In this fast moving and compelling novel, author Martin Uris skillfully ties together the threads of several diverse problems in contemporary American life. The man and woman whom we see in an intimate moment at the opening of the book are not a pair of average American newlyweds. Henry Barton is the heir to an international mining corporation, a man who has successfully and unconsciously sublimated most of his sexual desires in a desperate struggle to earn his father's approval. His young and inexperienced bride is troubled with uncertainty about her new role as wife and bed partner. What lies ahead for Mrs. Gail Barton? The reader might guess from the first few pages of this novel that, under normal circumstances, she would stay legally by her lackluster husband's side for a few years, becoming progressively more dissatisfied and bored. With time, she would take a lover, whom Henry would discover, and then the subsequent divorce action would occupy a place society columns of the New York papers for a few days. But the story contained in this book is not destined to follow this banal and lifeless course.
Instead, during a routine trip to a small South American country, their aircraft is skyjacked by a group of ruthless revolutionaries. Taken as hostages, the Bartons find themselves imprisoned by the rebels with the newly-appointed American ambassador and a famous Hollywood actress. Held under a sentence of death by the guerrillas, each of these four highly individualistic personalities reacts differently to the common danger. We see that unmitigated violence does different things to different people; some are ultimately destroyed by it, physically or mentally - while, for others, it becomes an opportunity for self-discovery and personal growth. As the action and unrestrained sexuality surge through the pages of this compelling novel, we see that - for Gail Barton - the ravishment and violence around her serve as a catalystic chapter in the story of her life. In the short space of a few days, an innocent sheltered young socialite becomes a fully mature and sensuous woman, aware of what she wants out of life and what she must do to get it.
But, above and beyond the human element of this novel, The Perfumed Decoy has an important social message for those of us who take an intelligent interest in world affairs. As a journalist who has covered the South American scene for a major news service for many years, author Uris is passionately convinced that American policy towards our neighbors to the South must change, and change rapidly, if the continent is to be saved from communism. Having experienced personally the brutality and bloodshed of several Latin American revolutions, the writer believes that appropriate U.S. aid would have saved lives and prevented eventual emergence of hostile anti-American regimes like the communist dictatorship in Cuba.
This book is recommended for the serious and mature reader. To describe an execution or a multiple rape scene delicately is to rob the event of its dramatic significance. While the author's sincerity and realism have gone a long way towards making this an outstanding novel, it cannot be recommended to the prudish or the faint-hearted.
--The Publishers
THE PERFUMED DECOY
"Well then, you explain it, Henry. Why don't you ever want to do it?" Gail asked him pleadingly, unconsciously pulling up her knees to cover the tantalizing sight of her naked breasts, forcing herself to look her husband directly in the eye in spite of the intense embarrassment she felt at bringing this delicate matter out into the open.
Henry Barton Junior stirred uncomfortably under the silken sheets of his bed. The thirty-five year old man was all too accustomed to being brow-beaten by his father, Henry Barton Senior, but not at all used to being challenged by anyone else. He pulled the sheet across his naked loins, modestly covering his small limp penis, feeling a vague sense of irritation, but determined to be as calm and reasonable about this as his wife was.
"I think that book you've been reading is giving you a lot of crazy ideas," he responded in his light tenor voice. Henry was a middle-aged man, but he still possessed a distinct tendency to gulp and stammer like a teenager whenever he spoke under pressure. "I think we do it just as much as any other couple. These books try to say you're queer if you don't do it six times before lunch. Well, I think that's a lot of crap. My father always said ..."
"Oh Henry, please don't tell me what your father always said," the girl begged him in desperation, crawling nakedly over to his side with the book in one hand. "I'm talking about us and what other people say and do just isn't important right now. I'm just afraid I don't please you in some way. The only reason I got this book is because I thought there might be some things . . . you know what I mean . . . some special little things you might like me to do that I didn't know about. Sometimes it seems like I don't excite you enough, and when a woman doesn't turn her husband on after six months of marriage, she gets worried. I don't want to lose you to some stupid chorus girl who'll do all the things you were afraid to ask me to do."
His beautiful young wife was painfully sincere and almost any other man but Henry J. (for Jericho) Barton Junior would have jumped at this blushing invitation. In an age when even ugly girls lose their virginity at seventeen, it was a minor miracle that Gail had somehow managed to preserve her maidenhead until the first night of their honeymoon when Henry, on the third try, had removed it and made a regular married lady out of her.
Thirteen years younger than her husband, Gail was a honey-blonde with soft friendly facial features and a body which ought to have made a lion out of even a mouse like Henry. She had always been shy about her breasts, which were exceptionally voluptuous for an otherwise slender woman, very high-set and taut, attracting interested attention from men whenever she entered a room. In fact, even Henry had noticed the extent of her endowment the first time he saw her in a bathing suit by the side of the swimming pool at the exclusive Twin Oaks Country Club. Violating that inexorable law which dictates that women who are big up front must also be big behind, the rest of Gail's body was contrarily slim and shapely. In short, she was the perfect combination of a pin-up girl and a wet dream. The trouble was, there were only two people in the world who did not quite realize this obvious fact. One was Henry J. Barton Junior, who had a vague notion that he had married something special but no ideas about what to do about it. The other person was Gail herself.
