beer and a rather odd-tasting sherry. Helene knew that her husband resented it if she insisted on fruit juice or cola while he was drinking alcohol, and besides, although she normally never drank much, she felt so excited about having reached Spain at last and seeing such marvelous scenery that a celebration seemed in order.
"Christ! I sure wish we could find the road we're supposed to be on," the young businessman grumbled into his beer. "We'll never make it to that State approved camping site by dark if this keeps on and I'm already dead on my feet!"
"Oh well, we can just camp by the roadside, like gypsies," Helene laughed. Unused to drink as she was, the strong sherry was going straight to her head. "It might be fun...."
Although Elwood glowered at the whimsical suggestion, it was exactly what they ended up doing. By sunset, he was so worn out from the heat, beer and frustrations of the day that he pulled the Pop-top camper off the road into the first-likely looking grove of trees, turned off the motor and yawned.
"Okay kids, that's all for today," he said. "Randy, you set up the top while the gals scare up some food. Let's get a good night's sleep and start out early in the morning."
There was something out of order with the Pop-top's handy Kamper-Kooker unit, but none of the Mullers really cared. All during their meal of bread, cheese and cold beer and Coke from the still-functioning fridge, the twins kept casting eager glances toward the winding path leading up the mountain slope beyond the parked camper. At the top, standing out, black and intriguing against the red-gold splendor of the sunset, was what appeared to be the towers of an ancient castle. Helene, poring through her guidebooks as she nibbled on a hunk of cheese, informed them that it was in fact a deserted monastery, and that it took about 45 minutes to climb to the summit.
"Can't we hike up there, Dad, please?" Randy begged. "It's a good path, and we'll take the big flashlights."
"Well.. . " Elwood hesitated, giving the mountain a dubious inspection as he opened his third can of ice-cold beer. There wasn't really any good reason why they shouldn't take a walk to the ruin the path was a good one, its steeper portions banked with cement steps and in a way all this family togetherness was growing a little oppressive.
He turned away from the open window to stare across the small candlelit table at his golden-haired wife and rather to his surprise felt a wave of tenderness at the sight of her graceful white neck and flyaway yellow curls bent over her book. Come to think of it, he thought a little drunkenly, they hadn't made love in a helluva long time. Of course, there wasn't much opportunity in either a hotel suite or a crowded camper, not with two teenage kids around, and somehow he'd been too involved with the convention to give connubial relations more than a passing thought. Suddenly though, he felt his penis thickening and pressing against his denim jeans as he recalled the satin softness of his wife's tender flesh and the yielding pliancy of her rather small but perfectly rounded breasts.
"Sure go ahead," he turned back to his dark-haired son. "But take good care of your Sis, huh?"
"Oh Daddy!" Daisy exclaimed. The pretty young girl who'd put on a soft sea-blue angora pullover which exactly matched her eyes and managed to enhance rather than hide the gentle swells of her girlish breasts, jumped from her chair and gave her father an affectionate hug. "I can take care of myself, I promise! We'll both be real careful."
There were several moments silence after the kids, armed with hiking boots, flashlights and lightweight jackets, clattered out of the camper and headed up the slope. Helene stared pensively out the window, watching her children's figures grow smaller and smaller until they finally disappeared around a curve banked by pine brush.
"Are you sure they'll be okay?" she asked, her smooth forehead wrinkling in a troubled frown. "I mean it's getting dark, and-"
"Aw, they'll be fine," Elwood declared, his hardened cock thudding against his restraining pants in a more eager way than it had for months. "They're not really kids anymore, you know. And besides, Randy took that survival course at the YMCA he can take care of himself better than we could, I bet!"
"You're right," agreed Helene. She stood up and began gathering up the plates and silverware, her slender figure vividly outlined in the gentle light of the candles. "I'm just being an old silly...."
The thirty-three year old wife's voice faltered a little as she moved toward the built-in sink with her load of dishes, for she had noted the amorous light in her husband's gray eyes, a light which hadn't been there for a long while. Maybe, she thought hopefully as she filled the sink and mechanically washed the plates, maybe he really is relaxing enough to want to make love again!
Helene wanted to say something, do something, that would indicate her willingness to respond to any overture Elwood might make, but she was unable to do so. Over and above her natural shyness about all things of a sexual nature, she was not unnaturally a little reluctant to make the first gesture after these weeks of being ignored. Weeks?! goodness, when she thought about it, it had been several years since her husband really displayed any eagerness for bedtime activity. Ever since he'd been appointed Vice-President in Charge of Packaging, in fact, she'd had the definite feeling that business was far more important to him than his wife.
Although Helene who despite her seeming vagueness and dreamy preoccupation with food, flowers and dusty and worthless artifacts from bygone days, was actually a rather unusually sensitive and perceptive individual realized that much of her husband's seeming coldness derived from the pressures of his position at the company, it was difficult not to feel hurt by his indifference. The few times they had made love lately had been so unsatisfactory (with Elwood ejaculating within minutes while she was still just beginning to sense the first waves of her own orgasm) that she knew he too must feel inadequate and ashamed. If she'd known what to say to make him feel better, she'd certainly have done so...but, well. . . oh, it was so hard to know what to do, what words to use that would uplift rather than degrade...
With a silent sigh, the young blonde housewife dried the last of the yellow plastic plates and cast a surreptitious glance in her handsome husband's direction. He was opening a fourth can of beer, and his head was buried in the two day old edition of the International Herald Tribune they'd picked up on the French side of the border early that afternoon.
Oh well, she thought with a second imperceptible sigh, it was stupid of me to think he meant anything by sending the kids up the mountain. Not knowing quite what to do with herself, she moved toward the tiny pink-tiled shower stall.
Before turning on the hot water, Helene took a moment to stare thoughtfully at her reflection in the full-length mirror affixed to the door. Despite the twinge of guilt she felt at looking at her naked body, she couldn't help feeling rather proud of how firm and youthful her figure was after two children and thirty-three years. Actually, she looked better than she had when, sixteen years ago, Elwood had bumped into her in the library where she was working to pay for her college education, had knocked her pile of decaying periodicals onto the floor and asked her for a date. And then had come the incident in the rose garden, the pregnancy, the "shotgun" wedding in the college chapel, the twins...
It was no good reminiscing about the past, Helene reminded herself firmly. One had to let bygones be bygones and live in the present. Despite her lingering regrets about her uncompleted education she'd dreamed of being an anthropologist and going off to exotic lands to study primitive cultures with their fascinating myths and customs she knew that her current problem of Elwood's diminishing interest in her as a woman was the most urgent consideration.
"And I do still look pretty!" she murmured to herself, confident that her husband could not hear her over the sound of the gurgling water heater and splashing shower. Stepping under the stream of hot water, she gingerly cupped her high-set breasts in both hands. They felt firm and smooth, and a tingle ran up her spine as she remembered how in the old days, her husband had loved caressing and kissing them.
The ironic thing was, she reflected as she carefully soaped her golden-brown pubic "vee" and well-rounded thighs, was that at first, when Elwood was so ardently attentive, she'd felt no real physical desire for him. Only in the past few years since her late twenties, had she achieved the miraculous satisfaction of an orgasm. Her own time of sexual awakening had, most unfortunately, coincided with his promotion and consequent diminution of amorous interest.
Helene trailed the herb-scented soap over her shapely legs then up over her gently rounded ivory-white belly and on up toward her involuntarily throbbing breasts. God! What was the matter with her anyway? Just thinking of the way Elwood used to practically attack her in the old days was sending shooting spears of sinful sensation skimming through her bloodstream. Each day that passed seemed to heighten her unexplained carnal yearnings...why, this morning, much to her shame, she'd actually felt the crotch band of her white nylon panties dampen when that crass border official had undressed her with his intense Latin eyes!
After sliding the bar of soap quickly and nervously over her sensitive vaginal area, Helene Muller stepped out of the shower, dried her slender body with a large fluffy towel and donned an ankle-length pink velveteen robe which ideally suited her pale complexion and natural honey-gold hair. Some uncharacteristic impulse led her to spray her voluptuous figure with her daughter Daisy's "Royal Romance" toilet water and brush "blush-on" on her cheeks.
Maybe Elwood will really look at me for a change, she thought rather forlornly as she tied her fine fair hair into a sort of ponytail with a pink velvet ribbon. This was the way she'd worn her hair as a college freshman when her future husband had first been attracted to her, and perhaps it would make him feel young and amorous again tonight.
Feeling a little daring and strangely excited, Helene emerged from the shower stall to the main room of the big camper. Much to her disappointment, her husband was no longer inside the camper but was standing outside smoking a cigarette and finishing his can of beer as he gazed at the glorious sunset. The sun, a huge red-orange ball, was just sinking behind the black mountains, and the sky along the horizon was streaked with fiery wisps of magenta and gold, but Helene was too distracted to appreciate the beauty of the scene.
"Hi hon," the thirty-seven year old executive casually greeted his wife as she came to the doorway. Although he gave no sign of his appreciation, he was indeed very much aware of her fragrance, her girlish hairdo and her modest but curve-clinging robe. "Nice sunset, huh?"
"Yes," Helene's voice was thin and strained as she choked back an involuntary rush of tears. "Yes, fantastic."
"Spain sure is swell," the vacationing businessman enthused. "Hell, back home I'd still be on the freeway driving home this time of day, and there'd bee too much smog to even see the sunset. This is the life, all right!"
"Yes...yes...lovely...." the blonde wife agreed.
For a few minutes longer she lingered on the steps of the Pop-top, praying without much hope that her handsome husband would turn and take her in his arms. If there had ever been the perfect moment for a truly romantic kiss, this surely was it, but Elwood remained totally oblivious.
"Hey, hand me another of those beers, would you, hon?" he said and then patted her slim white hand in a platonic way when she did so.
"How about a little walk before turning in?"
Helene was grateful for the gathering dusk which hid the tears brimming up in large blue eyes. "N-no, I think I'll go r-right to sleep. The sun...the sherry...."
Her voice trailed off into a pathetic little sigh which Elwood did not appear to notice. With head banging and shoulders slumped dejectedly, she made her way to the built-in bunks of the camper, crawled under her down-filled quilt and switched off the light. In the lonely privacy of the darkness, she allowed her hot tears to fall onto her pillow before drifting into a restless sleep.
Just as Helene was dreaming of running naked down a mountain path quite in the manner of the college "streakers" of whom she had read in the Herald Tribune that morning with a handsome equally unclothed male galloping behind her, Elwood crawled into the bunk. Normally when the kids were sleeping in the Pop-top too, he slept on the narrow bed on the opposite side of the room; actually he was grateful to have a good excuse not to face his fears of impotence. But tonight, buoyed up by the numerous beers he'd quaffed during the course of the day and stimulated, too, by the sense of being very far away from the usual grueling pressures of his job, he found himself gently stroking his wife's satin-smooth body and murmuring to her in a whisper.
"Helene?" he hissed under his breath, although since the twins hadn't yet returned from their evening hike there was actually no need for stealth. "Are you awake?"
Helene, still half asleep and half convinced that the voice whispering in her ears was part of her erotic dream, automatically snuggled against the warm body easing beneath the covers beside her. She began to come fully awake as firm masculine hands began gliding over her bare thighs and up under her filmy summer nightie, but still she kept her eyes tightly shut as though she were afraid that to open them would make her husband vanish. It had been so long since he'd come into her bed that she was half afraid it must be a product of her imagination.
Back home in Schenectady her husband had gotten into the habit of sitting up late in his wood-paneled den and as often as not, falling asleep on the narrow couch there. Even when he did come upstairs at night, it was always long after his lonely wife had gone to bed, but though he tiptoed toward the twin bed next to her unmoving form, she always woke up the moment the door eased open.
"Hope I didn't bother you last night, coming up late like that," he'd remark with studied casualness the next morning at breakfast.
"No dear, not at all," she'd reply brightly. It was so obvious that he was trying to excuse and rationalize to himself the fact that he was so consumed with worries about business, debts and the rapidly approaching expense of college education for the twins that he lost the energetic virility which had characterized him as a younger man. No, Helene was too empathetic and kind-hearted to increase her husband's gnawing pangs of inadequacy by letting him know what frustration she suffered. Even on the infrequent occasions such as birthdays and their wedding anniversary when they did make love and Elwood invariably failed to satisfy the fiery needs of her youthful flesh, she did not allow herself to criticize him in any way.
Tonight, however, she sensed from his touch and the pace of his breathing that he was more excited than he'd been in a very long while. She answered his question by wriggling up against him in what she hoped was a suggestive manner, pressing her nylon-covered ass-cheeks up against the hardness of his muscular chest. Elwood had an amazingly youthful body for a man of his age, she thought as she pressed against him. Despite his sedentary office job, he mar ;ed to play tennis and golf every weekend and was in almost as good condition as when he'd been a college tennis champion. Un-like the majority of his colleagues, he'd not developed a flabby pot belly nor lost his almost boyish enthusiasm for open-air sports.
"Uuiiummm...." she murmured happily as his strong arms clasped her around her slender waist and drew her tingling buttocks closer against him. "Oooohhh...."
"You feel so good, honey!" Elwood mumbled into her soft faintly perfumed hair. "So soft and smooth...."
Arrows of excited anticipation shot along Helene's spine as she sensed the insistent bulge of her husband's erect penis prodding between the sensitive mounds of her well-rounded ass-cheeks. Instinctively, she pressed her fire-filled buttocks tightly around the pulsing thickness as though she wanted to trap the heated flesh pole between her nylon-lace covered half-moons. She was acting with perhaps unbecoming boldness, she realized dizzily, but it was so wonderful to feel her husband's firm masculine loins again that she just couldn't act prim and virginal toward him.
Even as she sighed in rapture at the sensations which flowed through her bloodstream at the feel of Elwood's hands on her sensuously throbbing breasts, Helene still kept her eyes tightly shut. One small but persistent voice in the back of her brain was still insisting that this must be a dream, that when she raised her eyelids, she would find herself curled in lonely misery on her narrow cot with her pajama-clad husband snoring on the other bed across the room.
He's worn pajamas to bed for the last three years, but tonight he's naked! she rejoiced silently. Please God, make this be real! Don't let me wake up and find I'm having another of those sinful dreams. . .
"Christ, I love you baby," whispered Elwood as his eager hands massaged the firm pliancy of his wife's girlish breasts. "Your body...your beautiful body...."
Tears of joy sprang up in Helene's sapphire eyes at this endearment, and she felt so jubilant at finally hearing the words she'd ached to hear for so long that she brazenly wriggled out of her pink lace nightie and rolled over so that her now-throbbing breasts were pressing nakedly against her husband's muscular chest. The sparse bristly hairs on his firm masculine flesh sent delicious tingles spiraling out from her nipples to every nerve-ending in her hungering body, and when their lips met in a long, tongue-twining kiss, she felt happier than she had in months.
"Darling, darling," she crooned, still keeping her eyes shut as she ran her own hands over his warm loins. She longed to trace her fingertips toward the throbbing virility which pulsed so urgently against her trembling thighs, but that seemed just a little bit too bold. Instead, she contented herself with stroking his athletically muscled chest and thighs.
My man, she thought hazily as the whole length of her husband's fully erect cock pulsed between her tensed and quivering thighs, is the best man in the world!
Elwood gasped under his breath as his wife's firm-fleshed thighs clamped around his painfully swollen virility. The blood-bloated head pushed forward eagerly as though with a mind of its own until it touched the satin fabric of Helene's panty-protected vagina. With his old ravenous passion he tore the flimsy bikini panties from her slightly parted legs and rubbed his impatient hardness up against the damp warmth of her cuntal crevice.
"Aaaahhh!" Helene moaned, half out of her mind with blissful relief. Everything was going to be all right now! Elwood's disinterested attitude had been, as she'd fervently hoped, a mere manifestation of his high-pressure position at work.
Initially, the thirty-seven year old husband had been a little reticent about approaching his youthfully pretty blonde wife, but when she encouraged him with her impassioned wrigglings and throaty whimpers, he began to feel like the masterful male he had been in his early twenties.
What the hell! he exalted as with a slow sensuous movement of his athletic hips, he rubbed his cock's distended tip over her quivering clitoral bud and delighted in the flames of erotic anticipation that flamed all along his rigid shaft and through his cum-tightened testicles. I'm just as much a man as I was back in the good old days when I screwed both the secretaries in the company's old offices right there in the photocopy room! The little woman's begging for it!
Indeed, as the bulbous head of her hoarsely panting husband's huge penis spread apart the moistening lips of her vagina, Helene began uttering a pleading chorus of whimpers and lusting groans. In the good old days, she'd felt that there was something depraved and whore-like about making any sound while she fulfilled her marital obligations, but now that her sexual appetite had increased in direct proportion to the lessening of her husband's amorous inclinations, she made no attempt to curb her very real longing for the mammoth rod of flesh which could satisfy her aching need.
"Now, baby?" Elwood hissed hoarsely as the head of his long-neglected penis sluiced between the well-lubricated lips of his wife's waiting pussy.
Helene too ecstatic for words, could only manage to choke out an animalistic mewl. A shudder wracked her naked figure from the tip of her involuntarily curling white toes to her baby-fine golden hair as his rock-hard cock sank an inch into her love-starved vagina.
"Oooohh yeeeaahh!" she wailed, shocked but simultaneously stimulated by the lewd sound of her own shrill cry. "Yyyyeeeaahh, ddarrrlinngg!"
Inspired by his wife's soulful moan, the young businessman flicked his athletic hips forward so that his hungrily pulsating penis lunged several more satisfying inches into her wetly clasping vaginal channel. Snapping his torso forward a second time, he drove his virile shaft all the way to the hilt between her legs until his blood-swollen cock-head rammed up against his children's' mother's cushiony cervix deep inside. She let out a frenzied wail, arched up her slim pelvis and involuntarily clamped her cuntal muscles hard around the impaling flesh shaft.
"Yeah! Yeah!" he gasped out as he withdrew for a brief instant and then slammed back inside the slender blonde's eagerly quivering pussy passage. "Gonna fuck you good! Fuck you so good you don't know what hit you!"
A thrill of masochistic pleasure surged through Helene's cock-impaled loins at the sound of her husband's aggressive tone. The sense of being totally subjugated to her man's will, of being the slave to his unrelenting passion, served to increase the physical pleasure she was receiving from his plunging penis, and the stabs of pain she felt from the ramrodding shaft of male flesh also excited her.
If only he would treat me like this more often, Helene thought, and then all clear conception was blotted from her brain as Elwood's lust-thickened manhood bore deeply into her belly again and again in the wild and wonderful age-old rhythm of fucking. Each pounding thrust seemed to prod deeper into her eagerly clasping cuntal channel until electrifying waves of ecstasy welled up in every part of her nakedly writhing figure. Her desire-hardened nipples ached with delicious arousal as Elwood's desperate ravishment continued, and deep inside her belly she felt the first hints of a stupendous climax developing.
By now, her own love-juices had lubricated her hungrily clutching vagina so that her husband's heavy penis slithered smoothly in and out with a lewd wet sucking sound. With each pummeling thrust, delicate ridges of pink cuntal flesh were pulled out then rammed back inward with his punishing downstroke.
A rainbow kaleidoscope of vivid colors swam before Helene's tight-shut eyes as she twisted and thrashed in an agony of intense passion on the camper bunk, and she could sense her belly growing hotter and hotter with her husband's every skewering stroke. Unwilled, almost inhuman cries broke from her parched lips, shocking her but at the same time exciting her with their unfamiliar obscenity.