Raised in a strictly religious family, she had been watched over jealously, while she was blossoming into a delightful young woman, by a coterie of parents, aunts, and grandmothers, all of whom were determined that she be delivered intact into the arms of some deserving (and therefore extremely wealthy) husband. Anxious not to spoil her in any way, no one ever told Gail that she was lovely, and when the time came for her to finish her education, she was packed off to a remote woman's college in the distant hills, administered by nuns and far away from populated areas. Six months after graduation and her debut into high society, she was married to the only son and heir of Henry Barton Senior, owner of a worldwide syndicate of mining interests. Gail had been raised to do her duty to other people and never to think of herself, and she knew enough about life to realize that a wife was supposed to keep her husband happy in bed. And she was trying, even buying books on the subject. But Henry, who was vice-president of Barton Minerals Incorporated, had a great deal on his mind in connection with the family business, and he did not seem to be able to cooperate much.
Cuddling up close to her husband, Gail pulled the sheet up to her waist - still shy whenever Henry saw the triangle of light blonde hair between her legs - and opened the book on her knees. She had been terribly embarrassed when she had bought it, and the clerk in the store had made some thinly disguised insulting remarks, but Gail was trying to do her duty as a wife, and this book had very graphic illustrations and photographs showing exactly just what her wifely duties were supposed to be.
"For example, would you like uh . . . this?" she questioned him, knowing that she was blushing ail the way from her succulent young breasts right up to the roots of her hair, but determined to go through with it anyway. The page was open to a photograph of a man lying between a woman's outstretched legs, his lips pressed against the soft dark hair of her pussy while the woman caressed her own breasts, an ecstatic expression on her face. "I mean, I'd let you do anything you wanted to do, honey, if I just knew what it was ..."
Gail could feel the nipples on her breasts hardening with desire as she spoke these daring words, but she was not really sure she wanted to have Henry down on his hands and knees between her legs, doing who-knows-what with his mouth against the most intimate part of her body. She was almost relieved when he examined the picture closely, swallowed hard, and made no comment. She turned the page, and began reading aloud: "While oral sex is sometimes considered to be dirty and unnatural by puritanical individuals, physicians and marriage counselors report that in approximately seventy-two percent of sexually successful marriages, the partners engage in some form of mouth-to-genital contact, frequently as an ingredient in foreplay. The variety of possible positions is obviously enormous, but the basic technique in fellation consists of the woman gently introducing her partner's genital organ into her mouth, and then sucking on it softly, gradually pulling it farther towards the back of her throat while at the same time stroking the base of the penis with the tips of her fingers. Men interviewed on this subject have reported that orgasms experienced during fellatio are several times more intense than regular coitus and ..."
Gail's voice tapered off as the embarrassment became too much for her, and she realized that this passage described something she had never contemplated doing to anyone, even her husband - not even if seventy-two percent of all the married couples interviewed by the author of this book did it twice a day. With a shock, she noticed that Henry's flaccid penis, which had been hidden beneath the sheet, had grown slightly larger while she had been reading to him, peaking out from under the covers like a timid mouse. A sudden terror swept over her. Oh Lord, she thought in dismay, suppose that turns out to be what he really likes? Could he really ask me to do a thing like that to him?
Henry was just as embarrassed at the whole business as his young blonde bride was, but he could not hide the fact that the pictures in this book had stimulated him, and almost without thinking, his hand stole furtively to Gail's breast. He caressed the tiny, turgid nipple thoughtfully for a moment, feeling it harden and swell between his fingers. It would never have occurred to him to ask his wife to perform such a degradingly bizarre experiment, but the thought stirred him up mildly, and he could feel his cock twitching feebly.
Dropping the book by her side, Gail turned towards her husband, burying her face in his chest and kissing his torso, obviously becoming very seriously aroused. Henry sank back against the pillow, deciding that, after all, she had practically volunteered . . . why not? The boys in the locker room of the Twin Oaks Country Club had been talking about it once while he was changing after a golf match, and they had all agreed that it was about the best thing going, just like the book said.
Gail was curled up beside him and he looked at her splendid lust-arousing body with mild affection, thinking that besides being a marvelous hostess and a tremendous public relations asset for the company, she was really a remarkably beautiful woman. No wonder Dad had suggested he marry her. And if she really could be coaxed into doing this depraved thing, he would be able to smile knowledgeably the next time the subject came up in a locker room conversation. Gail's soft silken hair was brushing against his chest, making him feel faintly sexy, and he threw an arm across her naked shoulders, gently pressing her farther down in the general direction of his partially aroused penis.