"Christ, it's so good! Soooo gooodd!" she heard her voice shrill out into the small camper. "Don't stop, don't ever stop! Ooohh, fuck me forever and ever and ever.. . "
The fierce, almost painfully forceful thrusts rammed into her with ever-increasing speed. It felt, the young blonde wife thought wildly, as though Elwood was pounding in up to her very womb! She couldn't remember their lovemaking ever having been so wildly impassioned...now if only he would keep on like this until the violent orgasm she felt teasing at her pleasure-wracked loins exploded in an unworldly firework display of pure release...
"Don't stop! Don't stop!" she cried again. "Fuck me hard! Harder! Make me cccummm toooo!"
But Elwood, who'd been feeling too inadequate to make any overtures toward his curvaceous blonde wife for the past several weeks, now found himself aroused beyond all possibility of control. The dozen or so beers swimming through his system were no help, either, and Helene's unprecedented wanton response was the final tantalizing blow.
"Aaarrgghh!" he shouted, the guttural cry echoing across the silent valley outside the Pop-top van. "Here it comes, baby! NNnnooww!"
His blood-engorged cock-head rammed to the hilt in the frantically mewling female's desire-drenched vagina, burrowing so deeply that his aching testicles danced against the smoothness of her ripely rounded ass-cheeks. Slamming his perspiration-soaked pelvis against her satin-textured loins, he grabbed her undulating hips with both hands for support and groaned again as the first seething spurts of long pent-up semen shot into her cock-stuffed pussy.
"Oh no! Not yet! Please, not yet!" Helene pleaded in a horror-stricken half-whisper. Her previously flaming arousal froze to ice in her veins, and she lay woodenly and unresponsively as the premature flood of heated cum flowed into her unsatisfied vagina and oozed out into her s t i ll q u i v e r i n g thighs. "Noooo...noooo...."
Elwood never even heard his wife's mournful whimpers. Never since he was a teenager had he experienced such an overpowering release; it felt as though his entire body were disintegrating, floating off onto some magical world among the clouds where there was nothing but utter bliss...a universe where the rivers were filled with life-giving sperm and the colors were brighter even than the sunset he'd witnessed an hour before...a land where prosaic concerns such as the company's profit margin and his children's college education did not figure...a place where no one talked seriously, only babbled and moaned as shuddering surges of pleasure cascaded over their nakedly writhing bodies...
At last the exhausted but happy executive's furiously ejaculating penis began to soften and deflate inside his unsatisfied wife's still-hungry vagina. Sighing in contentment, he rolled off her rigidly held body and lurched across the room in the direction of his own bunk. Sleep arrived almost as he collapsed, satiated, on the built-in bed, and within minutes his loud snores drowned out the plaintive sound of Helene's irrepressible sobs.
What's wrong with me? she asked herself in silent anguish as she clenched her sperm-streaked thighs together and tried her best to stifle the gnawing tingle inside her unfulfilled pussy. It's only dirty, nasty sex...there must be something really sick about me that makes me need it so badly! I just don't understand. . . I never used to feel this way...
Helen's pillow was damp with tears for the second time that night as she recalled with horrified shame the lewd whorish way she'd responded to her husband. What in God's name would he think of her tomorrow morning? After all, she was the mother of two growing children who needed all the moral guidance and example they could get in today's troubled world! What if sweet, innocent little Daisy and her impressionable brother Randy had heard their own mother wailing out her abnormal lust like some sort of perverted tramp? She would have to, simply have to get a hold on herself and repress these depraved appetites!
Yet no matter what Helene Muller told herself, the flames of unabated desire flickered through her traitorous loins. There was only one thing which could stem the abnormal fires which blazed inside her young body the delirious rapture of a stone-hard male thickness pounding into her over and over again.
Both the happily snoring Elwood and his self-preoccupied young wife were too absorbed in themselves to think it was an awfully long time since the twins had started up the mountain. Nor did they notice that the bright moon and clear canopy of twinkling stars had been obliterated by ominous clouds...nor that the mountains surrounding the valley in which they had camped were blanketed in a fog so thick that the slopes had become completely invisible from the ground below.
CHAPTER THREE
The fifteen year-old twins, who were no more than a third of the way down the steep slope when the dense mist suddenly obscured their vision and began to soak into their thinly-clad bodies, were of course acutely aware of the change in weather conditions. From the seductive softness of a Spanish evening, they had suddenly been jolted into a rather terrifying nightmare of darkness and biting cold. The intermittent flashes of lightning hazily etched against the foggy sky and the accompanying crashes of thunder did nothing to improve the young American's rapidly sagging spirits.
"Ohhhh, Randy!" Daisy squealed as a particularly close clap of thunder reverberated through the mountains. "I'm sc-scard!"
Her twin brother, although not a little bit perturbed himself, put on a show of confidence for her benefit. After all, his pretty sister was a mere girl, and suburban born and bred at that. She'd never so much as attended girl scout camp, whereas he had taken that survival course up in the Allegheny Mountains last summer and was even the proud possessor of a framed certificate stating that Randolph E. Muller was a tried and tested "Wilderness Warrior". In spite of their constant wrangling, the brother and sister were deeply fond of one another, and there was nothing Randy wouldn't do to help his twin out of a bad situation. Heck, hadn't he beaten up the Lee brothers single handed when they'd teased her about her braces back in sixth grade? And just that year, he'd smashed that creep Roy Runions in the nose when he'd started shooting off his big mouth about how Daisy Muller went all the way with her steady, Bobby Buford. It had all been a pack of lies, of that Randy was certain, but even if his sister had been screwing her boyfriend, it was no one's business but her own.
"Don't worry, Sis," he said now in a tone of false confidence. "It's just a summer storm it's bound to pass over soon. And anyhow "
The rest of his encouraging statement was lost as a ear-splitting boom of thunder exploded a few yards away. Instants later, a crazily snaking bolt of lightning slashed a fiery path directly toward them, and as Randy tugged his fear-paralyzed sister down the hill after him, the glowing fork of fire singed the top of a tall, summer-arid pine which instantly burst into flames.
The crackling pine boughs exuded sufficient light for the frightened fifteen year-olds to escape through the dense underbrush. At least fifteen minutes ago-it was hard to judge time in the unfamiliar blackness of the Pyrennes Mountains they had managed to wander off the faint path leading from the ancient monastery to the valley and now they found themselves crawling through brambles and prickly berry thickets in a desperate attempt to escape from the red-hot flames.
Luckily for the two American teenagers, their haphazard downward route led them to one of the few mountain streams which had not yet run dry in the dry summer season. Randy vaguely recalled from his survival course which unfortunately had been little more than a trumped-up luxury summer camp that fire could not usually pass over water, and so he dragged his whimpering twin sister through the ice-cold brook. In the light from the blazing tree, he spied a small shepherd's hut several yards away.
"Look, Sis!" he gasped. "There's a little house!"
Under ordinary circumstances the upper middle-class youngsters would never have dreamed of entering a strange dwelling, but at the moment, freezing cold as they were from the penetrating fog and chilling stream, they didn't give it a second thought. Eagerly, gratefully, they let themselves in through the unlatched wooden door and stood shivering weakly in the threshold.
"Oh, wow!" Daisy moaned breathlessly, her voice almost inaudible as she struggled to fill her lungs with oxygen. Up until now, a fast round of tennis had been the most physically exhausting activity she'd ever attempted. "I wish we'd never even thought of climbing up this darn old mountain!" Not really realizing what she was doing, she fell against him and clung to him as she might have to her father when she was younger and less affected. "I wish we were back h-home in Schenectady, safe and w-w-warm and "
"Don't worry, Daisy!" Randy murmured. His voice was a little shaky as he smelled the fragrance of her silky chestnut hair and felt the soft warmth of her skin. "Everything's gonna be okay. I'll take care of you!"
"B-but it's so c-cold...it's so dark...." Daisy whimpered, grasping her brother's athletic figure more tightly than ever as she thought back to the days when she was Class Colors Chairman in Schenectady Junior High and had opened the graduation dance with her steady boyfriend. Billy Buford. Disregarding the unaesthetic details of her present situation, she recalled her pink tulle prom gown, the bouquet of orchids which Billy had given her, and the grown-up way Mom had allowed her to wear her shoulder-length dark hair. And then the walk home through the elm-lined suburban streets, with moonlight filtering through the leaves and Billy's hands...
A deep shiver rippled through the rain-soaked teenager's slim body, but her reaction was not engendered by the cold, as her brother naturally assumed. This was a ludicrous time to be thinking about what had happened two weeks ago in a lilac-fragrant vacant lot halfway between the junior high school and the Mullers' large, colonial-style brick house, but something perhaps the hard male feel of her brother's clasping arms was bringing back an uncontrolled, agonizingly vivid rush of memories.
Don't be silly! Daisy chided herself. Why on earth should Randy make me think of Billy? He's just my brother!
Nevertheless, she was somewhat relieved when her twin moved away from her and began fishing in his jacket pockets for his flashlight. To his dismay, it had banged against something during their pell-mell flight through the forest, and no longer worked. Daisy's identical flashlight had been dropped and not retrieved when the tree was hit by lightning.
"We gotta make a fire, Sis," he said, trying not to let it be apparent that his teeth were chattering. "If we just had a light, maybe I could find some matches on the floor.
As luck would have it, Daisy happened to have a tiny package of matches in her pocket. The small, gilt box, a souvenir from the Graduation Dance, was of sentimental value and was never far from her person.
By the light of the matchsticks, the shivering twins dropped to their knees and felt around on the floor for some sort of firewood. It was really very difficult to see anything: the driving rain had extinguished the flaming tree, and no light at all entered through the small, high window of the goat shed; and Daisy's souvenir matches, pretty though they were with their gilded tips, were no longer than a thumbnail and gave only the tiniest pinprick of flickering light. The fifteen year-old girl, who normally would have objected to the filth and animal odor of the shed, was luckily infused with enough of her former tomboy spirit to keep from complaining even when something which sounded suspiciously like a mouse scuttled by inches away from her searching fingers.
Randy, meanwhile, was racking his brain for a solution to their problem. Outside the goat shed, the storm was raging harder than ever; it would be sheer folly to venture down the mountain. No, they would have to spend the night here, unless he could locate the fireplace and some sticks, they would be most cold and uncomfortable. For himself it didn't matter so much he was certainly no sissy! but poor Daisy was shaking like a leaf and unused to such deprivation.
"Ouch!" Daisy yelped as the two groping youngsters banged into each other in the pitch-black darkness.
All thoughts fled from Randy's mind as he suddenly found his face again pressed against the perfumed fragrance of his sister's silky hair and his hands touching the pliant mounds of her girlish breasts through the fabric of her rain-sodden cotton jacket and light T-shirt. Despite the protective garments, he could feel her nipples poking against his fingers, hard and round as two little bullets.
The young boy was so unnerved by the sudden surge of illicit, electric excitement which shot through his loins and made his virile adolescent cock jump to attention that he lurched clumsily away from his sister and fell toward the wall. Some smooth, sharp object grazed his ankle, but for a moment he was so overcome with shame that he failed to wonder at what such a metallic-feeling object was doing in a goat shed.
"Oh, Randy! Are you okay?" Daisy cried in a loud whisper. For some reason, perhaps because of the eerie horror-story atmosphere of the deserted hut and raging storm, the twins had quite unconsciously been speaking in hushed undertones ever since entering.
"Sure, I'm okay," Randy answered in a voice he hoped sounded more unruffled and nonchalant than he felt.
He would just die if his sister knew what a sex-fiend he was! Jesus, being so horny all the time was really getting to be a drag, what with wet dreams every night and aching hard-ons in the most embarrassing situations. The worst of it was that he just didn't seem to have any control over his body at all; no matter how sternly he commanded himself to stop looking at the nudes in PLAYBOY and PENTHOUSE, or peeping through the "spy-hole" between the boy's and girls' locker rooms at school, he just couldn't stop himself. And every time he did something like that, he had to jerk off. Lately, after chancing to see his sister's well-developed naked figure through the "spy-hole", he'd been having flashes of weird, unwanted emotions. Most of the time they just argued and kidded around like in the old days, of course, but when she put on that little bikini of hers-WOW!
"Something feels real weird down here," he remarked, forcing his thoughts away from the sexual subjects which so obsessed him. "Some kind of metal.. . "
"What? Lemme see!" Daisy hissed, kneeling down on the cold floor beside her brother.
Randy's curious fingers ran exploratory over the object, and as he identified it his blood froze in his veins. Guns! Stacks and stacks of guns! He was so shocked that, for once, he failed to be unwantedly stimulated by the close proximity of his sister's body. These weapons weren't rusty relics from the Spanish Civil War they felt brand new!
CHAPTER FOUR
The first crashes of thunder were drowned out by the loud snores of the three men sequestered in the hay loft beside Vasilisa Carrero's improvised bed. Within minutes, however, the twenty-seven year old woman's dreams were invaded by the sounds of the raging storm, and she rolled over restlessly as her sleep-fogged eyes focused on the torrential rains pouring down outside the small window on the loft of the goat shed.
Oh no! she wailed in silent despair. NO! Now all the plans are ruined, and I'll be stuck here with these dreadful student revolutionaries for God knows how long!
Vasilisa shifted her voluptuous body in irritation, pulling the woolen blanket tight across her full breasts and well-rounded hips. The three long-haired student rebels-Antonio, Carlos and Jose Angel had still been smoking hashish and gulping red wine in the corner of the loft when she'd bedded down in the fragrant-smelling straw, so the modest Spanish girl had left on her jeans and hand-embroidered blouse. Now, as she twisted and turned, the tight-fitting trousers pulled uncomfortably against the sensitive crevice between her long, shapely legs, while the shirt strained against her unbrassiered breasts. After a quick glance at her companions to ascertain that they were sound asleep, Vasilisa slipped her hand beneath the blanket and unfastened her jeans and blouse.
Loosening her clothing made the fair-haired young woman's voluptuous body feel more relaxed, but her mood remained as black as ever. Since she'd spent her entire life, save for two years at the University of Bilbao, in the remote mountains of Spain's Basque country, she knew perfectly well that this turbulent storm would turn even the paved roads into an impassible confusion of fallen boulders, landslides of mud, and rushing waterfalls. How could her husband, Pedro, possibly hope to navigate his heavy "cattle truck" up the narrow dirt back roads to pick up the weapons they'd collected?
Spending one day and one night on the company of these wretched students had been one thing, but the thought of sharing this tiny goat hut with them for much longer was appalling. The unwashed, drug-addicted youths not only displayed little or no dedication or understanding of the Movement, they also resented the fact that a woman even if she was the Movement's leader's wife was in charge of their weapons mission and was supposed to instruct them in proper methods and procedures. Consequently, they were next to useless in any practical sense, save from carrying the guns in which they were so fascinated.
like little brats playing war, Vasilisa thought contemptuously, glancing toward the three sleeping students again. By the light of the overhead lantern, she could make out their straggly beards and unkempt, shoulder-length hair. All they want to do is get stoned they don't give a serious thought to forming a Basque Republic. Guns are toys to them, and the Revolution is just like an American cowboy and Indian movie. Yet they still have the nerve to spout off rhetoric about the United States being a Capitalist enemy. They can't even try to understand the difference between Marxism and independence all they care about is having a chance to make bombs and throw stones at policemen. How could Pedro be so blind as to think I could possibly teach idiots like this anything at all about the Movement?
Vasilisa sighed, causing her large breasts to heave up against her rough-textured hand-woven blanket and sending her naked nipples into automatic tingling erection. Much as she adored her handsome husband, she had to admit that he, like most men, was a bit deficient when it came down to intuitive appraisal of character. The moment she'd met these three characters, she'd felt sure they were superficial dilettantes, immature amateurs who were not to be trusted despite their supposed status as university leaders. She'd tried to tell Pedro this, but as usual he'd resented anyone trying to give him advice.
Another sigh wracked the young Spanish woman's lushly ripened figure as her eyes focused again on the sleeping trio. Although she'd warned them of the dangers of smoking in the hay-filled loft, they'd blatantly ignored her and lit up their stinking hashish cigarettes. The combination of the powerful Turkish narcotic and strong country red wine had soon rocketed them into unconsciousness, and they now lay sprawled on top of the hay in their American Army Surplus jackets and overpriced genuine Stateside faded jeans.
Wouldn 't you just know they'd dress like that? Vasilisa scoffed to herself. And I bet some rich Papa in Barcelona or Madrid paid for those ridiculous clothes!
The fact that Pedro had been prepared to accept Movement members who weren't even true Basques had surprised his young blonde wife. Five years ago he'd never have done such a thing! Lately, though, he'd gotten so cynical and embittered that he cared more about quantity than quality, and was eager for violence-hungry members regardless of their motives. At first she'd tried to reason with him, reminding him of the high ideals they'd always shared, but her intervention seemed to do more harm than good and finally she'd learned to worry and pray in silence. After all, no matter what Pedro did or believed, he was her husband and she loved him more than anyone else on the earth.
Just thinking of her absent husband made Vasilisa's healthy young body tingle with desire for his passionate caresses. Despite her undone clothing, her melon-shaped breasts were tingling again, and an undeniable moisture was seeping onto the crotch band of her panties. Forcefully containing her impulse to slip her hand down between her quivering thighs and relieve the aching tension which was steadily building in her very sensual body, the fair-haired Spanish wife clenched her fingers together and held herself tense and rigid.
I'll be seeing Pedro in three days, she told herself. I'll do good work for him-put up with these lazy sham revolutionaries and try to teach them the Basque language and the customs of the loyal peasants. And I'll pray for the strength to resist weak self-indulgence...
Fingering her rosary between her lust-throbbing breasts, the voluptuous Spanish revolutionary fighter fell into a restless sleep.
* * *
Due to the howling wind and hard-pounding rain, Vasilisa hadn't heard the Muller twins' whispers and stumbling groping for firewood in the goat shed below the loft. Even the cry which Daisy let out just as the Spanish Movement fighter was dozing off went unheard.
"Oooohhhhh Randy!" the pretty brunette wailed. "It's a g-g-gun! What're we gonna do? Maybe it's a Mafia hideout and they're-"
"Don't be silly," Randy scoffed, but his voice lacked conviction. "That's in Italy, not Spain. This is probably old stuff, or something.. . "
Her brother turned toward the window, took careful note of the flickering lightning and booming thunder, and ascertained that it would be virtual suicide to venture out into such tempest. Not only were they thinly clad and without flashlights, they were also hopelessly lost.
"No, Sis," he said firmly. "We're better off here. Whoever put this stuff here sure isn't gonna come looking for it on a night like this, so we're lots better off where it's at least dry. C'mon, let's look for a place to build a fire again."
Swallowing her tears, Daisy did as Randolph had told her. For what seemed an eternity of horror, they investigated every nook and cranny of the small, very filthy hut, discovering several more piles of weapons in other locations. Every second the fearful brunette expected a band of villainous murderers to burst in through the door, and all the violent scenes she'd ever seen at the movies re-played in vivid detail in her mind.
Then, just as Randy had given up searching for a fireplace and was constructing a boy-scout fire in the middle of the shed, a high-pitched scream rose above the roar of the thunderstorm like a slashing sword. Daisy grabbed for her brother, her pointed fingernails digging like nails into his arm, and for a brief instant they stood frozen in terror.
In a moment, however, Randy regained his courage. "C'mon, let's see what that was," he whispered. "It sounds like some animal hurt in the storm."
"No, Randy, no!" his sister hissed, half hysterical with fear. "Let's get outta here! Pleeezzze!"
"We can't, Daisy," her twin said, sounding suddenly far more mature than his fifteen years. "Maybe it's a hurt animal.. . "
"Okay, R-Randy," she agreed. "You're right."
The scream rang out again, but though the young girl shuddered in fear, she followed her brother toward the ladder they'd discovered in search for firewood. Luckily their eyes were now well enough accustomed to the dark to enable them to climb without stumbling, and within minutes Randy was very cautiously pushing open the trap door at the top of the ladder.