Gail felt the pressure of his arm and understood clearly what it meant, but for a moment her mind rebelled at the idea. Surely this was the most unnatural, depraved thing a man and a woman could do to one another! And that shocking book had talked about men having orgasms like this, which means obviously that their hot sticky cum would come rushing into the warm sanctuary of the woman's mouth . . . the thought made her dizzy, but she reminded herself of what she had so proudly said a few minutes before about being willing to do anything her husband wanted. It was she, after all, who had gotten the marriage manual out and read that perverted passage, although it was true that she had not realized what the words were saying until she was too far along to stop. No, there was no backing out now!
Pushing the covers back as she ran her soft lips tenderly over his naked belly, Gail saw that Henry's penis was gradually stiffening and hardening, swelling with the anticipation of her warm mouth covering the rigid length of his penis. The thought that it was she who was causing this violent excitement started her body tingling, and she realized with a tiny hint of shame that she was getting aroused herself. She would nibble his penis just a little, she promised herself, and then pull him over on top of her. If that was what it took to get him steamed up, then it was really a small price to pay. After all, he had just stepped out of the shower only minutes before, so he was completely clean and fresh-smelling.
In the entire course of their marriage, she had never touched Henry down there with her fingers. Now Gail heard her husband gasp aloud with pleasure as she closed her hand firmly around the throbbing shaft of his penis, pointing the neatly circumcised gland directly at her parted lips. She began to shiver with excitement, feeling how hard he had become and thinking that it was going to be wonderful when he came surging deep into her vagina in a few minutes. Panting with this unusual stimulation, she kissed him directly on the blunt bulbous tip of his pulsating scarlet glans, feeling Henry's body react immediately, his hips flexing slowly back and forth. In that moment, she knew that she had found the courage to do it, found the courage to cover his throbbing penis with her warm moist mouth, and parting her lips . . .
The telephone rang.
"Don't answer it," she groaned in despair. "Got to," he muttered, his penis beginning to lose some of its hardness. "Could be Dad."
It was Dad. Gail could hear the thunderous roar of Henry Barton Senior's powerful and authoritative voice exploding into the quiet of their bedroom and felt Henry Junior's feeble little penis growing soft and useless in her hands.
"Listen, Henry, that Santa Marta business has degenerated into a real holy mess. You've got to get down there fast."
"Gee ... ah, what happened Dad?" "Those damn rebels have taken over number seven mine, the one in the mountains that produces all the you-know-what. They shot up the government troops guarding it and I've just been on the phone with Salvatore, who says they haven't got enough men right now to take the mine back."
"It's that Don Carlos group, I bet," responded Henry Junior, getting indignant. "How dare he touch our mines! Salvatore should have shot him when he had the chance."
"It was a calculated risk, and I voted yes when they wanted to let him out of prison. Don Carlos is the only man in the country with two brain cells to rub together, and we figured we could buy him off."
"So he became a rebel."
"It was his way of telling us that the price wasn't right, that's all. And this business of grabbing that mine is just a matter of upping the ante."
"So ... so what do I have to do, Dad?"
"Isn't it obvious? Get your ass down to Santa Marta and have a look at the situation. We need that mine producing again and one way or another it's going to cost us money. You look the situation over and decide who we give it to. If Salvatore looks like he can salvage the mess, write him a check so he can hire the soldiers he needs to clear the mountains of guerrillas; and this time tell him to shoot Don Carlos the moment he gets his hands on him. But it's also possible that Salvatore just hasn't got what it takes anymore, in which case you'll have to make a deal with Don Carlos so he can shoot Salvatore. It doesn't make any difference, just as long as one of them gets a stable government going and those mines start producing again."
"But Dad, Don Carlos is supposed to be a communist or a socialist or something!"
"You nitwit, do you remember the confidential stockholder's report for this fiscal year? Where was our number-one money-earner?"
"Ah ... it was Bulgaria, Dad."
"And Bulgaria's about as communist as you can get! I don't mind doing business with communists. At least they know how to keep their workers in line. Everybody loves money, even Don Carlos. Now I've talked to the other major North American companies operating in Santa Marta, and they've agreed to back our play, so you've got some money to spend. Get down there and make the best deal you can."
There was a leaden click on the phone. Henry Barton Senior did not believe in wasting time with hellos or good-byes, and Henry Junior replaced the phone on the receiver, his face pensive as he thought through the instructions he had been given. Henry was not really a bad business executive, mostly because he was so afraid of his father that he had no fear left over for anyone else. Once he had his marching orders from Barton Senior, he methodically went to work with considerable energy and intelligence. Gail saw that love-making was now the farthest thing from his mind, and so she curled up in a far corner of the bed, pulling the covers over her futile nakedness, watching him while he was lost in thought.
"Is Santa Marta a very poor country?" she finally asked.
Henry nodded with a certain smug satisfaction. "The poorest! And I hope it stays that way because miner's salaries are going up all over the world and cutting into our profits. But we've been keeping Salvatore in as president down there to make sure the unions stay in "And what's so important about number seven mine? That's phosphorus, isn't it? Can't you get phosphorus in several different countries?"
Henry smiled at her girlish innocence as he began dressing.
"Not as cheaply as we can get it from Santa Marta, my dear, and besides, this is very special phosphorus."
"What's special about it?" Gail persisted.
"Well, this is a company secret, and if they found out down in Santa Marta, there really would be a revolution, so keep it under your hat. The phosphate ore coming out of that mine contains three percent uranium."
"Then if the Santa Martans knew they had uranium in their hills, it wouldn't be such a poor country anymore, would it?"
"No, but the Barton Mining Corporation would be one hell of a lot poorer, which is what this is all about. Listen, I've got to get packed."
"Henry?"
"Yeah."
"I want to come too." "Then get packed."
* * *
"Flight Number Seventeen to San Antonio, Mexico City and Santa Marta is now boarding at gate four," the loudspeaker announced, and then repeated the message in Brooklyn-flavored French and Spanish. Gail followed her husband down to gate four while one employee of Barton Minerals looked after their luggage and another one carried their hand baggage for them. As they approached the ticket counter, Gail saw the head of the Barton Minerals' travel office waiting for them with their first class tickets in his hand, together with an official from the San Martan airlines who stepped forward to guide them directly to the head of the plane. A group of Spanish-looking people with shabby clothes stood respectfully aside as the airline official lightly kissed Gail's hand and shook hands with Henry. Suddenly the young wife remembered what her husband had said about Santa Marta being the poorest country in South America, while the Barton Minerals Corporation got richer every year because of uranium ore which the poor Santa Martans did not even know they had. And here she was, being treated like the Queen of England at the expense of a poverty-stricken nation her husband's family was robbing blind.
"Buenos Dias, Senor, y Miss respetos a su senora," murmured the official with unctious Latin courtesy, bowing and scraping as the Bartons passed through the gate. "We expect to have goodest flight possible today, because weather, she is smiling. Many important peoples fly with us today. Grande honor!"
"He certainly was polite," commented Gail, a little taken back by this effusive mixture of Spanish and English.
"He ought to be," responded Henry dryly. "Dad owns the airline. I wonder who the other important people could be."
The first class compartment of the aircraft had spacious seats for six people, while behind in the tourist section, the other travelers were packed in like sardines. A pretty stewardess in an American-style miniskirt brought them magazines and glasses of champagne while the other "important peoples" took their seats. The first one was immediately recognizable as Liza Jones, the famous motion picture actress who had recently been photographed stark naked in a swimming pool belonging to an eminent Midwestern Senator. Since the good senator was also stark naked and swimming frantically after Miss Jones, the snapshot caused a considerable commotion on the floor of the Senate after it was published simultaneously by fifteen different movie magazines and the New York Times.
"I'm making my FIRST FILM in Latin America," she announced after introductions had been made. "Isn't that THRILLING? Pity my leading man is such a TERRIBLE FAGGOT, but then they all are." Miss Jones was the veteran of five Hollywood marriages and Gail knew that she must be pushing forty, but the actress looked no more than a few years older than the young Mrs. Barton, and the two women studied each other carefully, trying to decide whether they could at least be friends for the duration of the flight. Gail's figure was distinctly fuller and fresher, but Liza Jones had that touch of sin about her which made her irresistible to men.
The two other "important peoples" turned out to be high-ranking government officials from the United States Department of State, namely the Under Secretary for Latin American Affairs, the Honorable Milton I. Pearson, and the new American Ambassador to Santa Marta, Geoffrey L. Brenner. Both of these men took seats as far removed as possible from Miss Jones, since the Senator's swimming pool incident was all too fresh in their memory, and neither wanted to risk too close an association with a woman who was so obviously capable of turning a public image.
"Well, let's GO! I wonder what the pilot's WAITING FOR!" complained the actress, addressing herself primarily to Henry, since she had been given to understand that he was the son of a millionaire. As if in obedience, the propellers began twirling, and as soon as the pilot had full power, the aircraft lumbered out onto the runway and swept up into the sky. The moment they were airborne, the stewardess returned with a fresh bottle of champagne, and after the bubbly liquid had made a few rounds among the four first-class passengers, even the two diplomats loosened up enough to join in the conversation. The ambassador seemed to be friendly enough, but Pearson was a stuffy, high-hat sort of individual who clearly believed that he was a million times better than Liza Jones. Gail herself could not quite bring herself to like a woman who was making eyes at her husband, but the movie actress was clearly more interesting than the two state department officials, even if she did tend to talk in capital letters.