Wide-eyed, paralyzed with shock, the innocent American teenagers stared at the incredible tableau which was clearly revealed in the lantern-lit loft. Neither of the naive youngsters had ever seen anything so lewd in their fifteen years, but both knew at once that they were witnessing the most forbidden of all unnatural acts RAPE!
" AAaiieeeee!" a half-naked young woman with a rather beautiful face and a flowing mane of honey-gold curls was shrieking. "Get your dirty hands off me, you pigs! Don't you dare touch me!"
"Listen to the bitch giving us orders again," the dark-haired youth with the fullest beard and thickest muscles sneered. "I think it's about time we taught this phony old-fashioned liberal a lesson, whaddya say, fellows?"
Naturally, the twins didn't understand a word of this conversation in colloquial Spanish, but no translator was necessary to comprehend the men's evil intentions as they began ripping away the woman's half-undone clothing. The most burly of the males pinned her down with one arm, his broad hand pressing against her naked, honey-colored breasts so hard that red welts appeared on the sensually full mounds. Daisy, standing just behind her brother and gripping his shoulder to keep from falling off the rather shaky ladder, felt her own young breasts tingle in involuntary sympathy for the desperately writhing blonde.
"Reeet on! Fucky! Fucky!" the smallest, darkest-complected of the men called out in English. His beady dark eyes glinted with an almost maniac light, and beads of perspiration stood out on his pimply forehead.
"Pedro will kill you! KILL YOU!" the brutally pinioned woman cried out as
Antonio, the heavy-set one, yanked her unbuttoned embroidered blouse from her arms and tossed it onto the straw beside them.
Randolph, who'd studied Spanish for two years in Junior High, understood the woman's anguished scream, but he was too obsessed by his own physical reaction to the salacious scene to wonder about who "Pedro" might be. To his intense self-hatred, his virile young penis was beating an undeniable tattoo against his jeans at the sight of the woman's magnificent breasts jouncing mere yards from his astonished eyes, and although his better half told him he ought to feel sympathy for this abused female, there was another deviate emotion blocking the way. Some wicked segment of his character was gloating because he knew he was about to witness the mysterious and fascinating act of FUCKING.
"And who gives a damn about Pedro?" slurred the third youth, Jose Angel, who was distinguishable from his fellow students by his lighter hair and green eyes. "He ain't here, and we are! And like Antonio says, we're gonna show you we don't like being bossed around by a goddamn woman!"
Daisy stifled a gasp of horror as Carlos, the acne-scarred youth, started tugging down the struggling blonde's jeans. Though she kicked frantically, he managed to pull the trousers away from her, leaving painful-looking red scratch marks on her fair-skinned thighs.
"Fucky! Fucky! Fucky!" the dark-skinned rapist babbled as his lust-frenzied hands with their hashish-blackened fingernails tore at the futilely resisting female's soft white panties.
"NO! NO! NO!" screamed Vasilisa as the treasured panties were roughly torn from her full-fleshed buttocks. She'd worn these favorite panties tonight because she'd expected that Pedro would show up in the early hours of the morning and that they would make love on the hillside in the first light of dawn. They had been his gift to her last year, on the sixth anniversary of their marriage, and were one of her most treasured possessions. To have them ripped to shreds by these drug-and-wine-demented animals was simply unbearable!
The three lust-crazed males paid no heed to their victim's frantic cries. For several weeks now, ever since they'd fallen in with Pedro at a demonstration in Barcelona, they'd dreamed of ravishing the fair-skinned Basque beauty whose attitude of conceited superiority was so insufferably irksome. Now, after waking from their drug-induced slumber and smoking another joint or two, they had no intention of relinquishing the most desirable female any of them had ever had a chance to touch.
"Pigs! Traitors!" Vasilisa wailed, her voice desperate as she realized her helplessness. "You'll be sorry! You'll pay for this!"
"Ya think so, baby?" the acne-blemished Carlos, who was panting with excitement as he yanked off the lovely Basque patriot's flimsy nylon-lace panties, yelled out. "What's the matter. Ya think you're too good for us?"
"Yeah!" the stout Antonio echoed, his large hands gripping Vasilisa's full breasts so fiercely that the helpless young wife winced in pain. "She thinks she's too good for anyone but that damn Pedro. Hell, we'll show her. We believe in free love, don't we, guys? And so will this damn bitch, once we're done with her!"
In fact, the three students were much more deeply affiliated with the so-called "Playboy Philosophy" than they were with any idea of Basque Independence. .Although they'd only seen two battered issued of the government-banned magazine, they were firmly convinced that the ideal existence was one where one had enough money for all the intoxicatingly attractive products advertised on PLAYBOY'S pages, plus enough gorgeous females to feed their omnivorous male egos. In their drugged brains, they managed to feel that they were being Hefner heros in their present uncivilized activity.
Now the sobbing, honey-blonde rebel was completely naked, her Junoesque body glowing like burnished bronze in the dim light of the overhead lamp. Even though she was held down squirming and struggling like a madwoman, the astonished twins were actuely aware of her rare beauty, her ultra-feminine sensuality.
like the majority of her Basque race, Vasilisa looked more Scandinavian than Spanish. Her figure was tall and proud as that of a Valkyrie maiden with magnificent breasts rising above the graceful indentation of her waist. Though there was not an ounce of superfluous flesh on her richly curving hips and milk-white ass-cheeks, they were as seductive as any pinup girl young Randolph Muller had ever seen, and her long, shapely legs were also the ultimate in female provocativeness. Best of all, as far as the inexperienced youth was concerned, was the golden "vee" of her pubic curls, beneath which he could catch tantalizing glimpses of pinkly glistening cuntal flesh as she kicked and thrashed out against her attackers.
Hiking in the steep mountains and conscientious adherence to a regime of daily exercises, simple food, and no alcohol had left the twenty-seven year old Spanish girl is top-notch physical condition, but even with this advantage over her drug-and-alcohol disoriented assailants, she was no match for their combined brute strength. Nevertheless, even when it was obvious that she was resisting in vain, the proud young married woman never ceased calling out insults and making every possible effort to squirm away from the three sets of hands which pawed at her naked figure as though picking at fruit in a market stall.
"Hold her feet, Carlos!" the heaviest of the males barked to his dark-haired companion, and the sadistic youth obeyed with obvious pleasure. "And you, Jose, grab the bitch's hands before she scratches my eyes out! Now I'll teach Pedro's precious wife what fucking's all about! Before I'm done with her, she'll be begging for more!"
"NEVER!" Vasilisa screamed out.
"That so, bitch?" sneered Antonio, and then his large, filthy-nailed hand shot out and struck her across the face so hard that she gasped in pain.
Daisy Muller winced as she saw the poor woman's cheek turn crimson, and then shivered in horror as the cruel male took hold of both her soft pink nipples and pinched them with all his might between his thumb and forefinger. Grinning like a devil, he shouted over his shoulder to Carlos, "Spread her legs, will ya! As wide as ya can!"
Oh no! Daisy thought in a daze of disbelief. No! They're not. . . Oh God, hell split her in two!
Then, as she watched the despicable Antonio yank down his jeans and kneel between the whimpering blonde's wide-splayed thighs with his massive penis brandished in one hand, she clutched her brother's arm so tightly that her fingernails dug like needles into his skin. She'd never seen a man's penis before now, and when she'd felt her boyfriend Billy's erection through his trousers, it hadn't seemed anywhere near as large as this man's mammoth, purple-red cudgel. He couldn't really intend to insert that thickly throbbing thing in the blonde's tiny vagina it would kill her for sure!
Even Randy was astonished at the size of the dark-skinned rapist's cock. He felt his sister's fingers gripping his arm and knew he ought to take her back down the ladder, for certainly this lewd sight was nothing for an innocent young girl to watch. Somehow, though, his traitorous feet simply refused to respond to the command of his conscience. He remained rooted to the spot, his eyes glued to the salacious spectacle taking place yards away in the hay loft.
Vasilisa was still murmuring, "no...no...no...." in a hopeless voice that trembled with despair, but she had given up her futile struggles against the drugged youths. Tears of shame and humiliation welled up in her large green eyes as she fought to hold back sobs of fear. She didn't want to give these cruel beasts the satisfaction of knowing how much they were hurting her, and she realized instinctively that they were sadistic enough to torture her even more if they knew what anguish she was experiencing. Clenching her eyes shut, she shuddered in disgust as she felt the burly Antonio's throbbing virility graze ominously against her helpless feminine flesh.
I hate them! she thought fiercely. They can use me in whatever horrible way they choose, but they'll never have the satisfaction of seeing me excited from their filthy cocks! And when I tell Pedro about this, they'll be sorry they ever dared violate a Basque Woman! He'll kill them for it!
Resolutely ignoring the shameful dampness welling up inside her automatically responsive cuntal channel, the prideful young revolutionist gritted her teeth and held her body as rigid as an iron rod. Her nostrils quivered in disgust at the disagreeable odor of the slovenly student rebel's skin, but then that minor irritant was erased from her mind as, with the triumphant cry of a conquering caveman, Antonio rammed his blood-swollen thickness halfway up into her tensed and cringing vagina.
"Aaannmnhhhhhhhh!" the impaled Spanish girl shrieked, forgetting in the agony of the moment that she'd vowed not to display her anguish. "Noooooooo! Plleeezzzeeee noooooo!"
She'd thought Pedro was large, though of course, as a good Catholic, she'd never been with another man and therefore had no standard of comparison. But this mercilessly burgeoning male weapon would surely split her in two! Never, even when she'd been kicked and beaten by the police during a demonstration in Barcelona, had she felt such excruciating pain!
Daisy was shuddering like a leaf in a gale by now as she gaped in open-mouthed horror at the inhuman plundering of the shrieking woman's lovely body. Oh God, what if it were she lying there under the brutal monster? It was too dreadful even to think about!
"Tightest little cunt I ever felt!" grunted out the sex-crazed Spanish youth. "Wait till you feel this, fellas!"
The other two young men grinned with lascivious envy as they watched their friend's oversized cock-shaft grinding slowly but surely all the way to the hilt inside the wailing woman's gold-fringed cunt. After all the times she'd treated them with contempt while flaunting her seductive curves as though they weren't even men. revenge was sweet. As soon as Antonio finished with her, they knew it would be their turn to vent their pent-up passion on her hapless body, and they gripped her ankles and wrists with vise-like force in hungry anticipation.
For a seemingly endless minute the burly Spaniard's turgid penis remained buried in the pain-wracked girl's tight-walled cuntal passage, his unwashed figure hunched over her like a mongrel over a bitch in heat. Then, ignoring her whimpers of unendurable anguish, he slowly and torturously withdrew the gleaming, thick-veined shaft and teased it against the puckering brown orifice of her virginal anus.
"Which hole, bitch?" he taunted, squeezing her full breasts so fiercely that red welts rose on their ivory-white flesh. "In the ass or the cunt? Anyway ya like it, I'm willing to oblige!"
Vasilisa's huge green eyes grew glassy with fear. "You pig!" she hissed through chattering teeth. "You perverted, filthy swine! Y-you "
Before the horrified blonde could finish spitting out her heartfelt invective, the two males holding down her arms and legs had exchanged a glance, removed one hand from their pinioned victim's limbs, and yanked down their zippers. Jose Angel's phallic weapon, shorter than Antonio's but thicker and throbbing in crazed carnal lust, swung menacingly above the wild-eyed woman's fear-contorted face. Simultaneously, the thin, acne-scarred Carlos leapt forward with his slender but obscenely elongated rod of purplish flesh thrusting from his loins like the trunk of a young sapling.
The fair-haired revolutionary let out a strangled gasp of terror at the sight of the two additional cocks, but her frantic cry went unheard as the panting Carlos wheezed out in a passion-distorted tone: "No fair, Antonio! You can't have everything for yourself! You ain't no better then us, and we're not lettin' you get away with that shit!"
The thickset Antonio paused with his inhumanly-sized penis all set to ram back down into Vasilisa's delightfully tight vagina, glanced from one of his companions to the other, then shrugged. A slack-lipped smirk distorted his coarse-featured face to a mask of uncivilized lust as he flipped Vasilisa's naked body over on top of him with such brute strength that the wind was knocked from her lungs and she could not even voice her protests.
"Sure, man," he nodded toward Carlos. "What the hell let's fuck her in both holes at the same time! That'll show her! and you, Jose why don'tcha ram your prick down her throat? That'll make her shut up, all right!"
The other two lost no time in complying with Antonio's obscene suggestion. Without even bothering to pull off their dirt-stained jeans, the two sex-mad student rebels lurched into position, Jose pressing his blood-bloated cock-head against the cringing circle of Vasilisa's never-before-violated rectum, while the sadistic Carlos moved forward so that his pulsating male thickness was scant inches away from her horror-contorted face. It was an impossibly lurid scene, and the watching Muller twins nearly fell off the ladder in their intense reaction to it.
Daisy, who'd never even suspected that such hideous practices existed, felt as though she were going to faint. She clutched harder than ever to her twin brother, unwittingly increasing his discomfort as she pressed her warm-fleshed young body against his side. Yet, regardless of her very real disgust and sympathy, the naive teenaged brunette could not escape the gnawing realization that an unwanted emotion was teasing at her sensitive young body. Much as she tried to ignore the damning evidence of the dampening stickiness down between her trembling legs, she was unable to do so.
Randy, beside her, was suffering from perhaps even stronger pangs of guilt and arousal. As he watched the three glistening male cocks fucking into the limply unresisting female, he felt his own uncontrollable adolescent penis jerk into an unbidden erection. It pulsated alarmingly against last-year's too-tight blue jeans, and he was very worried that his innocent twin would notice his sinful physical response.
Completely oblivious to the two American tourists peering through the slightly open trap door, the three drug-driven Spanish hoodlums relished their triple-ravishment of the formerly proud and aloof young woman. Their eyes glowed with vindictive excitement as they gaped at each others' blood-distended flesh cudgels pounding into each and every enterable orifice of her voluptuous body, and in their brutal self-indulgence they never gave a thought to her physical anguish and mental despair. The moment her agonized whimpers began to assume a quite unconscious note of obscene encouragement, however, they pricked up their ears.
"Noooo! Nooooo! Noooooo!" Vasilisa gurgled around one pummeling cock-shaft in a voice which carried absolutely no conviction. Even the innocent children spying on the scene could sense that she was being "turned on" by the inhuman three-man rape. "Noooooo...oooohhhhh...aaaahhhhhh...."
"Getta look at that, guys!" gloated the brutish Antonio, accelerating the tempo of his rampaging strokes in order to meet the rhythm of Carlos's viciously ramming penis in the girl's violated virginal anus. "Pedro's goody-goody little wife's nothin' but a hot-ass whore after all!"
Vasilisa's ears registered the lewd words, but they made no impression at all on her brain. Her mind, in an automatic attempt to protect her sanity, had turned completely blank save for the spasms of masochistic pleasure and pain issuing from her cock-stuffed mouth, burning anus, and cock-skewered vagina.
Needless to say, none of the five other person's involved in the lascivious display could have cared less why Vasilisa was unexpectedly mewling in lewd, husky excitation and undulating her perspiration-streaked torso between the two sandwiching males like an out-of-control automated doll. As for the three rapists, they had no room for any other thought than that their overburdened testicles were about to explode in relief-giving eruptions of thick hot cum. Randolph and Daisy Muller, fascinated in spite of their better natures, were blind to anything save their own indecent arousals.
The mindlessly impassioned Basque beauty was thrashing so wantonly now that her waist length golden mane was a sluttish tangle of matted, straw-studded waves. Her husband Pedro would never have recognized her face with its vacantly glazed eyes and cheeks bulging around the plunging cock of young Jose Angel, but by now Vasilisa's mind was cleared of all thoughts of marriage, of the Movement. All that mattered was the surging wave of oncoming orgasm that shuddered through her masochistically rejoicing loins, the forbidden ecstasy of being compelled to join in the most immoral acts possible perversions of which she'd subconsciously wondered, but had never, never expected to experience.
"Oh Christ!" groaned Jose as the wildly aroused blonde sucked his thickly throbbing cock as far into her velvet-soft mouth as she was able. "I'm gonna cum!"
The brown-haired Barcelona student had never performed oral sex before tonight, nice Spanish girls not being willing to indulge in such activities. He'd read about fellatio in his beloved PLAYBOY magazine and had been dreaming about it ever since, so it was no wonder that his orgasm arrived with lightning speed now that he found his most delirious daydreams being fulfilled.
"Fucky! Fucky! Fucky!" grunted Carlos in his cold, cruel voice as he pounded into the mindlessly mewling female's butter-smooth anus. The drug-dazed youth could feel his lengthy hardness rubbing repeatedly against his friend Antonio's huge penis, with only a thin membrane of feminine flesh separating their invading cudgels, and he gloried in the debasement of the once-proud Basque woman, although he, too, sensed his pent-up cum boiling wildly in his bloated balls, he gritted his teeth and vowed to hold back his climax as long as possible in order to inflict as much punishment on Vasilisa as he could. Hell, who knew when he'd get another chance like this one? Probably never, because most girls wouldn't even so much as look at him on account of his pimply complexion and skinny build.
"Ya goddamn bitch!" he growled, venting his fury against the bad hand the world had dealt him, on the helplessly inflamed female. "Fucky! Fucky! Ya dirty slut!"
Suddenly, despite Carlos' ill-motivated efforts at self-control, he felt the first white-hot streams of semen surging from his blood-engorged balls up the long shaft of his rampaging penis. The fiery jets of fluid splashed deep down inside the sex-stunned young woman's unnaturally violated anal passage, searing her sensitive inner tissues with its viscous flow of heated male fluid, and for one unwelcome moment she came to her senses and recognized the debauched reality of her situation.
"Noooooo! It can't be true!" her mind screamed in an agony of self-loathing. "Oh, God, nooooooooo!"
Antonio, his own impatient penis ignited by the sensation of his companion's swiftly spurting sperm, let out a primitive shout as his own cum welled up in his lust-glutted testicles and spewed in an unrelenting stream of liquid fire all the way to the piteously sobbing woman's womb.
"AARRRGGHHHHH!" he howled, and Randy Muller, mere yards away, was reminded of the movie about wild wolves which he'd seen in Survival Course. "UUUURRNNNNGGG!"
As Vasilisa had regained her senses, she tried desperately to pull her wide-stretched lips away from the thick shaft of illicit male flesh plunging in and out of her ballooning cheeks. She felt the two shameful streams of life-giving seed gushing up into her ravaged cuntal and rectal passages, and panicked at the depraved thought that the cock ramming so ruthlessly into her bruised and aching mouth would explode its hot load of cum right down her virgin throat.
"Oh no you don't!" Jose grunted angrily as the blonde attempted to jerk her face away from his lust-swollen penis. "Get back here, ya bitch, 'cause I'm just ready to shoot my cum down your gullet, an' I wanna see ya gulp it down!"
Rough hands tangled in the helpless young revolutionary's golden curls, pushing her face so close to the hotly aroused student's groin that hairs tickled at her nostrils and his conquering cock plunged so deep into her mouth that she thought she would gag. Then, even as the twin jets of scalding sperm continued to splash into her violated anus and vagina, a third ejaculation of sticky, acrid-tasting cum gushed into the ravished young woman's mouth.
Vasilisa gave up. Once again, she lapsed back into the semi-conscious state of mindless, animal reaction and let her highly sensuous body rocket her into an unwanted but uncontrollable orgasm. The triple stimulation, plus the masochistic thrill of behaving in the most depraved way possible, was too much for even the proud young revolutionary to resist, and soon her high-pitched wails of ecstatic release were mingling with the three males' groans and yelps of satisfaction to form an obscene chorus of sensual abandon.