For Gail, the New York-San Antonio run was divided between chatting with Miss Jones about women's fashions, blushing whenever the actress used a profane word or told one of her classic dirty jokes, and listening to Henry discuss the Santa Martan situation with the two diplomats. Obviously, the representative of Barton industries was saying nothing about the possibility that his company might decide to throw in with the rebels, if need be.
"I've been telling the President that the situation was growing restless down there," announced the Under Secretary, who seemed to be sort of an arrogant blow-hard. "But the White House likes to wait until the last minute before sending in the Marines. I say the only way to handle these guerrillas is with force!"
"Now don't you boys DARE spoil my lovely-movie with one of your HORRID revolutions!" ordered Liza Jones, her breasts heaving temptingly as she spoke.
"I think President Salvatore is a man who can stand up to the communists," the new ambassador put in quietly, running his hand nervously through his thick gray hair. "But I wish we could get him to institute some social reforms and make a better life for his people. Nobody goes communist with a full belly, but the State Department doesn't seem to understand that." He glanced sideways as he spoke, and Gail saw that the two officials were not in total agreement with one another.
"Oh, I made the most SCANDALOUS movie last year in Southeast Asia. Or was it Southwest Asia? Burma or Thailand or one of those charmingly quaint little countries. But it was banned in Boston so the poor little country went communist!"
"Naturally, my company is looking for stability, in order that American business interests can be protected ..."
"So I said to the producer, darling, if I take off any more clothes ..."
"The only way to meet communist violence is with violence ..."
"And he said, Liza, with a body like yours ..."
The stewardess seemed to have nothing better to do than to run back and forth with fresh glasses of champagne, since it was apparently the Santa Martan Airline's policy to keep its first-class passengers pleasantly stewed. By the time the plane touched down in San Antonio, everyone in the compartment was feeling giggly, including the stewardess, whom Gail suspected of taking a nip or two from the bottle every time she brought a fresh one. When they climbed back up into the air again for the short run down to Mexico City, Liza Jones decided she was warm and took off her jacket, revealing the fact that underneath, she was wearing the sheerest blouse and the sheerest brassiere Gail had ever seen. Henry was in a happy fog, still mumbling something about capitalism being the driving force of Western civilization, but the two State Department officials had transferred all of their diplomatic interest to Miss Jones' breasts, the tiny brown nipples of which were distinctly visible beneath the skimpy white fabric of her blouse.
In fact, when the stewardess passed through the first class section with a rough-looking man on her way to the cockpit, the young wife was thinking how nice it would be if she could be as free and unembarrassed about her body as the actress was. Imagine making those movies in which she lay naked on a bed with the cameras and cameramen all around her, and it didn't seem to bother her a bit! Gail found herself wondering how it felt to be kissed and touched without her clothes on by a handsome actor with everybody watching. As a matter of fact, she was trying to decide if she had the courage to ask such a potentially embarrassing question when the plane banked suddenly to the left, upsetting the bottle of champagne.
"Damn spies," muttered Under Secretary Pearson, nearly sliding out of his seat. "Can't even fly an airplane."
Gail, who had been drinking less than the other first-class passengers, suddenly experienced a moment of intuitive fear as the stewardess came out of the cockpit with the bearded man close behind her. The stewardess had lost all of her bouncy Latin charm now, and her face was white and frightened. Behind her was a man who looked distinctly uncomfortable in his business suit, his fiercely grizzled black beard a striking contrast to the whiteness of his shirt. He was an ugly towering brute of a man, twice as big as the dainty little stewardess, and before he opened his mouth Gail somehow knew exactly what he was going to say.
"This is a hijack," he announced calmly, removing a vicious-looking pistol from his jacket and leveling at the back of the stewardess. "All of you keep your seats."
"What the . . . the bloody hell is going on here!" The Under Secretary of State, Mr. Pearson, demanded after a moment of shocked silence. The bearded man did not bother to respond, looking up quickly instead as the door to the tourist-class section opened, and an even bigger man with a scar across his forehead and a machine gun in his hand stepped in.
"Melar, we got all," he reported in halting English, evidently wanting the Americans to understand him . . . "Control everything."
"Okay, Sandro, I can handle this bunch."
As the man called Sandro disappeared, Melar pushed the terrorized stewardess roughly into a seat, and turned to the five passengers in the first-class section, speaking in a rough slangy, slightly accented English.
"Okay, from this moment on, the five of you are prisoners of the Santa Martan Liberation Front, and any resistance offered to me or my men will be punished with summary execution. I want to make sure I've got the birds our leader sent me to get. You, are you Henry Barton?" He waved the gun vaguely in Henry's direction, and Gail felt her body go rigid with stark fear.
"Oh . . . no, I'm . . . uh . . . Benjamin Filmore," stammered Henry pathetically, and Liza Jones laughed aloud at his obvious terror.
"Sure you are, Barton, who's the broad?"
"I'm his wife," Gail managed to whisper, her stomach turning upside down every time Melar pointed the gun in her direction, he seemed like the crudest most animal-like man she had ever seen.
"And you're the two birds from the State Department. You the new Ambassador?"
Ambassador Brenner seemed to have difficulty thinking of anything to say at the moment, and he merely grunted and nodded.
"And you, I don't have to ask who you are," Melar grinned at Liza Jones, who seemed to regard the whole business as a joke. "I'd recognize those tits anywhere. What did you figure on doing in Santa Marta, Liza?"
"I must say, I always thought the sky-jacker of my dreams would be better looking than you are, sweetie," the actress answered cockily. "I'm going to make a movie and this little sideshow is going to screw up our shooting schedule."
"Oh there'll be some shooting and it'll be right on schedule," Melar grinned at her menacingly. "Well, we didn't figure on having you along for the ride, baby, but I guess the boss won't mind if I bring back a little something to entertain the troops. And you, fatso, I take it, you're the famous Under Secretary Pearson who's been fucking up South America for the last ten years."
Gail mentally prayed that Mr. Pearson would keep his temper, but the chubby diplomat was not accustomed to being called "fatso" by anyone less than the President of the United States, and he climbed unsteadily to his feet, as if he had been called upon to deliver a few remarks for the occasion.
"I would like to warn you that you are interfering with two high-ranking government officials in the performance of their duty. Between us, Ambassador Brenner and I control the destiny of your wretched little country and anything we don't control, the Barton Mineral Corporation does. If you surrender now, peacefully, I shall personally see that you receive a fair trial, although I can promise no more than strict justice."
Considering the circumstances, this was not the proper thing to have said. Melar's gun hand moved faster than Gail's eyes could follow, and the next thing she saw, Pearson was flying backwards, blood oozing from his face, and Melar was advancing on him murderously. The young wife clung to her husband in stark terror, as the robust government official bounced off the bulkhead of the aircraft, the side of his head bleeding badly from where the rebel had raked his skin with the pistol. But despite the blood, the Under Secretary, was maddened with rage and he threw himself at the hijacker with a scream.
"You communist!" he spat, his hands groping for Melar's throat. The Santa Martan revolutionary struck him again against the side of the head, but Pearson was attacking like a wounded bull, too drunk and too enraged to think of his personal safety. Obviously reluctant to fire for fear he would pierce the fuselage of the aircraft with a bullet and kill everyone, Melar side-stepped Pearson's attack, pounding him viciously with the gun just as the gigantic guerrilla named Sandra burst in from the tourist-class section.
"Bastardo!" he snarled, bringing the muzzle of the sub-machine gun up sharply and waiting for a clean shot. Gail was frantically worried that Henry would try to interfere, and she wrapped her arms around him tightly, mistaking his terrorized attempts to crawl under the seat for a courageous effort to rise and lend the Under Secretary a hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Melar pummel Mr. Pearson murderously with his fist and thrust him back against the door to the cockpit. It was all the opening Sandro needed and he fired one short sharp burst from the machine gun, filling the compartment with smoke and the smell of cordite. Blood poured out of Pearson's chest, and he seemed to be pinned momentarily to the door of the cockpit, standing and staring stupidly at the two hijackers with an expression of stunned surprise on his face. His hand rose unsteadily and he felt his chest blindly, as if he could not quite bring himself to believe that there were really bullet holes there.
"Imperialistic pig!" swore the thug named Sandro, raising the sub-machine gun for another burst, since Pearson stubbornly stood there, refusing to die, his hands covering the equally grave wounds in his abdomen as if he could somehow plug them with his fingers and keep the blood from pouring out. Sandro was ready to fire again, but the cool, calculating Melar raised his hand to prevent anymore dangerous shooting inside the thin shield of metal floating five miles above the earth.
"Save your bullets, Amigo," he ordered his subordinate with an icy indifference to the fact that the Under Secretary was dying before their eyes, even if his knees had somehow locked under him and he was still miraculously on his feet. "There are a lot of imperialistic capitalistic pigs in the world, and if we want to have enough bullets to go around, we must save on ammunition."
"How does eet feel? Eh, pig?" jeered the gunman at the stricken diplomat, and Gail's heart was beating so hard with fear and horror that she felt sure that everyone in the compartment could hear it pounding above the dull roar of the jet engines. Under Secretary Pearson opened his mouth as if he had some famous last words to say, but there was no sound except the sickening whistle of air in and out of his perforated lungs as he desperately struggled to breathe. Then, a violent tremble ran through his corpulent body and a few drops of red liquid dribbled from his lips as he sank quietly down into the slowly spreading pool of blood and spilled champagne on the floor below him.
"Haul him into the other compartment, so that the others can see him," Melar ordered tersely. "If anyone is thinking of playing any games, this will serve as a little demonstration of how serious we are."