"AAAgggghhh," she gurgled around the turgid thickness impaled between her lips. "Yyeeeaaahhhhh! I'm cummmmiinnngg!"
Daisy and Randy Muller, if they'd had their wits about them, ought to have backed quietly down the ladder while the wantonly entangled quartet in the loft still moaned and thrashed in the throes of their climatic euphoria. Both twins, however, were too caught up in the sinful display of wild, unfettered sensuality to think of anything save their own shamefully responding bodies. Mesmerized, they watched the salacious spectacle with their hearts thudding against their ribs and their eyes bugging from their sockets, never removing their gaze from the spasming blonde woman's triply impaled loins.
At last, the four orgiasts fell away from each other, their spent and satiated bodies sprawling in the hay as they struggled to catch their breath. In the sudden silence, the eavesdropping teenagers' trance-like fascination was blotted out by fear, and they scarcely dared to breathe for fear they would be overheard. The evil spell of lascivious carnality faded, leaving them chastened and afraid as they peered at each other in the darkness.
How could I ever have let myself watch such an evil thing? Daisy agonized in silent shame. Her wide brown eyes roved once more over the defiled blonde's curvaceous figure, and she shuddered in disgust at the sight of the thin tendrils of drying semen which had trickled onto her perfectly molded thighs and the trembling white half-moons of her buttocks. Even her lovely face and tawny mane of silky dark gold hair were streaked and smeared with the vile secretions of her loathsome attackers, and her melon-like breasts were scratched and bruised.
A wave of nausea passed over the innocent fifteen year-old as for the first time in her sheltered life the cold wind of reality blew through her brain. Life was not, after all, an ordered and understandable affair with clear-cut rules which, if one adhered to them, would assure one's happiness and well-being. No...there were strange and incomprehensible forces at work in the universe...and there were amoral individuals such as these three dreadful Spaniards who made their own rules and imposed their bestial desires on innocent fellow humans...
One last time, Daisy focused her blurring vision on the sloppily sprawled foursome. The men's horrible...things...had deflated to a quarter of their former dimensions, but nevertheless a second rush of sickness surged over the pretty adolescent. It suddenly occurred to her that Daddy's and brother Randy's...things...must look like that, and that even Billy Buford's...thing...which had swelled so mysteriously beneath her gingerly caressing fingers that night in the vacant lot, was a potential weapon capable of inflicting terror and pain. Until now, she'd thought of sex as something exciting, but rather unreal. She'd never let any of her boyfriends go too far, for she was shrewd enough to deduce that the sort of girls who did that never became Class Colors Chairman or were admitted to the College of Their Choice. Instead, they got married in a quick ceremony across the state border no sumptuous weddings with white lace gowns and receptions at the country club for them.
How, however, the trembling Muller girl dimly realized that some strange and compelling force, far more powerful than the dictates of middle-class morality, existed in the human soul. She didn't understand the disconcerting emotions surging inside her didn't even think she wanted to understand them. All at once, she only wanted to get away from this scene of carnal brutality.
Letting go of her brother's arm, she began to back carefully down the rickety ladder. Unfortunately, her legs felt as though her bones were made of foam rubber, and on the second rung down her knees gave out and she tumbled down to the dirt floor of the hut with a shrill cry of fear.
Daisy's head struck the edge of a wooden orange crate filled with ammunition and the world went black before her eyes. She never saw her brother rush down the steps toward her inert figure, never saw the powerful flashlights focusing on them as the three Spanish men hurtled down the ladder with their pants still unzipped. Not until she regained consciousness twenty minutes or so later and found her hands bound behind her back with a leather belt and a shotgun aimed at her head did she realize what a serious predicament she and her twin brother had unwittingly gotten themselves into.
"Sissy's wakin' up!" the thin, acne-scarred one called Carlos, smirked. "Now the fun begins!"
CHAPTER FIVE
Randolph's first reaction, on seeing his twin sister open her eyes at last, was one of relief that she was at last coming out of her trance. Then, as the sadistic Carlos's words echoed in his ears, an icy wave of fear once again flooded through his veins.
"D-Daisy!" he cried, his voice trembling with intensity. "Are you okay?"
The pretty teenager shook her chestnut curls dazedly, not sure whether or not she was still dreaming. Her half-open brown eyes flickered from the ominously glinting steel weapon to her brother's bruised and bloodied face, and she managed a very shaky smile.
"I-I'm okay, I guess," she murmured. Then, as a sudden shooting pain raced from her ankle up through every nerve ending in her manacled body, she added, "B-but I think I hurt m-my ankle a little.... "
"Shut up, kid!" barked Antonio, who stood holding a gun at the young boy. His English was deplorable to the point of being comical he had learned it from American films, mostly Westerns but neither of the twins felt like laughing as they fell silent and stared at each other in hopeless despair.
"Now maybe Sissy here'll tell us the truth," hissed the beady-eyed Carlos. He spoke the best English of the three, having spent six months as an American Field Service exchange student in Phillipsburg, New Jersey, in the days when he'd been a dutiful son and conscientious student the days before he'd discovered marijuana and fallen in with a wild, revolutionary crowd. "Maybe she'll cooperate better than her brother, if she don't want a bloody nose like he got! Or worse...."
"Don't you dare touch my sister!" Randy burst out, "Don't you d-"
His impetuous outburst was quickly and effectively stilled by a rather vicious blow on the mouth from the burly Antonio.
"Shut up, kid!" the ruthless rebel commanded, delighting in his sense of power. "Up against the wall!"
Again, no one appreciated the humorous aspect of Antonio's English-speaking talents. Daisy was blinking back hot tears as she watched a thin trickle of blood thread its way from her twin brother's trembling mouth down over his chin, and Randy himself was wallowing in acute pangs of pain as he nudged his tongue against his aching front teeth.
"C'mon, girlie!" sneered the sadistic Carlos, his snake-like black eyes glittering evilly as he swiped out one dirty hand to tweak the tiny protuberance of Daisy's left nipple through her clothes. "Tell us what you're doin' here! Who're ya workin' for, huh?"
The tears began to fall in earnest from the Muller girl's large brown eyes as she felt the disrespectful pinch on her private, personal feminine flesh.
"D-d-don't touch m-me th-there," she stuttered, trying desperately to regain control of her emotions.
"Listen, girlie," Carlos threatened, twisting her other nipple harshly between his thumb and forefinger. "If ya don't tell us what your goddamn story is, I'll touch ya wherever I please...."
A violent shudder of fear surged through the innocent American tourist's youthful loins at the cruel Spanish man's taunt, and she glanced at her twin in confusion. What should she do? What could she say? Apparently Randy, whom she considered as being far more clever than herself, although in fact their I.Q.'s were only three points apart, had thought it advisable to remain silent. But...but...oh, God, she was so afraid of what these inhuman monsters might do to her.
What if they did the same things to me that we saw them do to that poor blonde lady up in the hayloft? Daisy asked herself in silent terror. I couldn't bear it! I'd die, I'm sure I would! And if Randy tried to stop them, they might shoot him or something!
As though Carlos was reading his quivering hostage's thoughts, he remarked, "You see what we done to Vasilisa, yes? And to you maybe we do the same, if you no cooperate!"
This can't be happening! Daisy's tortured mind wailed. What had happened to the tidy, cozy world of Schenectady with its graduation dances and going-steady rings and civilized, elm-lined streets? That was where she and Randy belonged, not here in this dirty, rank-smelling hut with three gun-wielding madmen. Guns! They were something one saw on the television! They didn't really exist!
But, unfortunately for the Muller twins, guns and outlaws and tumultuous mountain storms were all too real. Even as the terrified brunette's thoughts turned back to her faraway hometown, she felt the chilling butt of a pistol pressing directly against the cleavage between her budding adolescent breasts.
"Talk, bitch!" ordered Carlos, and his friends nodded in approval of his savage tactics. The underdeveloped, unattractive student was, they perceived, not at all incompetent despite his blemished skin and thin-muscled limbs. Satanic glints sparkled in the dark eyes of both Jose Angel and Antonio as they watched their companion run one dirt-encrusted finger down over the girl's tight-fitting T-shirt until it teased at the zipper of her denim jeans.
'Talk, talk!" Carlos repeated, his ego swelling as he realized that his compatriots were admiring his vehemence. "Who is it you work for, girlie? You tell Carlos, or down come your pants!"
By now, Daisy was shaking like a frail flower in a gale. Dizzily, she ascertained that Randy hadn't wanted to tell these loathsome men about their parents, so she tried to go along with his story.
"W-w-we were j-just-" she stammered, her teeth chattering so much that she could barely speak, "J-just-"
"Spit it out, girlie!" spat her cold-blooded captor, tickling the gun against sensitive flesh between her ripe-apple-sized breasts as he continued to finger the zipper fastening of her trousers. "We are in a hurry, yes!"
"J-just v-visiting the m-monastery on top of the m-mountain," Daisy blurted out, her eyes narrowing in fear and her normally rosy complexion blanched the color of flour. "And it began to rain, so w-we came in here. We-we didn't s-see anything, really! Pl-please, pleeeezzzzeeee let us leave."
"No, we won't say anything!" Randy chimed in, bravely ignoring the gun pointed at his throat. "We didn't see nothing, okay?"
"Shut up, kid!" Antonio cried.
Randy fell silent as the ice-cold pistol pressed against his Adam's apple, but his eyes sought his sister's and sent her silent encouragement. That horrible, greasy Spanish guy's hand still lingered over his innocent twin sister's pussy mound, but though he burned with unutterable fury, he was helpless to act with a gun pressed to his jugular vein.
"You think we believe lies like that?" Carlos's thin lips curled up over his teeth as he spoke. "Babies like you, you are just hiking through the mountains, yes? All alone? Hah! Now you tell me, little bitch where are the others? Who sent you here?"
The Muller girl's entire body froze in terror as the leering Spaniard's hand slid the zipper of her hip-hugger jeans down a couple of inches.
"No one sent us here!" she wailed, half hysterical as she gazed at her undone trousers and remembered the brutal three-way rape she and her brother had just witnessed. "M-Mom's guidebook said there was a castle, and then it started r-raining-"
"Mom, huh?" Carlos interrupted. "And Daddy, also, I guess, no?" He paused for a second, his viperous eyes glinting with a shrewd, speculative light. "And where are they, girlie? WHERE!? " His hand inched the helpless teenager's jeans down far enough so that he was gazing in hungry desire at her dainty pink-flowered panties.
"D-down in the v-v-valley," stammered Daisy, her cheeks turning crimson as she realized that the three males were all staring with avid interest at her private undergarment. The hand sliding toward her never-before-touched pussy was, she noted distractedly, creased with dirt and topped with filthy, ragged fingernails.
"Down in the valley!" Carlos repeated sarcastically. "What sort of answer do you give me? This is a mountain, no? And there are valleys on all sides. Where, you leetle bitch? Where?"
Randy, crouching in tied-down impotence mere yards from his disrespectfully pawed twin sister, turned white as the skinny, evil-eyed Spaniard jerked his sister's bell-bottom denim pants down so far that they bunched around her thighs and the softly rounded plane of her rosebud-patterned panty crotch band. I have to do something to protect her! he told himself, ignoring the nagging voice that sang out from the back of his brain: "Maybe, just maybe, I'll see Daisy naked again tonight.. . "
Over and above his sense of responsibility toward his twin sister, Randolph Muller was, despite the incongruity of his present dangerous surroundings, unable to stem the guilty memory of the first time he'd seen his fifteen year-old sister without any clothes on. In fact, she looked quite the same naked as in her just-barely-decent bikini; it was the things she was doing to her ripe young body that had affixed the memory in his brain for, he felt certain, the rest of his life.
It had been the night of the Graduation Dance. Randy, whose date had refused to so much as kiss him good-night and had hurt his pride very badly by remarking, "Well, Muller, you're a cute guy, but you're awful prissy. I mean, I never make it with guys who ask me for a kiss I like them when they just go ahead and do it, y'know!? "
Well, now, two weeks later, at another time and in another country, Randy wasn't giving much thought to his bottle-blonde ex-girl friend. He was, however, suffering from vivid recollections of how, as he'd lain smarting with indignation and sexual frustration in his bedroom, he'd seen the night light flick on in his sister's bedroom beyond the adjoining bathroom and had felt simultaneously angry and envious as he heard her singing the current Top-of-the-Pops song under her breath while she washed her face and changed into her nightie.
Randy had sat up slowly, guiltily. Of course he wasn't spying...he hadn't left the bathroom door open intentionally...and who could blame him for being distracted by the ray of bright golden light which shimmered past the half-ajar door? Of course he could have shut the door, or closed his eyes...but, well, what the hell, he had looked and the sight he had seen had haunted him ever since.
Daisy, after carefully removing her pink tulle evening gown, had stood in front of her floor-length mirror and stared at her youthfully voluptuous figure. Her slender white fingers, which had, mere hours before, presented the class gift at the graduation ceremonies, now brushed over her lace brassiere and then over her matching lace bikini panties. As Randy watched, his heart thudding in his throat, she'd lowered the tiny panties down over her gently swelling thighs and had eased a hesitant finger toward the moistly glistening pink flanges of her curl-fringed vaginal lips.
He was ashamed to remember what he'd done next, but it had happened and there was no use denying it. Stealthily, silently, he'd crept toward the inch-wide crack in the bathroom door and had watched just as they had watched tonight the obscenely intimate sight of his twin sister fingering herself into a state of sexual near-climax.
Just as he'd been sure she was about to explode inwardly, for she was bent over and moaning in an inhuman, unintelligible way, the telephone had rung. She'd jumped guiltily, as he had, and had rushed toward the pastel blue Princess phone on her bedside table. Then, after a hasty whispered conversation, she'd switched off the light so that her frustrated brother could hear her stirring restlessly beneath the bedclothes, but could not see what she was doing.
But now, the fantasizing teenager's erotic reverie was interrupted by a loud burst of sobs from his twin sister. With her usually immaculate clothes stained and rumpled, her dark hair hanging in tangles around her shoulders, and her face red and vulnerable from weeping, Daisy no longer looked like the fine young lady she normally did. Rather, she looked like quite a little girl who felt ill at ease in her incongruously developed woman's body, and Randy felt more ashamed than ever for his perverted daydream.
"Leave me alone! LEAVE ME ALONE!" Daisy wailed in a burst of hysteria. "We didn't do anything to you how come you're treating us like this?! And I DON'T KNOW where Mom and Daddy are. We're lost! LOST! Don't you understand that?! "
Even the malevolent Carlos was a bit taken aback by the vehemence of the young girl's reaction. With a contemptuous flick of his dirt-encrusted fingers, he yanked her jeans back up to her waist, but he neither zipped them up nor removed the pistol butt from between the straining, heaving mounds of her ripe young breasts. She'd spoken so quickly and tearfully that he really hadn't understood any of her words besides "lost" and "leave me alone", but as he glowered at her childish face and listened to her shrill, little-girl voice, a ghost of a plan began to formulate inside his quick, devious brain.
The kid must be a virgin! She was too young not to be, of that he felt certain. He, Carlos, had never been with a fresh, unused female the concept of pre-marital sex still being most unacceptable in Spain and here was the chance of his lifetime. But how was he going to get at her before his two bigger friends did? True, they were treating him with a new respect at the moment, but he was all too aware that it was an appreciation of his intellectual and verbal abilities which did not extend into the physical sphere. Especially Antonio would never sit by and watch another man crack the cherry of a wonderful prize like this shapely American teenager.
"You shut the mouth or I shut it for you!" he threatened Daisy, who made an effort to stifle her sobs. Then Carlos' beady, snake-like eyes turned toward his compatriots. "I got an idea," he said in Spanish. "I think we can make ourselves some money here. We'll have another pipe of hashish and talk it over...."
* * *
The three not-very-dedicated "revolutionaries" sat talking and smoking far into the night, their speech growing progressively more slurred and perfunctory as they refilled the pipe again and again. At first, Randolph attempted to comprehend what they were saying, but soon the air in the unventilated hut grew so thick with sense-numbing smoke that his head began to swim and his eyelids to feel as heavy as though they had been weighted with lead. He didn't really recognize that he was stoned, for un-like many of the kids at school he'd never experimented with narcotics. The coach had given the team a stern lecture on the subject, and even though lots of guys made fun of him, he cared more about the prestige he gained from his swimming and basketball skills than he did about drugs.
Kidnap! he thought hazily as his eyes drifted shut. They're gonna kidnap us. . . He was surprised to find that he felt no panic upon overhearing this shocking information, and that he could sleep at a moment of such intense danger, but even as the thought crossed his mind he was falling into a deep, drugged sleep.
Daisy, who had smoked grass several times, realized that this substance was something quite different from the stuff she and her girlfriends had had. That grass had made them feel giggly, unreserved, and very hungry; but this acrid-smelling smoke was entirely different, and so powerful that even though she'd not inhaled it directly, she was nauseated and confused. Although it frightened her, she was simultaneously relieved to escape from the nightmarish hell in which she found herself, if only for a few hours.
The children were still sleeping when the gray light of dawn crept in through the hut's single window, and the three drugged students continued to snore. In the loft above, however, Vasilisa awoke with the first rays of the sun, as usual. For a brief instant she felt pleasure at the sight of the orange ball of the sun rising up between two nearby mountains into a perfectly cloudless sky, but then the previous night's events returned in a horrifying rush. Shuddering, she ran one trembling hand down over her cum-matted pussy and sperm-stained thighs and recalled every hideous detail of her humiliating triple rape. Well, today, if the sun stayed bright and dried up the hills, Pedro would arrive with the truck and punish the dissolute sham Movement members. Revenge would be sweet. . .
As she lay in the sweet-smelling hay of the loft watching the sun's ascension into the clear blue heavens, Vasilisa suddenly remembered what had taken place after her heinous assailants had finished with her helplessly violated body. There had been someone down in the bottom room of the goat hut! The three males had tumbled down the ladder, and though she now recognized with a pang of guilt that she should have accompanied them, her natural reaction had been to fasten the loft's trap door behind them so that they could not bother her again. Then, sobbing silently, she'd fallen into a deep, nightmare-wracked slumber.
Who could have been down there? she asked herself as she stood up and plucked her discarded clothing from the hay. Some shepherd lost in the storm, maybe. . .I hope nothing worse. And I hope Pedro won't be angry with me for not going down those three louts can't handle anything without botching it up but I just couldn't.
The hayloft had a separate exit leading onto the hillside behind the hut, so Vasilisa did not have to climb down and confront the others just yet. After washing her ravished loins carefully in a nearby stream, she cautiously stepped back toward the wooden shed and peered in the window at the bottom part of the building.
The three unprincipled students lay sprawled on the dirt floor, the skinny sadist Carlos's hand still gripping his rifle even while he slumbered. Beside them, as she might have guessed lay their horrid pipe and little leather bag filled with illegal narcotics. But what she had certainly not anticipated, would never have guessed in a hundred years, was that two foreign children lay nearby with their hands and feet sloppily bound with ropes and frayed leather belts.
"Oh, my God!" Vasilisa murmured in shocked astonishment, her white fingers automatically reaching to finger the rosary which always hung between her splendid breasts. "What can this mean?"
The intelligent Basque revolutionary quickly but carefully scanned the scene: the children appeared to be Americans, judging by their clothing; the girl, whose left shoe was removed, sported a very swollen ankle which looked broken, or at least sprained. Both innocent-looking youngsters were fully clothed, so hopefully the wretched characters who'd tied them up had gotten too stoned to assault them sexually as they had herself earlier in the evening.
"Oh, God!" the blonde woman whispered again. "What shall I do about this?"