Pearson had stopped breathing as Sandro grabbed his body by one limp arm and dragged it out of the first-class section. Liza Jones had gone completely white and she had no dirty jokes for the occasion, while the stewardess had passed out cold from the shock. Mr. Brenner, the American ambassador to Santa Marta, was holding himself very still, as if he was afraid that the slightest move would mean instant death for him too. But his nerves were obviously still intact, as though he had witnessed bloody scenes like this before and expected to experience them again before his long career as a diplomat was ended.
Gail could feel Henry's shoulders slowly stop shaking as the dead man's body disappeared from view and there was nothing left but the smell of gun powder mixed with blood to remind them that there had once been an Under Secretary of State named Milton I. Pearson.
The only one apparently unshaken by the frenzy of violence was Melar, who sat nimbly on the edge of a seat next to the now unconscious stewardess, his gun held loosely in his hand.
"That wasn't part of the plan, but he had it coming," he commented casually in his slightly accented English, "We should be landing in Santa Marta in a few minutes."
Surprisingly, Henry Barton was the first one to find his voice.
"Why . . . why did you bother? We were going to Santa Marta anyway."
"To Capitol City, yes, but this plane is going to land a long way from there. We will be landing in partisan territory in the mountains, where the hostages will be taken off."
"Who are the hostages?" Ambassador Brenner managed to inquire in a strangled voice, though he already knew the answer and only wanted his worst fears confirmed.
"My men are checking identifications in the main compartment now to see if there are people there who have committed crimes against the Santa Martan people, but the instructions of Don Carlos were to get you, the late lamented Mr. Pearson, and our shivering friend here, Henry Barton Junior, although, naturally, we would have preferred the old man himself. Miss Jones was an unexpected pleasure, and Mrs. Barton is also invited along for the ride, as you Yankees like to say. Our men have been fighting in the hills for many months now, and a man gets lonely for certain things that only a woman can give him. The two of you will be privileged to satisfy the physical needs of many men who are battling for freedom."
All of this was happening much too fast for Gail to follow, but Liza Jones reacted quickly to what was being said.
"Don't get your hopes up, fella! If you wanna love Liza, you gotta at least take a bath, and I don't think you can make the sacrifice," she sneered at him, a little color coming back into her cheeks now that the conversation had returned to sex, a subject she knew better than pan-American politics. "Besides, you don't think my company's going to sit around twiddling their thumbs when their number-one box office attraction gets kidnapped by a bunch of hairy guerrillas, do you? What are we hostages for, anyway?"
Melar smiled, but Gail was beginning to realize that he always smiled just before saying the worst things.
"The army of the Fascist dictator Salvatore recently took four of our men prisoner and sentenced them to death. They were good men, and the government of Santa Marta will be informed that if these criminal executions are carried out, we will take reprisals on the four of you. I fully expect the American government to be unhappy with the idea of losing four of it's most illustrious citizens and tell Salvatore to let our men go free."
"And then?" asked Henry, a bitter tone in his voice.
"And then we will consider negotiating for your release. Mr. Brenner will regain his freedom if the U.S. Government recognizes Don Carlos as the rightful president of Santa Marta. We had not counted on having this famous lady as our guest, but I imagine we would give her, or whatever is left of her after our men have finished with her, back if her movie studio meets our price. And if we do not have the sincere privilege of shooting you, Mr. Barton, your father will have to transfer all the mining interests of his company to the Santa Martan Liberation Front. And, of course, we will do our best to send Mrs. Barton home with a little brown-skinned Santa Martan baby, in her belly, just so you will have something to remember us by.
Gail Barton studied the grinning guerrilla fighter before her, suddenly remembering the smiling unctious airline official who had greeted them at the airport. Apparently Santa Martans were always friendly, even when they were going to kill you, or rape you. He hadn't even bothered to pretend that he and his lusty men were not going to take advantage of having captured two beautiful North American women. Whether or not they were eventually released, it was a sure thing that the two of them would be raped! The idea staggered her, and she clung even closer to her husband, convinced somehow that he would find some way to protect her. Henry was so practical, so good at settling disputes! Why the time they had had that strike in the mine in Pennsylvania, he had flown down there for two days and resolved the whole ugly business!
"Listen, I think we can settle this whole thing right here," said Henry Barton, trying to speak calmly, reaching into his jacket and slowly removing his checkbook. "How much do you want?"
Melar broke into another of his slow smiles.
"So you really think you can buy your way out of this one, Mr. Barton? I'm a communist, you know, not one of you fascist capitalists who will sell your grandmother for the right price."
"You're telling me it's going to be expensive, and that I already know. Tell me how much you want for you and your gang and take us to Capitol City."
"I've already told you our price. We want those four men back alive."
"Fine, take us to Capitol City and I'll tell Salvatore we made a deal and he has to let them go.
"What makes you think I would trust you for a minute once we got to Capitol City? You'd have us arrested and executed along with the others."