It was a difficult, delicate situation. However much she sympathized with the young people, who'd doubtless been harassed and brutalized by those horrible students, her first duty was to the Movement. These kids had seen the cache of weapons...they had heard God knows what from those drunken, drug-dulled morons...and if they were to tell anyone what they had seen and heard, it might spell the ruination of important plans and policies. Pedro would never forgive her for letting that happen...
As Vasilisa stood in the still-weak warmth of the early morning sun and peered in through the dirty window, her gaze locked with that of the newly-awakened Carlos. He flashed her a leering wink, then ran his hand meaningfully over the growing bulge between his skinny legs. Shuddering, Vasilisa turned away and wished with all her soul that Pedro were here. But he wasn't, and wouldn't be for hours and hours, and in the meantime she had to do something about those children...
Not wanting to face the three disgusting youths just yet, the voluptuous blonde busied herself with all the chores she could think of. First she washed all the sperm, hashish, and sweat fouled blankets and hung them on bushes to dry; then, wandering some distance from the hut, she collected a variety of wild herbs, berries, and birds' eggs, plus an armful of the deep pink flowers called Valerians. Her grandmother had taught her to make a strong, sleep-inducing infusion from the roots of this plant, and in the event that her boyfriend, Pedro, did not arrive by tonight, this might prove most useful.
As she returned to the hut, she caught sight of Antonio and Jose Angel making their way down the path toward the valley below. Both were heavily armed with guns and knives, and the raucous sound of their laughter told her that either they were still high from the previous night, or had partaken of illegal narcotics in place of breakfast.
It's a good thing I gathered this stuff, she told herself. None of those oaffish louts would be intelligent enough to think of feeding those poor kids, or dressing the girl's ankle.
The door's rusty hinges creaked as Vasilisa pushed it open, and Carlos looked up from the wine bottle he was opening with an annoyingly swaggering grin. Obviously, he was already high; the inevitable hashish was scattered on the floor in front of him, and another wine bottle, this one empty, stood beside the narcotics.
Her cheeks turning pink as she remembered that this despicable character had actually plunged his long cock up inside the still-aching passage of her rectum, Vasilisa averted her eyes from his leering face. Instead, she turned toward the two bound youngsters, who stared at the ground in embarrassment.
Oh, no! the blushing Spanish woman thought in acute dismay. These innocent youngsters saw the horrible things that I did last night!
Still without looking at the despised Carlos, she spoke to him in Spanish in the coldest, most hostile tone she could muster.
"What's the meaning of this?" she demanded. "Are you great heroes capturing little children now? How useful for the
Cause!"
Carlos was feeling so euphoric from having rid himself of all competition for the virginal American girl not to mention the wine and dope that he didn't take offense at the older woman's sarcastic tone. He rose the bottle to his lips and took a long swallow before deeming it necessary to reply to her question, all the time feasting his greedy eyes on the timidly cowering teenager in the corner.
"They are enemies spies!" he declared at last in what he'd intended to be a pompous, authoritative tone. He'd subjugated this conceited bitch to a sample of his brute male superiority last night, and he wasn't prepared to take any bullshit from her again. Unfortunately, the impressive effect of his words was marred by a loud hiccup.
'These little kids? Spies?" scoffed Vasilisa, smiling at them despite her shame at knowing that they'd seen her in the most obscene, compromising position possible.
"If I say they are spies, they're spies!" Carlos' voice grew aggressive. He hiccupped again, then took another long gulp of red wine to cure the condition. "I have told Jose and Antonio to find their parents and demand a ransom."
"So they aren't really spies after all!" the fair-haired young woman accused. "You stupid fool! How dare you initiate a kidnapping without so much as consulting Pedro? You idiotic schoolboy!"
"Shut up!" the skinny, acne-scarred youth shouted, waving the wine bottle angrily in the air. "This hasn't got a goddamn thing to do with any fucking "Movement", bitch! You can stuff your bullshit "Movement" up that fine ass of yours...just like I stuffed my big prick last night, remember?! "
Flinching, Vasilisa shut her lush lips in a tightly compressed line of anger and moved with dignity toward the far corner of the hut, where there was a sort of primitive cooking stove. She began boiling water to cook the birds' eggs and make herbal tea, smiling at the youngsters in what she hoped was a reassuring way. Then, without speaking to them, she handed them the food and drink and began applying herbal ointment to the pretty young girl's badly swollen ankle.
In fact, though the lovely Basque nationalist acted with calm self-assurance, she was feeling panic welling up inside her. Before now, she'd detested the three unwashed students because they were not only stupid, but were involved in revolution for "kicks" rather than for genuine moralistic motives. Now, she realized that they were nothing but petty criminals who, once their loyalty had totally evaporated as it appeared to have done, would stop at nothing to gain their own selfish, sinful means.
I must keep cool-headed, she told herself firmly as she bandaged the wincing girl's foot with cane leaves. I must stay in control of the situation until Pedro arrives and not let these dogs do anything that'll hurt the Cause.
Feminine instinct told her that keeping busy was the best way to remain brave and composed, so the intelligent young blonde began preparing an extra-strong infusion of the Valerian roots. Also, despite her intense hatred of the sadistic Carlos, she determined to pretend to be, if not friendly, at least compliant and submissive.
"And where are these parents?" she asked as she strained the tea and added several handfuls of other powerful herbs. She quite correctly ascertained that the young rebel, who was opening a third bottle of wine, was paying absolutely no attention to her labors.
"Huh? Oh, down there," the half-drunk student waved his hand vacantly. "Rich capitalist pigs!" he added in an alcohol-slurred voice.
It was apparent to Vasilisa that the young American boy understood at least some Spanish, for his ears pricked up and his attractive countenance strained in an attentive effort as she spoke to Carlos. Accordingly, she tried to speak slowly and clearly so that she could gauge the level of his understanding by his subsequent reactions.
"And you think all Americans are rich?" she queried, adding the final touches to the potent tea and leaving it to steep and grow still stronger. "Perhaps these are merely young hippies with no more money than anyone else maybe less."
"Naw!" slurred the intoxicated Carlos. "All Americans are rich! I have been in their stinking country, and they all drive two cars and have swimming pools in their backyards. And they eat steak, not fish soup and rice like poor people." A loud burp interrupted his tirade, and the long-haired youth took a large gulp of wine before continuing. "And I," he stated proudly, sticking out his skinny chest like a bantam cock, "I shall fuck this little virgin, and then take her Daddy's money and buy ten kilos of hashish. I'll sell it to American tourists and get rich, and then I too can live good like the Capitalist pigs!"
Vasilisa refrained from commenting on this plan, disgusted as she was. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that the young boy had not understood any of Carlos' slurred, slangy speech, and also that he was trying to work the knotted leather bonds from his wrists.
I'm not going to let him touch that little girl! the Spanish woman vowed. And I'm going to do everything I can to help those poor children.
"More wine, Carlos?" She asked craftily as she opened another bottle of inexpensive but very potent liquid. As she'd expected, he grunted in assent.
A lot of wine, and then some of the tea that'll put him to sleep, she thought. But, well, what ll I do even if the beast does pass out? The girl can't walk on that foot, so we'll have to wait till Pedro comes with the truck. And...and what if Pedro doesn't want to help them...?
Never before in her twenty-seven years had Vasilisa seriously considered going against a man's will and striking out entirely on her own. Though she was better educated than the majority of her countrywomen, she nevertheless was a good Catholic who'd been raised in an ultra-conservative Basque household in a small, tradition-oriented village. The mere fact that she'd elected to attend the
University of Bilbao had been rather suspect, and the idea of "women's liberation" still played no more part in her consciousness than it did in the minds of her old-fashioned parents and their neighbors.
Suddenly, however, she found herself thinking in a way she'd never considered before. Even if Pedro won't help, she decided, knowing in her heart that he had grown so cynical and cold that he might not, I'm going to do something. I won't let this innocent child suffer the way I was forced to last night at the hands of these dogs. If I did a thing like that I'd be as evil as they are...and I don't care what Pedro thinks. I don't care! I have my own soul to consider above all else, don't I?
"Would you like some more tea?" she asked the youngsters in careful, schoolroom English after pouring a brimming glass of wine for the disgusting Carlos. "It is made from the herbs of the mountains very good for the health and for the spirits."
Their faces brightened at the sound of their own tongue, and they smiled timidly at the beautiful blonde as she refilled their rustic tin mugs with warm liquid. Without a word being spoken, a tacit complicity had somehow been established.
CHAPTER SIX
As the kindhearted Spanish woman was pouring tea for the Muller twins, their mother, still blissfully unaware of the fact that her offspring had been kidnapped by unscrupulous nihilists, was wandering through the dew and rain-drenched meadows not very far from the goat shed, rhapsodizing over the wealth of wild flowers and strange and exotic herbs.
By some odd coincidence, her thoughts were turned in much the same direction as the golden-haired Basque rebel's.
"How marvelous it is here," she murmured to herself as she gathered purple-flowered rosemary, fragrant thyme, and a rainbow-hued bouquet of sweet-scented mountain blossoms. "Far away from the awful crowds...far away from dull old Schenectady..., "
Helene, quite like Vasilisa whom she'd not yet met, had been raised in a very proper, puritanical home where one's behavioral patterns were strictly defined. Men could "sow their wild oats", but girls, although expected to be popular and flirtatious, were firmly instructed to preserve their precious virginity if they wanted to "make a good match". The females of her particular upper-middle-class background were, in addition, raised to regard their obligations to husband and family as all-important.
Thus, Helene had discontinued her own college studies at the age of nineteen without a single rebellious whimper and had gone to work as a typist in the college admissions department to help hubby through school. And when the twins had made their rather untimely appearance, she'd accepted without complaint her role of diaperer, cook, dishwasher, and chambermaid.
It wasn't so bad back in those days, Helene reflected rather moodily as she plucked a huge bunch of fragrant wild daisies. At least I had the feeling that I was working for something. I always thought Elwood was so much more clever than me, that he was headed for really wonderful things, so I didn't mind washing out his smelly socks and cooking up imaginative casseroles. But. . . but. . . now? Well, what's in it for me?
The slender, youthful-looking thirty-three year-old wife straightened her back and glanced up at the glorious panorama of mountains and rosy-tinged sunrise. What now, indeed? she asked herself again, clutching her herbs and wild flowers to her girlishly high-set breasts as she gazed at the rising sun. The kids don't really need me anymore they're more a part of the suburb than they are of me, and they care a lot more about their friends and teachers than they do about their parents. And as for Elwood...well, he doesn't really love me anymore, and I'm sick to death of being a showcase wife who arrives at dreadful company parties in obviously expensive dresses and has to make small talk to dull, pot-bellied idiots who keep peering down the bodice of my "nice little black dresses". I hate cocktail parties, and I hate martinis, and I despise all Elwood's dreadful friends...
And last, but definitely not least, were the lonely nights in her twin bed, or-worst, almost the sexual disappointments like the one last night. Helene was still a young woman, pretty and vivacious and filled with enthusiasm for life. What was the point of being married to a man who acted as though he were eighty years old and appeared to care about nothing save his damn stock market reports, his silly advertising campaigns for the "Company", and his before-dinner cocktails?
So gloomily preoccupied was Mrs. Helene Muller in the meaninglessness of her sterile suburban existence that she failed to hear the sounds of footsteps and muffled foreign exclamations which a more observant person would have readily perceived. Totally oblivious of all danger, blithely unaware that she was walking straight into a trap, the slim young housewife in her thin pink cotton sundress wandered onward until she found herself standing before a small brook, swelled from the night's rain, which was splashing over the rocks in the most joyous fashion.
"Oh, I wish I could stay here forever!" she murmured under her breath. Her low whisper was drowned out by the sound of rushing water, as were the sounds of the two intoxicated Spaniards' approach. "I just want to live where things are beautiful and peaceful is that too much to ask?"
Then, shaking her flyaway blonde hair away from her face, she bent down and began to gather the fragrant flowers which banked the mountain stream. Don V be so moody! she scolded herself. Think of all the people in the world who're so much worse off than you can even imagine
Straightening her shoulders, she moved along the creek in search of more herbs. Things weren't all bad, after all. It was nice that Elwood had decided, upon waking with what appeared to be a raging hangover, that they might as well stay in this pretty valley another day until the debris from the thunderstorm had been cleared from the roads. Helene had agreed happily, for to tell the truth she was not all that fond of traveling per se she preferred to stay in one place long enough to soak up the atmosphere and taste all the regional dishes.
Determining to put a bright face on things, the unfulfilled housewife drifted nearer and nearer the unheard voices. And after Elwood's had a good rest, I'm sure he'll be his old self again, she was thinking as rough hands suddenly grabbed at her. slurred, coarse Spanish-speaking voices resounded in her ears.
"AAAEEEIIIIHHHHH!" the terrified American woman shrieked. In her intense shock, her knees turned to water and she fell to the ground, her flowers and herbs scattering about her sprawled-out body like offerings on a grave.
Harsh-toned voices were jabbering incomprehensibly at her in Spanish, but all she could do was sob.
She clenched her eyes shut as vicious hands tore at her body through the thin fabric of her summer dress. A shudder of horror wracked her slender figure as the dread thought of rape occurred to her, but the two strangers merely dragged her to her feet and continued to bellow at her in their incomprehensible language. Sobbing, shaking like a leaf in a tempest, the stupefied wife and mother tried desperately to free herself, but to no avail.
This can't be happening! her tortured mind wailed. This sort of thing happens on the streets of America's crime-ridden cities that's exactly why Elwood and I moved out to Schenectady. But it can't happen on a peaceful European mountainside!
But it was happening! As grubby fingers clutched painfully at the tender flesh of her arms and waist, she had to accept that this was reality, despite the fact that she was in, as the tourist brochure had optimistically put it, "Sunny Spain, the Tourists' Paradise! Sun and Fun Beneath a Canopy of True-Blue Sky!"
"No...no...noooooo!" the terrified young woman wailed as the two young men started dragging her back up the steep, slippery hillside. "NOOOOOOOO!"
If Helene had had any conception of what she would find when they'd dragged her all the way up to the goat hut, her screams would have been even more hysterical.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Despite Vasilisa's vigilant efforts to ease the sadistic Carlos into a state of unconsciousness, he seemed to grow more wide awake with each successive bottle of wine. He rejected the proffered Valerian tea, proclaiming loudly that he didn't drink "none of that bullshit woman's crap"; and when the blonde Spanish girl tactfully suggested a little nap, he slapped her across the face and commanded her to stop annoying him. All the while, his snake-like eyes were darting over the trembling figure of youthful Daisy Muller.
What in God's name am I going to do now? Vasilisa asked herself as she nursed her' bruised and aching cheek in the far corner of the hut. If only that brute would pass out, I'd untie the children and give them weapons to defend themselves while I hike over the mountain to the next valley and get Father or Uncle Juan to come with a wagon. I wish the girl could walk, because
I hate to leave them here with Carlos I can tell from his eyes that he wants to rape her. But this is the only solution I can come up with...
Without having made a conscious decision, the twenty-seven year-old Basque Nationalist had stopped counting on her husband Pedro's help. Intuitive feminine knowledge told her that she could not trust him to act humanly, for he cared more for the Movement than for Christian kindness these days. On the other hand, she knew she could always trust her family to act in accordance with the Golden Rule, even though they were mere uneducated peasants.
Pass out! Pass out! she silently willed the despised Carlos, every cell in her curvaceous body straining with the attempt to will him to sleep. But as the minutes slowly passed and the patch of dusty sunlight on the shed's floor inched from one end of the room to the other, she began to despair. The unprincipled student was only growing more rowdy, and he'd begun to bait the frightened teenager in his bad English. If he became even drunker, he might just lose all sense of reason and rape the poor child even with the boy and herself there in the hut.
Though Vasilisa was essentially nonviolent, and had in fact only agreed to this particular weapons mission because she'd not wanted to go against her husband's command, she was beginning to contemplate grabbing up a gun and threatening the drunken Carlos. Before she could seriously weigh the prospect of this new plan, however, the heavy wooden shed doors were flung open with a crash and the two kidnappers entered, dragging a weeping, struggling blonde female behind them.
It was immediately evident to Vasilisa that the captured woman was the mother of the two young prisoners. Even if the boy hadn't gasped out, "Mom!", in a horrified tone, she could have told from the strong family resemblance that the three unfortunate hostages were related. A shiver of sympathy ran along her spine as the astonished mother, her arms bruised by her brutal abductors and her sleeveless pink dress torn at the shoulder to partially reveal her left breast, gaped in disbelief at her two bound children.
"Randy! Daisy! What how " she stammered, trying to move toward them. "Oh, God!"
"Shut up!" shouted Carlos, rising rather steadily to his feet and lurching to the new arrivals. "Tie her up like the rest, you guys!"
If he hadn't been so intoxicated, the physically immature but not unintelligent youth would have been furious with the others for having brought the woman here instead of delivering the ransom note as he'd instructed them to do. In his condition of mindless hedonism, however, logic was obscured by his ravenous sexual appetite. Now, he gloated, Antonio and Jose Angel could be kept occupied by fucking this older woman, while he had the supreme pleasure of deflowering the little virgin who was her daughter!
"Good work, guys!" he slurred, passing them the wine bottle. "Another sexy captive! Let's finish off the hash while we figure out what we're gonna do with 'em."
Seemingly interminable minutes passed as the three student criminals passed around the last of their hashish joints. Before Helene Muller's terrified eyes, the ugly, long-haired youths' mouths grew slack, their eyes inhuman and gleaming with bestial lust as they muttered together in incomprehensible Spanish. Shaking with fearful apprehension, she turned toward her children and gave them a quivering smile that she'd meant to be reassuring. In her distress, she never even noticed the lovely blonde Basque woman crouched in the darkest corner of the hut.
"You guys still horny?" Carlos leered, paused for a long suck on the joint, then continued, "Was Vasilisa there enough for ya? Or d'ya wanna have some more fucky-fucky? "
"Never too much fucky for me, man!" Jose Angel asserted, thrusting out his chest like a strutting bantam cock.
"Fucky, fucky!" Antonio agreed drunkenly. He pronounced the English word as though it rhymed with cookie.
Smacking his lips in a lewd gesture of carnal hunger, Carlos lurched to his feet and stepped toward the fettered twins. In his clumsy haste, he kicked over the wine bottle and sent a blood-red trickle of liquid seeping across the dirt floor to where the mother stood shivering in anguish.
"I like this little one," he declared, reaching out one unwashed hand to tweak Daisy's ripely straining breasts. "Ain't she cute, fellas? Lookit at 'em sweet little tits!"
"Get your hands off my child!" shrieked Helene. "Don't you dare touch her! Don't you dare!"
"Your daughter, huh?" Carlos sneered in
English.
Oh yeah, he thought dizzily, drunkenly. That had been the plan, hadn't it to find these kids' parents and extricate money from the rich capitalist pigs. Well, here was the mother, though it was hard to believe that this slender, fair-haired American woman was old enough to have such mature offspring, but where was the father? For a brief second this troubling thought preyed on his alcohol and dope-dulled brain, but then he pushed it away. Later, hell, later, he told himself as his thick penis jerked into impatient erection. Who cares about goddamn bread when there's free pussy sitting there waiting for you?
"So here's Mama!" he continued, grinning loosely at his compatriots. "All the better!"
Again, his hands grasped at the sumptuous mounds of the adolescent's budding breasts. They felt soft and pliant beneath his fingers, firmer than the large, melon-like mounds of Vasilisa the night before, and more intoxicating. By now, his breath was coming hard and fast and his blood was rushing at top speed through his lust-accelerated system.
Helene screamed again, and this time she struggled with such hysterical violence against Antonio, who had lunged after her, that Carlos looked up in irritation.
"Whattdya got to do with it, bitch?" he sneered. "Ya gotta do whatever we say, like it or not!"
In the corner, ignored and forgotten, Vasilisa shivered in fearful expectation. She'd seen enough of the thin, excitable student rebel called Carlos to recognize what the ominous glint in the man's small eyes was. With the three of them all under the influence of their unlawful drugs and the potent country wine, she feared that they would act even worse than they had last night when they so brutally assaulted her up in the loft.
The lovely Basque woman's worst fears were confirmed when she saw Carlos' grubby hand snatch out to tug the white-faced girl's jeans' zipper halfway down. By the defiant sneer he flashed at the struggling, wild-eyed mother, Vasilisa could tell that the woman's protests were doing more harm than good. Carlos had a really sadistic nature, in addition to being neurotically insecure about his underdeveloped body and unattractive countenance? nothing pleased him more than being in a position of power over others, particularly if they were weeping or otherwise helplessly resisting.
How I hate him! she grimaced, gritting her teeth and knotting her hands together as she repressed a scream of rage. The ugly little rat! The psychotic traitor! How, oh, God, could Pedro have been blind enough to take such a despicable specimen into his confidence?
Yet, didn't the fact that he had done so indicate how low her husband's standards had sunk? Back in the old days, he'd have spit in the face of an obviously sick opportunist like this Carlos. Pedro had been idealistic, totally devoted to the Movement, scornful of all those types who didn't really believe in the dream of a Free Basque Country. And now? Well, she didn't really know...
Needless to say, the frantic Mrs. Muller and her two devastated children weren't contemplating the psychological peculiarities of their oppressors, nor were they at all interested in the Basque Nationalist Movement, of which in fact they were totally ignorant. Nor would the Muller's position have been in any way improved had they been thinking along more philosophical or political lines. Their predatory assailants couldn't have cared less about what was taking place in their minds, for their own drug-and-alcohol fogged brains were by now completely obsessed with sexuality.
"NOOOOOOOO!" Helene wailed again, so harried that she scarcely felt the cruel blow which Antonio dealt her. "Don't touch my little girl! Plleeeeeezze! I'll do anything you want, but don't touch Daisy!"
"Anything, huh?" Carlos turned toward her, his thin lips twisted into a calculating smirk. "Anything, lady? Yeah?"
"Take my watch!" Helene cried desperately. "It's a valuable one, with diamonds! And my wedding ring it's worth a lot! And...and...." She paused, realizing that she'd gone out gathering flowers without any money or checks. "And, oh, my husband will give you lots of money. Just please leave Daisy alone! She's. . . she's never been with a man...."
Carlos remained unmoved by the tearful woman's heartfelt pleas, and his two fellow students' knowledge of the foreign language was so scanty that they didn't understand a word of her hysterical exclamation.
"She says," Carlos translated with a malicious grin, "that she'll do anything. So why not? Fucky! Fucky her just like you wanna! Both together! Yeah! Ya both fucky her together! C'mon!"
Neither the drug-benumbed Jose Angel nor the oafish Antonio paused a moment before taking Carlos up on this stimulating suggestion. Their muscular arms grasped the protesting Helene Muller, and their heated, garlic-scented breath suffocated her. Despite her spirited struggles, they held the anguished blonde tightly and managed to work her partially undone dress off with no trouble.
"Nooooooo!" the overpowered woman howled, but she might as well have conserved her energy, for all the impact she made on the sex-crazed student rebels. Her cotton dress was ripped away So that it hung limply around her slim hips, and though she clasped her arms around her shamefully revealed breasts, the inviting, lace-encased mounds were nevertheless humiliatingly revealed to her children and the three awful foreign men.
Young Randy instinctively started toward his sobbing mother, but before he'd taken more than a step, he was stopped by the cold butt of a gun shoving against his chest.
"Where the hell you goin', kid?" growled Carlos.
Even as she tried in vain to fight off the two muscular Spaniards, the terror-stricken mother was aware of her children's plight. "Don't, Randy, don't!" she implored. "Don't do anything don't get hurt!"
There wasn't much the youngster could do, what with a loaded pistol pressed against his chest and his hands tightly bound behind his back. Choking back an unmanly sob, he gritted his teeth so hard that his braces cut into his gums, then turned toward his sister. Daisy, who was weeping in earnest now, stared back at him with fear-widened eyes, and Randy cursed his impotence. More than anything else on earth he wanted to save his mother and sister from these monsters, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing at all...nothing but watch as his mother was dishonored before his very eyes!
Although the fifteen year-old boy would have vehemently denied it, a strange sensation was fluttering in his belly an emotion born not of fear and despair, but of excitement at the sight of his mother's naked figure. Helene Muller was really gorgeous, with her firm, round breasts and sculpted legs rising to full-fleshed thighs and the tantalizing "vee" of her golden-brown cuntal curls. Until now, her son had never let himself think of her as a female, and since she didn't clothe herself in skimpy bikinis or revealing clothing, he'd never suspected that she was built as magnificently as a PLAYBOY model...or his sister!
"Aaaagghhhhh!" Helene moaned as Jose's strong fingers pressed into the tender flesh of her breasts while Antonio twisted her arm so fiercely that she was sure it would break. "Ppplleeeezzzzze! Stooooopppp!"
"You would rather we fuck the little girl, yes?" Carlos sneered, moving his gun from Randy to the inviting hollow between the weeping brunette's budding breasts.
Helene's half-naked figure sagged in defeat, and she ceased her futile efforts to fight off her assailants. "No, no!" she cried. "Don't touch her! I'll, I'll do whatever you say, but please, please don't hurt Daisy!"
Although the mother's stomach knotted and sickened at the mere thought of having sexual contact with these dreadful brutes, her voice never faltered. She would do everything in her power to save her innocent daughter from learning about sex in a gang-rape at gunpoint. An experience like that would surely scar her psychologically in the most dire way, and would probably prevent her from ever having a happy, healthy marriage.
"Whatever we say, huh?" slurred Carlos in English, and then he repeated, in Spanish for the benefit of his friends, "Go on, guys! Give it to her! She'll do whatever you want, she says!"
Antonio laughed, a crude, animalistic chortle that froze Helene's blood to ice in her veins. His oversized hands grasped at her dress, which still hung limply around her hips, and with a sickening rip of fabric he yanked it away from her and flung it onto the mud floor of the goat hut. Trembling in shame and fear, the American woman stared down at her brassiere and panty-clad body and prayed that they would get it over with quickly and without hurting her too badly.
This last hope was destroyed as the two heavy-muscled Spaniards tugged down their pants and moved toward her, panting heavily. A suffocating smell of stale sweat and garlic emanated from their unwashed bodies, but Helene was so upset by the sight of the enormous male weapons dangling between their thighs that she never even noticed their nauseating odor. Oh God! she screamed in silent anguish. Not only was she to be shamefully humiliated in front of her own adolescent children to two total strangers, she was also going to be injured in the most despicable way as her most private feminine flesh was ripped to shreds by their evil flesh cudgels!
As the two heavily-breathing males tore at her pink pastel underwear, Helene shut her eyes to avoid the sight of their lust-distorted faces and huge, menacing male thicknesses. One of them, the darker-haired man, was probably the biggest human she'd ever seen, with muscles as big as footballs and an angry-red penis swollen to the size of a tree trunk. Nor was the other man much better; his arms and legs were also knotted with sinewy, sweat-glistening tendons, and his throbbing phallus, though not quite so thick as the other men's, appeared to her fear-glazed eyes to be at least a foot long.
I can't go through with this, she thought, suddenly feeling so dizzy she thought she would faint. But . . But I haven't any other choice. Forgive me, Elwood! Please understand!
The Spaniards were guffawing to each other as they peeled off their helpless victim's pale pink nylon panties and lace brassiere, and thought Helene couldn't understand a word of their conversation, she could tell from their lewd tones and the way they poked at her vulnerable naked flesh that they were making filthy sexual jokes at her expense. She held her eyelids tightly shut, even when they pushed her down on the damp, chilly dirt floor so that she was kneeling like a slave girl beneath them.
My children are watching this! she thought again, and an overwhelming wave of sickness swept through her fear-shivering figure. I can't bear it! It's too much for any human being to stand! Oh, God, what have I done to deserve this? I've never even been unfaithful to Elwood, not once in fifteen years!
"Okay, now, Antonio, ya thing the bitch's ready for fucking?" Jose leered.
"Ready as a dog in heat!" the other exclaimed, giving Helene's upraised ass-cheeks a harsh slap.
"Ooowwhhhh!" the humiliated woman cried out in involuntary pain. Then, biting her lip, she fell silent, for the last thing she wanted to do was let her children realize how much she was suffering, or give these beasts the satisfaction of hearing her cry out.
Unfortunately for the self-sacrificing mother, however, the slap had given the sadistic Carlos a wicked idea. "Hey, guys," he called out from his vantage point beside the trembling twins, "let's see what kind of stuff this American slut's made of! Here!" He peeled off his leather belt and tossed it to Jose Angel with a vicious chuckle of anticipation. "Make the capitalist bitch dance and shake 'er ass for ya!"
Antonio's broad, swarthy face twisted into a drunken contortion of passion at the inspired suggestion. Grabbing the belt from the smaller Jose, he slapped it through the air so that it whistled menacingly, so frightening Helene that her eyes popped open at last. At the horrible sight of the ape-like rapist brandishing a whip, her knees turned to water and she collapsed facedown on the rank-smelling floor.
"Up, bitch!" Carlos commanded in English, his voice rasping with excitement. "Up on your knees! Wriggle that nice white ass for Jose and Antonio!"
The blonde wife wanted to scream, to beg for mercy, but her protests caught in her throat. What was the use of pleading for a scrap of humane decency from these animals? The only effect her cries would have would be to make them cruder and more ruthless than ever, further terrifying the innocent twins.
"Can I give it to her, Carlos?" the stupid Antonio giggled sadistically. He'd been used to accepting orders all his life first from his strong-willed father, then from Pedro, the Movement leader and didn't even consider the possibility of acting under his own volition.
"Yeah! Yeah!" urged the skinny, gun-wielding student. "Show her whose boss!"
There was a sickening whoosh as the leather strap swished through the air, and then both Jose and Carlos grunted in satisfaction as the belt flicked down on the kneeling woman's left buttock. She gasped in anguish as a bright red welt appeared on the firm white flesh of her ass-cheek, and Daisy screamed aloud in sympathetic reaction to the sadistic punishment.
"And you better shut up, little girl," Carlos threatened the teenager with his pistol. "The same thing'll happen to you and your nasty brother if you don't keep nice and quiet, understand?"
The fifteen year-old twins understood. With a gulp, Daisy choked back her sobs, and Randy bit his lips to keep from calling the murderous brutes every bad name in his vocabulary.
Helene, however, despite her vow to keep silent, was unable to keep from gasping and groaning as the leather belt whacked again and again on her burning backside. Hoping that they would stop if she did as the one called Carlos has instructed, she forced her buttocks into a lewd, undulating rhythm. This sluttish motion was so degrading that her shame pained her almost as much as the stinging strap, but there was nothing else for her to do. She was their helpless slave, to be used and abused in whatever depraved fashion struck their perverted fancies.
Antonio was swinging the belt with frenzied force now, driven out of control by the stimulation of the American woman's jiggling ass-cheeks and piteous whimpers. His long purplish cock, which stood out from his dark-haired groin like the trunk of a tree, was pulsating with passion and the surety that whenever he felt ready he could ram his ready weapon into one or another of this cringing blonde's orifices. Maybe she'd be even tighter than Vasilisa had been last night!
By now, the pain-blinded woman was moving her raw and tingling buttocks as fast as she could in a mindless effort to escape the lashing strokes of the whip. The agony grew more unbearable with each passing second, and she could tell that her flesh was cut and bleeding as thin trickles of warm blood seeped down over the rounded half-moons of her buttocks and over her quivering thighs. Finally, just as she was sure she was dying, the punishing strap struck her one last time and then was tossed down onto the floor.
"About time!" panted Jose, his lust-bloated cock poised in his hand as he rubbed the frantically pulsing head in hungry impatience. "C'mon, let's fuck her! I can't wait much longer, man!"
"How'll we give it to her, huh, Carlos?" the loutish Antonio queried, for by now both he and Jose had come to think of the wiry-bodied sadist as their "boss". "What do you think?"
Carlos puffed up his underdeveloped chest with pride at the respect being shown him by his fellow student revolutionaries. "Well," he considered, taking his time in replying to heighten the other men's anticipation and the gasping female's dread. "Well, let's teach her some new tricks." Switching into English, he demanded to Helene, "You ever suck cock, lady? They do that over in America?"
"Oh, no, no, noooooooooo!" the inexperienced mother gasped in shocked disgust.
Of course she'd never done such a corrupt, unnatural thing! Once, long ago in the early days of their marriage, Elwood had tried to persuade her that fellatio really wasn't perverted, but she'd told him rather sharply that if he'd wanted a whore, he'd married the wrong woman. She was a decent, God-fearing girl and nothing on earth could induce her to indulge in such a nasty act!
But now I'm going to do it after all! she thought, and if there was a tiny flutter of wanton curiosity stirring in the pit of her belly, she totally ignored it. My innocent children are going to be forced to see their own mother perform a dirty act that the poor things probably never even dreamed existed on this earth. Oh, God, why did we ever come to this horrible country?! Why did we ever leave Schenectady?!
The well-meaning mother was, of course, mistaken about her children's innocence. Not only had the twins observed violent oral sex the night before, but dirty jokes on the subject had been one of the most popular topics of conversation in the junior high boys' locker room and at the girls' numerous pajama parties. Still, it was quite one thing to giggle whenever the number "69" appeared in arithmetic problems, and another to see your own parent subjected to such an act. Both fifteen year-olds turned white when Antonio, his massive flesh cudgel dangling between his sturdy thighs like an extra leg, crouched down before their naked mother's terrified face with a lascivious grin on his ugly face.
"C'mon, lady," he hissed in almost incomprehensible English. "Suck ett! Suck eet!"
The young man's hands were tugging at her tangled blonde hair, pressing her reluctant lips down toward the throbbing purplish-redness of his hotly throbbing phallus. Helene knew it was hopeless to try to resist, but nevertheless her mouth puckered up in repulsion at the very thought of actually touching his huge male thickness with her mouth.
"Hurry up, woman!" Antonio threatened, picking up the discarded leather belt and swishing it through the air above her splayed-out body. "Do it! Eat his prick! Sit Silt"
Helene hesitated an instant, sickened by the idea of her clean mouth being used as a receptacle for this moron's sticky male sperm, but the thought of the painful leather strap descending on her raw, bleeding buttocks was even more frightening. Tears flooded her eyes as she dizzily wondered whether she had enough strength to endure the pain of the whip again and save her pride, but she was saved from having to make a decision when the impatient Antonio suddenly bent over and grabbed two handfuls of her corn silk-golden hair.
"Urrrghghhhh!" she moaned as she felt her head pulled by his torturous fingers in the direction of his turgid thickness.
A second later, the blood-bloated head of the Spaniard's enormous cock slid swiftly up the full length of her tongue and lodged itself inside her gagging throat. The repulsed wife had no choice but to gulp and swallow in an effort not to choke to death, though she dimly realized that the movements of her cheeks and throat were pleasing to the horrible rapist. Tiny trickles of his disgusting lubricating liquids oozed from the tip of his ruthlessly prodding cockhead, filling the hollowing cavern of her cheeks and sickening her with its acrid, male-animal taste.
"You like that, lady? Big enough for you?" grunted Antonio in Spanish as he began slowly sawing his achingly throbbing penis in and out of his victim's mouth with a lewd sucking sound that horrified her watching children. "C'mon, suck it good!"
For the first few moments Helene felt sure she was going to strangle as the giant flesh cudgel lunged deep down into her cringing throat, withdrew, then shoved back between her painfully-stretched lips. After a short time, however, survival instinct told her how best to accept the punishing penis, and she again closed her eyes and vowed to endure this supreme humiliation for the sake of her innocent virgin daughter. It would be over soon, and though she would never be able to forget this foul oral rape, at least young Daisy would still be pure and unsullied.
Jose, who'd moved close beside the captive American, was rubbing his thick foreskin back and forth over the glistening red head of his own cock and scowling as he reflected that he was always the last one to get a piece of the action. Antonio, a virtual mental retard, was getting a better deal than he, and that skinny Carlos who thought he was such a big deal all of a sudden was acting like he could tell everyone else what to do. Although the chestnut-haired Barcelona student normally was a retiring, rather unassertive individual who preferred to let others make his decisions for him, he was by now so affected by the false confidence of drugs, wine, and sexual stimulation that he suddenly let out a bellow of rage and fell to an obscene crouching position behind the slavishly kneeling mother.
"My turn, too!" he cried out, his voice echoing above Helene's distorted gurgles of protest and Antonio's bestial mutters of satisfaction. "How come I'm always last? I'm gonna fuck now! You hear me, NOW! FUCKY, FUCKY!"
With this emphatic assertion of self-worth, the drug-dulled young student grasped hold of the captured woman's crimson, blood-streaked buttocks and lowered his impatiently pulsating flesh pole toward the tantalizing coral-pink crevice of her cuntal "vee". Despite his barbarian wail, she was almost unaware of his presence as she forced herself to endure the perverted protuberance pounding into her aching mouth. Aware that he was, as usual, being ignored, the youth vowed to abuse her in even more vicious ways.
In the ass! he thought triumphantly. I'll fuck her down between those fine buttocks that danced so nice under the whip! She never got it that way before, I bet!
Jose Angel was, indeed, quite correct in assuming that the inexperienced American wife had never been exposed to anal sex. As a matter-of-fact, she had never even realized that such a sordid practice existed until the moment when she felt the youth's moistly heated manhood shoving insistently against the never-before-touched orifice of her fearfully spasming rectum.
"Aaaieehhh!" she coughed out, her voice an inhuman gurgle due to the gigantic male hardness ramming between her unwillingly ovaled lips. "Nnnaaaahhhhh!"
Jose was only more excited by the woman's panic-stricken wail. With a triumphant glance toward the gun-wielding Carlos and two terrified children, he again shoved his heatedly pulsing penis against the resistant circle of pinkish-brown flesh. Last night, when they'd raped the wife of the Movement leader, he'd watched Antonio perform this act and had dreamed of doing so himself, one day, when he encountered a virgin ass-hole. And now, the very next day, his perverted desire was becoming a reality!
Grinning in malicious lust, the long-haired student drug addict dug his jagged, dirt-encrusted fingernails into the whimpering mother's bruised and burning buttocks, relishing the satin-smooth resiliency of her involuntarily twitching ass-cheeks. He forced her dually ravished body back toward his blood-engorged cockhead, even as the over-excited Antonio yanked at the roots of her hair to drag her closer to his ready-to-explode penis.
Carlos, standing in the corner with his gun pointed at the two devastated children, had unzipped his fly and taken his erected cock-shaft in his free hand. What a show! he jubilated as he massaged his aching hardness. And just wait till I get my hands on this little virgin! After seeing Momma turn on with two big heavy pricks inside her, she'll be hot as a firecracker! And I'm gonna be the one who sets her off!
All of them had forgotten the presence of Vasilisa, who was still crouched in the shadowy corner beside the improvised cooking stove. Her brain swirled in confusion as she watched the two half-drunken students: though she was trying to decide whether to sneak out the door of the shed and seek help, or to stay here and think of some quicker alternative way to subdue the sex-crazed rebels, her thoughts refused to focus. All she could feel was an unwanted excitation, a vile remembrance of the way these same males' hateful cocks had defiled her the night before and he'd reduced her traitorous body to a state of oh, God, she wished it were not true! submission and then even sinful desire. Would this young blonde mother react in the same way?
"Uuunngghhhh!" Helene croaked out again. The ugly, half-human sounds issuing from her own unnaturally impaled lips distressed her, but she was in such a state of panic by now that she had lost all control over her body.
He can't put his penis inside me THERE! the disbelieving woman wailed in silent torture. Oh, God, no! NO! It's too corrupt to be true!
But it was true! Without thought of the pain or injury he might be inflicting on the plundered prisoner, Jose stroked his enlarged cock-head against the crevice between her firm-fleshed ass-cheeks. His passion increased by leaps and bounds as he felt her flesh quivering beneath his virile prodding like a schoolgirl in the backseat of a car, just like he'd seen in the American movies and read about in PLAYBOY magazine.
Christ! his lust-distorted mind sang out. No one can tell me where to get off after THIS!
Antonio, the not-too-clever but well-built Spaniard whose oversized penis was plunging into the stunned female's open mouth, was excited more than ever by the sight of his friend's thickened member nudging at the forbidden nether entrance. Caramba! he thought, ramming his lust-frenzied phallus deeper than ever into the gagging American woman's unwillingly accepting throat. Already, he could feel his passion-flooded testicles churning with urgent need, and he thrust with all the force in his virile young body down into the soft, wet depths of Helene Muller's straining mouth. It would not be long now before he felt the exquisite sensation of his pent-up sperm shooting into the wantonly circling lips of the captured blonde, for as he watched Jose's ruthless effort to force his thick rod of flesh into the resisting anal orifice, the churning, burning sensation in his balls grew more and more urgent.
Meanwhile, Jose was attempting to widen the woman's impossibly tight little rectal orifice with his crudely prodding middle finger. The puckered brown nether ring remained tensed and resistant until, in a moment of lewd inspiration, the impatient plunderer wormed his finger roughly into the nearby mouth of her vagina and moved it in and out, round and round, till he felt her involuntary female secretions moistening his impaling digit.
"Now you're ready, you hot little slut!" he spat out as he jerked his hand from the blonde mother's cuntal depths and lunged his sticky middle finger back into the enticing brownish-pink anal orifice.
This time, since she was taken by surprise, Helene Muller's virginal anal muscles had relaxed sufficiently to allow the unnaturally invading digit to slide into the unprepared passage. The humiliated mother jerked forward, stunned by the unexpected burning pain that seared through her rectum, and the unwanted wisps of incipient excitement which his vulgar vaginal caresses had begun to generate ceased instantly. To her dismay-but much to the delight of the brutish Antonio her involuntary movement served to push her face closer against the passion-demented man's heatedly plunging cock-shaft.
"YYAAAAAHHHHH!" yowled Antonio as his body sped unchecked toward orgasm.
Helene's concentration on her ravaged anus was temporarily averted as she felt a fierce tightening of the hands which crushed her head against the demanding hardness between her stretched-to-the-limit lips. Once again she nearly gagged, her breath wheezing from her choking lungs in a lewd, whore-like whistle which caused the stupefied young Daisy to suck in her breath in horrified disbelief and Randolph to grit his teeth in futile fury.
Oh, dear God, no, no, no! Helene's mind screamed in helpless torment as one oppressor's spearing finger thrust between her helplessly shaking, twisting buttocks, while the other's enormous male weapon plundered the sensitive, wide-stretched cavern of her defiled mouth. He's going to cum right there in my throat! I can't bear it! I wish I were dead!
Then, as an even louder shout broke from Antonio's thick lips as the first gushing jets of sperm began their pell-mell race from his blood-engorged testicles up the long pole of his relentlessly plunging penis, Helene's mind went completely blank. Her head was crushed up against Antonio's dark-haired loins by his steel-like hands, making it impossible for her to escape the heated streams of semen which he was spewing down her throat with brutal vengeance. Groaning inarticulately, Mrs. Muller swallowed and gulped in a rapid rhythm, trying to breathe through her nose even though it was mashed up against the man's sweat-slickened flesh.
"Uunngghhh...uuurrggggg...." she gurgled as she tried her best not to gag on the viscous, acrid-tasting male fluid which flooded her mouth and ballooned out her cheeks. "Nnngghhhhh...."
Randolph and his twin sister, Daisy, shook with horror as they watched their mother's flushed face bob frantically up and down over the brutish Spaniard's ejaculating thickness. Her Adam's apple was jiggling so desperately that they were certain she must be suffering terribly, and there was a trapped-animal look in her glassy eyes which made her look unfamiliar and somehow frightening. When sticky white rivulets of glistening male seed began trickling down over her mother's saliva-slickened chin, Daisy could not repress a loud gasp of dismay.
"Oooooh, Mom!" she choked out, her own eyes strange and wild with fear. "Mom!"
Instantly, the ice-cold butt of the gun was shoved against the sensitive mound of one of the adolescent's budding breasts.
"I told you to shut up!" hissed Carlos, his eyes never leaving the arousing sight of the young American wife slavishly lapping up the last drops of seminal fluid from Antonio's angry-red thickness.
The threatened teenaged girl fell into cowering silence for a minute. But then, when she saw the lighter-haired man behind her mother's wantonly uplifted buttocks pull his middle finger from her anal orifice and, without a moment's warning, shove his elongated male hardness into the forbidden opening, an involuntary shriek of alarm spurted from her throat.
Helene's sperm-stained mouth jerked from Antonio's deflating cock-shaft as her wail of pain mingled with her daughter's cries. In her concentration on the enormous male weapon plundering her never-before-defiled mouth, she'd nearly forgotten that another vicious rapist was sawing his finger into the illicit orifice between her whip-scarred ass-cheeks. Impossible though it seemed, her anal muscles had actually adjusted to the presence of the invading digit.
Now, however, as the long, slender cock plunged all the way to the hilt in her virginal rectum, a flash of the most horrendous pain she'd ever experienced seared through her body like liquid lightning. Her buttocks automatically clenched together in a futile attempt to expel the vicious instrument of torture, which only served to increase her excruciating agony, and she screamed again and again in mindless panic as the massive flesh cudgel throbbed several times deep inside her tortured anal passage. When it finally withdrew, the pain worsened, and she felt as though her entire backside was being consumed by white-hot flames.
Her mother's anguished wails and the unbelievable sight of the horrible Spaniard's thickly throbbing thing shoving right between her naked buttocks were too much for young Daisy. Forgetting the gun aimed against her heaving breasts, she fell into a state of hysteria. As her shrill, girlish screams echoed throughout the goat hut, Carlos' ugly face brightened in sadistic glee.
Now! he thought in lewd expectation. I'm gonna teach this little American bitch what a man's nice hard prick can do to her! And the more she screams, the better I like it!
"C'mon!" he hissed, grabbing Daisy's arm with vise-like fingers and yanking her roughly toward him. When she shrieked louder than ever, he merely laughed and dragged her over to a corner of the shed where a pile of filthy blankets lay beside one of the stacks of rifles. "Antonio, you watch the little boy! I'm gonna screw his sister, and I don't want him making no trouble!"
The large, lust-sated student rebel, who'd collapsed on the floor like a satisfied animal after Helene Muller had drained his rampant penis of every last drop of seminal fluid, rose clumsily to his feet and stumbled toward the white-faced young boy. Picking up a gun from a nearby stack of weapons, he shoved it up against the adolescent's youthful penis.
"Keep quiet or I'll blow your prick to pieces!" he growled. Though he spoke in colloquial Spanish which Randy could not begin to understand, his meaning was obvious. The boy began trembling like a leaf at the primitive threat and didn't dare to move a muscle, not even when his weeping sister was thrown down on the heap of rags with as little ceremony as though her luscious young figure had been a sack of potatoes.
Despite the unendurable humiliation which was being inflicted upon her, Helene Muller was dimly aware of the sounds of scuffling in the corner of the hut. Focusing her pain-blinded eyes in the direction of her children, she saw that the evil kidnappers had broken their word. She had martyred herself, allowed their filthy hands and vile male members to violate her in the most painful and despicable ways possible, solely to protect her virgin daughter from their corrupt carnality; but now her fifteen year-old Daisy was being held down at gunpoint and forced to take off her own clothing.
"You pigs!" she shrieked. "You filthy lying pigs!" For a second, her own devastating agony was overcome by her maternal protective instinct. "You promised you wouldn't touch her! You're not even human! Bastards! BASTARDS!"
No one paid any attention to Helene's desperate cries save Randy, whose eyes darted from his sister to his mother and back again, and Vasilisa, who was slowly and surely inching toward the shed door. The lovely blonde revolutionary had decided that the three degenerate males were all too involved in their lurid sexual activities to notice what she was doing, and besides, she could no longer bear to remain in the same room where these atrocities were being committed.
"Noooo!" Helene wailed as Jose's pulsating penis sank to impossible depths in her ravished rectum. "Pleeeezzzee! Not this! Nooooooo!"
Even her fears for her virginal daughter were overcome by the all-encompassing pain in her own body. The young, attractive mother groaned again and again, aware that no one could help her, but unable to hold back her strangled cries. Nothing existed for her now but the excruciating torture being rendered on her helpless figure, the cruel, iron-hard hands that held her pinned to the damp, dank dirt floor, the degradation of the depraved attack on her anal channel. It was uncivilized, cannibalistic! Nothing, absolutely nothing, could be more depraved than this!
Vaguely, as if in a dream, her pain-deadened ears heard her young daughter's frantic wails of terrified protest, but nothing really registered on her brain save the impossible agony which lacerated her own helplessly twisting loins. As she sank deeper and deeper into the quicksand of pain and depravity, blackness swam before her eyes and her mind was devoid of all cogent reason.
From the shadows near the doorway Vasilisa was watching the cruel double rape with intense, hate-filled eyes. She sympathized with the two ravished women, remembering all too well how rough and brutal these three young drug-addicts had been with her own still-bruised body the night before, but there was no way she could stop the debauchery. Her only hope was to sneak from the shed and get help from the outside, and at last she plucked up her courage enough to tiptoe cautiously through the slightly ajar door.
Only young Randolph noticed the blonde Spanish woman slipping quietly from the goat hut, and he was too distressed by the dreadful fates which had befallen his mother and sister to give her exit a second thought. Contributing to his wretchedness was the humiliating fact that even in the midst of the crudest carnality possible, his traitorous young loins were responding to the sexual stimulus. Down between his sturdy legs, mere inches away from the gun, he felt his adolescent virility jumping to attention and straining against his denim pants.
Oh Christ! he wailed in silent misery. What's the matter with me, anyway? Jeez, I hope no one notices I got a hard-on!
Of course, no one was paying the slightest attention to the captive boy. Even the gun-wielding Antonio was gaping in lurid fascination at the salacious spectacle of the American mother's twisting, whip-scarred buttocks being plundered by his buddy Jose, while right across the room her pretty little daughter was being forced to strip by the sadistic Carlos. Already, his huge member was beginning to thicken and throb; hopefully, he'd have a chance at the little girl after the other guy got through with her!
By now, Helene had stopped screaming out her anguish and was simply sobbing in hopeless subjugation. Although the initial severing arrows of flaming suffering had somewhat lessened as her rectal muscles automatically relaxed to make room for the ramrodding rigidity, she was scarcely even grateful for this small relief as her eyes once again focused with full awareness on the tormenting sight of her half-naked little girl.
"Oh, Daisy, Daisy!" she cried out, her voice incoherent with unshed tears. "My darling baby! Can you ever forgive me for letting this happen to you?"
The young girl was only dimly aware of her mother's cry, for at that very minute Carlos' hissing voice was demanding that she pull off her jeans. Already, he'd compelled her to take off her pale blue pullover, and she was blushing in shame as his beady eyes feasted on her wantonly exposed breasts. But taking down her pants that was far, far worse...it would make her totally vulnerable to attack.
I can't do it! she shuddered to herself. I'd rather die!
But, the survival instinct being the dominant impulse for most human beings, the pretty teenager found herself slowly unzipping her jeans even as her defiant thoughts echoed through her brain. As her shaking hands unfastened her last hope of protection, she noticed her going-steady ring with its blue angora thread wrapped around it to keep it on her slender finger.
I should have let Billy Buford make love to me in that vacant lot after the graduation dance, she thought dizzily. Better to lose my virginity to him than this ugly monster!
It was much too late now for "if only's". Even as Daisy's trembling fingers started to tug her hip-hugger jeans down over her rosebud-studded panties, the hungrily panting rapist was grasping for her virginal breasts and tormenting their tiny pink nipples between his filthy fingers.
Although the inexperienced teenager knew quite well what was in store for her, she was actually not as afraid as she'd expected to be now that her own ordeal had finally begun. Waiting, wondering, imagining.. . that had been worse than the stark reality; and though tears still brimmed up in her innocent eyes, a peculiar curiosity was tempering her fears. For the past two years or so, she and her girl friends not to mention their steady boyfriends had thought of little else than the act of lovemaking. Now, it was about to happen to her!
Though she had no way of knowing this, young Daisy Muller was about to discover that the gnawing excitement in the pit of her young belly, which she'd felt so intensely last night while watching the Spanish woman's ravishment, was about to become the prime influence of her life.
As the conflict-crazed young girl slowly removed her blue jeans, she glanced once again at her twin brother. For some reason, Randy's expression frightened and excited her; it was as though, beneath his normal, everyday face, there hovered another mask which was horrifyingly similar to the lust-distorted features of these inhuman Spaniards.
"Take it off, little girl!" Carlos gloated. "All of it!"
Her peculiar thoughts about her brother forgotten in her nervous discomfort, Daisy eased her tight-fitting jeans down over her girlishly swelling hips and firm-fleshed thighs. The horrible man was licking his lips at the sight of her young body clad only in a skimpy pair of white bikini panties, and although she was trembling and blushing, there was a funny tingling sensation growing deep inside her churning belly and down between her thighs.
The drug-crazed student rebel's passion-pulsing penis rammed against his pants as he noted the vague outline of the shivering teenager's pubic curls through the thin nylon fabric of her low-slung bikini panties. He lunged out to pull away the hand which she'd modestly placed over her exposed cuntal crevice, his breath coming in hoarse, shuddering gasps.
"Everything!" he insisted. "EVERYTHING! Take off your panties, too!"
Tears flooded Daisy's eyes so that she could scarcely see. She was dimly aware that part of her wanted this to happen, that she wanted to know what it felt like to feel a man's thing throbbing inside her shamefully damp vagina, but this self-knowledge was repressed by her moralistic upbringing and her genuine fears of the huge flesh weapon which Carlos had withdrawn from his trendy pre-bleached American jeans.
"Oooohhhh, you bastards! YOU BASTARDS!" wailed Helene as she saw her innocent young child standing naked and vulnerable before the sadistic Spaniard.
Suddenly a wave of pure fury washed over the victimized young mother. She couldn't stand for the indecent, despicable sodomizing to continue one second longer than necessary, and as she knelt before the drug-crazed young student in humiliating submission, she vowed to bring her depraved anal rape to a quick end.
Even though it sickened her to do so, the American woman began wagging her tortured backside in wanton response to the lewd thrusts of Jose's rampaging penis. Despite the pain, she even clasped her burning anal muscles tightly around the impaling flesh weapon, trying with every ounce of her energy to bring on his indecent orgasm and end her humiliating torture. Then, she hoped against hope, she would be able to do something to help her endangered virgin daughter.
The older woman's erotic undulations and the tight-sucking walls of her butter-smooth anal passage nearly drove
Jose Angel out of his mind. As his lust-glazed eyes watched the rubbery flesh of her tiny pink orifice drawing back with his punishing flesh cudgel, then vanishing as he plunged to the hilt again, he knew that he couldn't hold back his climax very much longer.
Hell! he thought in lewd triumph. She's loving it! Look at her twitch that ass for me! FOR ME! I've made her turn into a cock-hungry bitch!
Helene's pretty face was streaked with tears and mud as she rolled her head from side to side on the dirt floor in her frenzied efforts to bring the man to a quick climax. Every fiber of her healthy young body strained toward this end as she bucked and writhed beneath him, and some hitherto undetected whorish instinct rose within her and led her to encourage and plead with the male behind her to fill her anal passage with his thick hot sperm.
"Yeeessss!" she wailed. "Oooohhhhhh yeeesssss! Give it to meeeee! Gimmmmeeee your cum in my ass-hole! Yyaaahhhh!"
The vulgarity of her shrill cry shocked the inexperienced mother very much, but in some inexplicable way it also drove her on to still more depraved demonstration. Jose had reacted to her sluttish writhing as she'd expected he would and was now skewering his long, white-hot cock-shaft into her throbbing backside with ever deeper, more vicious strokes, and his jagged-nailed fingers were biting into the tender flesh of her upper thighs as he clamped her down against the goat hut floor. The torture was almost unbearable, yet in some peculiar way Helene was virtually unaware of physical pain anymore.
I'm acting as vile and bestial as they are! she thought in a daze of self-bewilderment. Then, as a spasm of strange masochistic pleasure shivered through her cock-impaled loins, her brain cried, I AM like them dirty, sick, nothing but a whore under the respectable suburban housewife skin I wear!
The enormity of her realization so affected Helene Muller that all thoughts of her brutalized virgin daughter temporarily fled from her mind. For all the years of her marriage to Elwood, she'd never had a chance to express the hot-blooded sensuality that lurked within her curvaceous body.
In fact, she'd only vaguely suspected that it existed; her erotic urges had been channeled into various interests with at least partial success when Elwood lost interest in her young body. Never had it occurred to her that her passionate love for foliage, food, and other sensory-satisfying pleasures had any connection with the frustration she felt night after night with her executive husband.
Now, for the first time in thirty-three years, the American housewife was aware that she was; when one swept away all the roles and pretenses, nothing but a female with the same wanton needs and lusts as the streetwalkers she'd always regarded with pity and scorn. With the realization came a powerful rush of freedom, and her red-welt streaked buttocks undulated with an increased frenzy which was no longer false.
All right! her tortured mind screamed. I'm nothing but a vulgar bitch! Okay! I deserve all the vile things they're doing to me, because I'm just a slut! And I don't even care how sick I am to like it. I'm going to fuck like the whore I am!
"Fuck me, you bastard!" she shrieked. "Fuck my ass! Hard! Harder! Gimme your cuuuummmmmmm!"
As the incoherent vulgarities sputtered from the mother's lips in a mindless stream of long pent-up sensual abandon, the delighted Spanish student shoved forward with a fierce thrust that almost tore through the very walls of her soft-fleshed belly. Waves of thick, searing cum flooded up into the tight-clasping depths of her ravished rectum as her buttocks continued to twitch in bestial lust, and even the obscene sensation of his thick semen trickling out of her spasming elastic rectum onto her burning ass-cheeks did not recall her to her senses.
God, I wish he'd fuck my cunt! she thought wildly, burying her face in the cool mud of the shed's floor. I want to cum so bad I'm going to die!
Then, suddenly, the sex-crazed young woman's lewd reverie was cut short as a shrill cry of anguish echoed from the corner where her naked daughter lay beneath another of their kidnappers. Jerking her head from the floor, Helene met her son Randy's horrified eyes, then shifted her gaze to where Daisy struggled beneath a thin-bodied youth.
The man's lunging penis was prodding at her virgin daughter's tiny vaginal opening!
A violent shudder of guilt raced through the cum-sullied woman's body as she realized that she'd actually forgotten about her children in the throes of indecent passion. She wasn't fit to be a mother!
"NOOOOOOO!" she wailed in hysterical panic. "NNNOOOOO!"
"Shut up!" Antonio commanded. "You liked it well enough when it happened to you!"
The vicious, passion-maddened youth aimed a kick at the screaming mother, striking her full on the head. With a low gasp, she lapsed into a state of unconsciousness.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Daisy was unaware of her mother's plight as she lay beneath Carlos's sweat-stained body and tried futilely to twist her cringing pussy away from his menacing rod of lust-hardened male flesh. It was so big! So red and swollen! It would tear her to pieces down there, maybe kill her!
"Stttoppppppp!" she cried out again. "Noooo, pleeeeeze!"
Her pleas were more detrimental than useful, for they sparked Carlos's sadistic tendencies rather than arousing any pity in his alcohol and drug-clouded mind. Without wasting the energy to reply to her beseeching sobs, he dug his iron-hard fingers into the yielding flesh of her girlish breasts and pinned her flat to the ground. Then, forcing her vainly kicking legs apart with his knees, he mashed his rampant rigidity up against the curl-fringed lips of her never-before-touched vagina.
A croaking shudder passed from Daisy's fear-trembling lips, and then she fell silent as the hopelessness of her position dawned on her. There was nothing more she could do! Cruel fate had decreed that she was to lose her treasured virginity to a mad rapist on the floor of a goat hut in Spain!
The blood-bloated cock-head jabbed viciously against the cringing flesh of the helplessly weeping virgin's petal-pink cunt, prodding at the tiny orifice until at last it found its mark and slipped an inch or so into the tightly resisting opening. Daisy felt her plunderer rock forward with brutal strength, forcing all the weight in his thin but hard-muscled young body behind the battering-ram attack of his lust-thickened penis.
"Aaaaggghhhhhhh!" The shrill cry burst from the fifteen year old's lips as a bolt of the most intense pain she'd ever imagined shot through her slim young body.
The swollen flesh pole of masculine dominance continued to bore deeper between the gasping teenager's wide-held legs, its hard, blunt head skewering brutally between the fearfully cringing walls of her never-before-abused pussy channel. Only when it reached the intrusive membrane of her maidenhead did the ravenous onslaught stop.
"No!" Daisy panted in anguish. "Noooo! Stooopppp!"
By now, the high school girl wasn't thinking of her purity or the moral consequences of the irreparable sundering of her tissue-thin seal of virginity. The only thing that mattered to her was to put an end to the unendurable pain that shivered from the top of her skull to her helplessly curling white toes, to stop this monster's brutal attack before he destroyed her fragile young body. A cloud of blackness swam before her eyes, and for an instant she thought that she was already dying.
Carlos grinned, an evil, inhuman leer, and tightened his grip on the young girl's lushly pliant young breasts. Then, with the guttural grunt of a primitive caveman, he flicked his slim hips forward with all the force in his drug-demented body and felt his pulsating thickness slice through the thin skin of her hymen.
"Aaiiieeee!! " screamed Daisy in sheer torment.
I've done it! he cried in silent triumph. I've fucked a real virgin! What a man I am!
His egoistic excitement, coupled with the rapturous constriction of the little girl's cuntal walls around his rampaging penis, so aroused the sadistic student's passions that he began fucking in and out of her taut vaginal sheath with the vigorous force of a speeding express train. Without thought of the pain and injury he was inflicting on the inexperienced adolescent, he rammed and bullied his out-of-control member all the way up into her spongy, ultra-sensitive cervix. Then, growling with bestial delight, he ripped his thick cock back up out of her ravished pussy, pulling little shreds of pink cuntal flesh along with his merciless flesh cudgel, and paused for a moment to catch his breath.
For one optimistic moment, Daisy Muller thought her ordeal was over. Thank God! she breathed in relief. I'II never, never let another male touch me again! A tiny tremor of regret shot through her burning loins as she remembered how, until this terrible experience, she'd quite looked forward to the days when she would enjoy lovemaking. Of course, she'd planned to wait till she was married, or at least pinned, but her outlook toward sex had been one of happy anticipation rather than fearful dread. Well, now she knew the truth, and she would never, not for anything on this earth, allow her body to be abused by another brutish male.
Daisy's pain-dazed reverie came to an abrupt halt as Carlos once again thrust his thick-veined flesh cudgel down into the girl's no-longer-virginal cuntal channel. Though she screamed again, in fact the pain was much less this time, for her formerly dry vagina was lubricated with droplets of blood from her severed maidenhead. And as he plunged again and again into her girlishly tight pussy, automatic female secretions of unacknowledged building excitement served to smooth its burgeoning path.
The tortured teenager's cries roused her stunned mother from her face-down position on the dirt floor. As she slowly regained consciousness and opened her eyes, Helene Muller at first didn't realize where she was, who these dirty, menacing strangers were. Then, as she grew more aware of the rank stink of the goat shed and the taste of mud in her cock-bruised lips, and as the shrill female screams echoed through her ears, she knew in an icy moment of horror that she was not lying in her clean twin bed in Schenectady having one of her frequent nightmares.
Oh, God. No. It can't be true. Her brain whirled dizzily as she tried to focus her blurred vision on the depraved scene taking place before her. I won't believe it. It's got to be a dream...
But the horrified mother knew full well that her young child's ravishment at the hands of a cruel sadist was as real as the burning pain in her buttocks and in her plundered anal passage. Randy's eyes were gazing into her own, and the hurt and accusation in them stung her like a poisoned arrow. God, the boy thought it was her fault. But what could she do? What?
Turning from her son with a shudder of guilty anguish, the naked mother watched in impotent misery as her only daughter lost her most precious treasure to a filthy foreign brute who must be hurting her terribly, from the look of it. The mere sight of her graceful, delicate young figure being rocked furiously against the floor as the male's huge instrument of torture plunged again and again into her innocent body made Helene's blood turn to ice in her veins. But then, as the tone of the child's cries changed imperceptibly, an even more dreadful thought flitted through her mind: was Daisy enjoying the vicious rape...just as she herself had fifteen minutes earlier? Oh, no, no...
The watching mother was aware of her daughter's encroaching arousal even before the girl herself identified the strange sensations sweeping over her impaled body. Due to her own recent abandoned depravity, Helene could spot all the telltale signs: the twitching buttocks, responsively undulating in tempo with the pummeling male flesh, the weird glint of animal lust in the eyes; the heaving breath and whimpers that sounded increasingly more like murmurings of encouragement.
Oh dear God! the guilt-tortured mother despaired. It's all my fault, I suppose. She saw how I acted, and she's imitating me!
But the young girl wasn't thinking of her mother as she began to realize that her loins seemed to be inflamed with some sort of weird, indecent passion. Shameful as it was to admit, even to herself, a gnawing erotic hunger of exactly the same sort as she'd felt with her steady boyfriend was once again consuming her body. Fingers of fiery pain continued to dance through her brutally impaled figure, but the strange embers of excitement dulled the physical discomfort to an insignificant pressure.
"Lookit the little bitch! She-likes it!" Carlos exulted.
The sight of the fair-skinned little American girl bucking and moaning in unwilling ecstasy beneath his thickly skewering penis was too much for the desire-demented Spaniard. Before he knew what was happening, hot sperm was churning up in his testicles as they danced against the child-woman's satin-smooth ass-cheeks, and a second later hot streams of white cum were spewing deep into her no-longer-pure vaginal depths. Clutching her silken-fleshed breasts and grunting out his satisfaction, " the proud student abandoned himself to the supreme delight of a long-drawn-out, explosively powerful orgasm.
As the seething jets of male semen shot deep into her vagina and splashed against her very womb, Daisy's undercurrent of arousal surfaced in a tidal wave of volcanic force. Her knees jerked wider apart to give the man's ejaculating penis better access to her fire-filled cuntal depths, and her firm young buttocks began grinding in frenzied excitement as a spasm of bittersweet pleasure swept through her body. Wave after wave of the purest ecstasy she'd ever known crashed over her half-unconscious body, soaring her into her very first orgasm and changing her forever from the innocent child she'd been a mere twenty-four hours before.
And Randy, as his own rampant teenaged penis exploded from the tension of watching his young sister squirm and writhe beneath a mammoth male hardness, knew that he, too, would never be the same again. How could he bear the shame of remembering that he'd actually cum in his jeans while watching Daisy be brutally raped? How could he ever forget the way she was screaming out like a demented madwoman as thick rivulets of cream-white semen trickled down over her spasming thighs and chestnut-brown cuntal curls?
"I'm cumming!" Daisy's wanton shrieks rang out again. "Can't help it! I'm cuuummminnnnngggg! And it's ssssoooooo gggoooooddddddd!"
CHAPTER NINE
Down in the valley below, the sun was burning down with vengeful heat by midday. Elwood Muller, in blissful oblivion of the trials and tribulations the other members of his family were undergoing, had left the Pop-top's oven-like interior and headed for the cool shade of the tree-banked brook. In one hand, he clutched a six-pack of beer; in the other, a copy of Newsweek. Despite his still-throbbing headache, he felt relaxed and more peaceful than he could remember feeling for a very long time.
Settling down in the quiet Pyrenees valley for a day or so had been an admirable idea, he congratulated himself as he settled down in a dry patch of grass and popped open a can of beer. Look how happy and active the kids were why, they'd been out in the fresh air before he even got up! Helene, too, seemed pleased at his decision, and he supposed, with a thrill of pride, that her good mood had something to do with his sexual advances of the previous evening.
"Sure I can still get it up like a man half my age!" he muttered to the bubbling brook. "And why the hell shouldn't I? The little wife's still a mighty good-looking woman!"
Ignoring the flickering doubts as to how much he had actually satisfied his lovely young wife, Elwood took a deep sip of the cold beer and sighed with contentment. This was his last six-pack of beer, and he intended to enjoy them to the utmost. Maybe then, he reflected lazily, he'd take up rum...
The beer ran down his throat, cold and wet and utterly satisfying. Leaning back on his bare elbows, Elwood shook the magazine and plucked up the paperback book that fell from its pages. It was one of those "adult" books, something he'd picked up in the Munich airport while Helene and the kids were wandering around in the duty-free shop, and though he'd been a little ashamed of buying it, he told himself that the modern view of sexual literature was that it was perfectly normal and not in the least perverted. Hell, think of Denmark and Sweden; and even
Germany was intending to legalize pornography.
"Anyhow," the husband rationalized as he stared at the picture on the cover, "You can't call this stuff pornography. It's realistic, that's all. None of that beating-around-the-bush shit! The real thing!"
The illustration on the cover showed a pretty woman, a young girl who appeared to be her daughter, and a vicious Arab clad in robe and turban. A quick glance at the introduction told him that the novel told the story of an American woman and her teenaged daughter who were kidnapped by brutal Arab terrorists while touring Morocco.
Fucking awful Arabs, Elwood thought irritably, recalling the brand-new Cadillac he'd been forced to sell because he couldn't get enough gas to run the damn thing unless he spent half his waking hours waiting in line at the gas station. You can't trust the bastards, that's God's own truth. Thank goodness we're here in a nice, safe place without any of those mother fucking, immoral types. . .
* * *
Not more than an hour's walk from where Elwood Muller lay relaxing in the sun-dappled shade near his Pop-top camper, a "mother-fucking, immoral type", complete with long, Cuban-style mustache and gun, was cautiously driving a heavy cattle truck up a heavily rutted shepherd's path. Beside him sat another similar specimen, this one someone younger and sporting a Che Guevera mustache and army fatigue cap.
"This road's no damn good, not after a-" the driver, Pedro, was muttering to his companion when suddenly a woman's figure appeared at the side of the road, waving her arms and crying out to them.
"Well, I'll be damned!" Pedro ejaculated. "It's Vasilisa. Hope to hell nothing's gone wrong up at the cabin...."
The tall, well-built revolutionary eased the large van to a halt and jumped out of the wagon, the good condition of his muscular body evident in the grace with which he moved. Hugging his wife, who came flying into his arms with hysterical sobs, he calmed her down and then listened to her story.
"Hell, nothing to have a fit about!" he remarked after she'd tearfully stammered out that the three young rebels had captured three Americans and were forcing them into sinful activities. "They're just kids, and it's better that they play around with tourists than Spanish girls, after all."
"You don't understand!" Vasilisa burst out, too overcome by the monstrous events of the last day to remember to address her husband with her customary deference.
"I don't understand?" Pedro's face darkened. "It's you who understand nothing, woman! Sure, those kids aren't ideal Movement members but we've got to include them if we want the support of the Communist university-based organizations. It was your job to make them behave!"
Hot tears blurred Vasilisa's vision, but she choked them back as she related all the vile details: her own triple rape, the youth's disloyalty, their hashish-smoking, their stupidity, sadism, and hypocrisy. As she blurted out her story, Pedro's handsome face darkened like a summer sky before a thunderstorm, and the blonde Spanish woman's voice trailed off into a plaintive whisper as she perceived that some of his wrath was directed against herself.
"You let them fuck you, all three of them at once?" he demanded.
It was not so much the anger in her husband's voice which frightened Vasilisa, but more the unmistakable glint of sexual arousal in his brown eyes. He had never looked at her like that in the old days, just as he'd certainly never lowered himself to compromising involvements with people like those three despicable students. As he flashed a glance of egoistical male confidence to his companion, she suddenly realized that his power hunger, his desire to be king of the mountain, was far more important than the love he'd once felt for his wife and his Basque countryside. Hadn't she suspected that he felt this way for a long time now facing the dread knowledge one moment, denying it the next? Wasn't that the reason he'd insisted that they have no children?
Vasilisa gulped back her tears and looked from her husband to his friend. Although she wasn't personally acquainted with the handsome youth, she knew that he was one of the up-and-coming leaders of the Movement. Then, turning back to her husband, she felt a cold shiver of reality flicker through her voluptuous young body. Even if Pedro had changed, even though his love was not of the pure quality she had deluded herself it was, she could not find the strength to go against him. She was his woman, and as had been the custom down through the ages, she would do his bidding.
Pedro demanded that she get into the truck, and she sat uncomfortably pressed between her husband and the other man, Miguel, while they drove as quickly as possible up to the isolated goat hut. Although a host of threatening premonitions teased at the corners of her mind, she spoke only when spoken to and forced back her tears.
Only when Pedro and Miguel pulled the truck up beside the silent shed, leapt from the van with machine guns pulled, and bashed open the wooden door, did she react.
"Oh, dear God!" the fair-haired Basque woman murmured, fingering her well-worn rosary. "Oh God, oh God! Is this the way life was meant to be?"
From inside the hut came muffled shouts and the sound of scuffling, then a loud burst of gunfire. Vasilisa didn't stay to see what had happened. Suddenly something clicked inside her brain, and she made her decision. Turning, she once again hurried down the mountain trail, and though her heart ached with unshed tears, she never once turned back.
By the time she'd reached the spot where the path forked and she changed direction to head for her parents' farm in the next valley, she'd made up her mind to emigrate to Canada where one of her uncles had a small fishing company. She would leave as soon as possible in order to avoid seeing Pedro ever again.
* * *
Neither Helene Muller nor her two young children would ever be able to forget the sickening cracks of bullets striking skulls as Antonio, Carlos, and Jose Angel's naked bodies crumpled to the ground before their eyes. And the blood! It was so red, and there was so much of it oozing from the three limp figures...soaking into the mud floor...spattering Randy's jeans and his mother's and sister's ivory-white nakedness...
Even now, three years later, Helene still awoke from nightmares that left her shivering and crying. She could never sleep again after these dreams of blood and hatred, but would lie in her bed trembling in anguish as a parade of faces moved before her mind's eye. First, the features of the slaughtered young revolutionaries, blood-spattered, eyes staring at her in unblinking glassy death; then the ruthless masks of Pedro and Miguel with their steel-hard eyes, looking as real as they had that long-ago day when they'd tied her together with her children like slaves to be sold at the market and had pushed them into the back of the cattle truck.
Randy's and Daisy's faces haunted her, too. Her son's expression was strange, wild, as though he were in a state of shock. As for Daisy, her guilt-ridden mother always thought of her pretty teenaged features distorted into a wanton mask of lust as she screamed out in the throes of orgasm.
Most disturbing of all the faces in the imaginary procession, however, was the one of her ex-husband, Elwood. His eyes glinted with icy unforgiveness in her memory, just as they had when she and the twins had been forced by Pedro and Miguel to perform every manner of obscene, incestuous acts. The cruel revolutionaries had assumed, quite correctly, that being forced to watch his family degraded in this way would convince the American man to come up with the ransom money they demanded.
"But why couldn't Elwood understand and forgive?" Helene would mutter into the darkness. "Surely he could have realized that our bodies couldn't help reacting...that we weren't going against him...."
But Elwood had held no sympathy for his wife, nor had he seemed to want to look at his children. During the three awful days when they'd been kept in the cattle truck while Elwood and Pedro drove around arranging secretive ways to have the money delivered from the United States, he'd avoided their eyes and had withdrawn into himself. It had been even worse once they were on the Iberia plane back to New York, and Helene knew that his reaction had hurt the children as much as it had her. He'd not even come back to Schenectady with them, but had taken a hotel in the city and filed for a divorce at once.
In the light of day, when Helene thought about the past, things didn't look as dismal as in the night. After all, she told herself, why would she want to be married to a man with so little human compassion? And wasn't she happy now, with her little house and antique shop in New England, her new friends, her lover James Heinrich? Certainly, she was happy! But. . . but. . . well, how could a mother truly be happy when her children seemed so miserable, so unable to cope with life?
Often, as she worked in her little antique shop or tended the pretty garden of her colonial-style cottage in this small, peaceful town, the youthful-looking divorcee would pause as a faraway look flickered in her large eyes. Maybe I shouldn't have sent the kids off to boarding school that first year? she'd ponder, a worried, guilty frown wrinkling her smooth forehead. But what could I do? It was hard enough trying to make a new life, moving here and all...
At first, when the children were visiting her on school vacations, she'd closed her eyes to the fact that something was definitely the matter. They'd all treated each other politely too politely, perhaps and she'd only begun to consciously worry when Daisy began to gain a reputation as being promiscuous. Even then, though, she'd been too embarrassed to speak to her daughter honestly.
Then, after one abortion and a host of unsavory scandals, seventeen year old Daisy Muller had run away from school to live with a rock musician named Eugenio on some awful commune somewhere out west. Helene hadn't heard from her daughter in nine months now, but she'd read a letter she sent to a friend (stolen by the girl's mother and passed on to her) that told of the orgies and group sex, and also of a suicide attempt.
Every time Helene thought about that letter, her eyes filled with tears. Yet much as she wished she could help her little girl, it was too late now to undo the damage that had been done.
As for Randy well, on the surface he seemed in better shape than his sister. He'd done well in prep school, and in the autumn would be entering the college of his choice. Each Christmas he visited his mother, and the Easter holidays were spent with his father in New York, where Elwood, by dint of hard work and luck on the stock market, had made up for the money he'd lost to the Basque revolutionaries and was living in an elegant penthouse. During the summer months, Randolph took summer jobs at camps rather than staying with either of his parents.
Everyone told her she should be proud of her good-looking son, and Helene supposed they were right. Yet no matter how often she tried to convince herself of this, a cold little wind blew through her soul. There was something which alarmed her about the boy a coldness in his eyes, a sense of repressed hatred and she feared the day when this subdued streak of violence would explode.
Did Elwood and the children still wake up crying in the night, as she did? Why couldn't they all have treated each other with love and compassion, helped one another bear the scars of their horrifying adventure? Why had their family been destroyed by the encounter with brutality and violence?
Lately, Helene had tried to stop thinking so much about these gloomy things. The only way to survive, she decided, was to tend one's own garden. Perhaps she would marry James Henrich and try to start a new family, a family with strong bonds of true love.
In the daytime, this plan seemed feasible, even sensible. Only in the night, when the dreams returned, did Helene allow herself to doubt that love was possible in a cruel and uncaring world.