"I give you my word of honor."
"The word of a capitalistic businessman? Ha! No thank you, Mr. Barton, but we'll do this our way. You will help us get those four men back, but you will do it by being a hostage that we will shoot if anything goes wrong."
"Do you realize what you're doing?" asked Henry, being very careful not to raise his voice in the presence of a man with a gun. "I can write you a check big enough to let you live in complete comfort for the rest of your life! Forget the others, this could be all for you." His pen worked quickly across the surface of the check, and Gail's eyes widened with astonishment as she saw the enormous figure her husband had written. He tore off the check and handed it to Melar who reached out agreeably and took it with the same slow sadistic smile.
"That's very generous of you, Mr. Barton, but even if I were tempted - and I'm not - I'd hardly be fool enough to think I'd ever live long enough to cash it if I took you to Capitol City." The check floated to the floor, landing in the pool of Pearson's blood, and no one moved to pick it up.
Gail was feeling indignant at seeing this vicious communist guerrilla doubting her husband's word. After all, the Barton's might be hard businessmen, but nobody had ever accused them of double-dealing! But then she thought about the phosphorus coming out of the mines in Santa Marta which was three percent uranium, and she began to wonder if Melar might not be right. Once they arrived in the capital of Santa Marta, Melar could hardly sue Henry if he merely stopped payment on the check and let Salvatore's men shoot the guerrillas.
"You people better fasten your safety belts," the rebel commented in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, glancing briefly out the window. "We're over the mountains. I'm going to guide the pilot in." He disappeared into the cockpit and almost immediately, they felt the plane begin to lose altitude, as if it were a tired bird settling down into the welcoming space afforded by a high plateau between two towering mountains. The ambassador ignored the No Smoking sign and lit a cigarette with an expression of exhausted gratitude, while exchanging a sober glance with Henry.
"Yeah, think the government can do anything?"
"They aren't going to land the Marines just for one old ambassador. How about your company?"
"MY company doesn't have any Marines. I suppose my father will think of something."
"He'd better. These men are all under a death sentence from the Salvatore Government and they haven't got much to lose."
"Hang on, we're coming in," reported Liza Jones, struggling back into her jacket and fastening the seat belt even tighter around her slender waist. Gail was slowly revising her opinion of the famous sex-actress. She was braver than anyone could have expected. Gail herself could not stop shivering with fear, and she kept repressing the urge to start screaming in total panic, knowing full well that Melar would be likely to step out of the cockpit long enough to put a bullet in her brain if she caused a commotion.
The pilot was experienced, fortunately, and he brought the aircraft smoothly into the improvised grass runway with only the slightest suggestion of a bump when the wheels touched ground. The jet then taxied to the end of the runway and turned around to be in position for an immediate take-off.
"Maybe we can make a break for it," suggested Henry, staring out the window at the harsh mountains around him.
"Go ahead," snorted the Ambassador dryly. "I'll look after your widow for you."
The door to the cockpit swung open, and the group heard Melar's final instructions to the pilot.
"As soon as we're clear, you can continue your flight to Capitol City. Do you think you could find this field again?"
"Yes," replied the pilot in a surprised tone of voice. "It's easy ..."
"Listen, Garcia, your parents are still living alone on that farm near Los Tibaldos, aren't they?"
"Yes," muttered the pilot, no longer quite so sure of himself.
"It's pretty isolated and close to guerrilla country, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Think you could find this field again?"
"Uh ... I guess not," the pilot surrendered.
"Okay, this is the last stop for you people," ordered Melar ominously, swinging the cabin door open.
It was twenty feet to the ground, but the guerrilla was equipped with a rope ladder which he fastened to one of the seats, and then dropped out into the brisk mountain air.
"You first," he gestured to Liza Jones, and Gail was amazed at the agility and strength the actress displayed as she lowered herself over the side and methodically swung down the dangling ladder. The Ambassador followed, less sure of himself, and then Gail herself. She was not quite sure how she managed it, especially since the blast from the jet's engines was creating a virtual hurricane outside, but before she knew it, Ambassador Brenner had clasped her in his arms and she was on the ground. Liza Jones was tucking her blouse into the top of her short alluring skirt. Still looking as if this was all a part of an adventure movie which was destined to end happily because the script called for it. Henry Barton made his way easily down the ladder, his muscles taut and strong from regular sessions in the company gym.
Four more guerrillas with ten guns leaped from the rear door of the aircraft, followed by a short pudgy man with his hands tied behind his back, and then Sandro. As soon as Melar had joined them on the ground, the doors of the aircraft slammed shut and the pilot roared the motors to warn them to stand clear. Waving his pistol, Melar herded them out from under the wings of the aircraft as the pilot lost no time in rocketing his aircraft down the grassy plateau and up into the air. As the plane disappeared over the crest of a mountain, Gail knew that with it were their last contact with civilization. Once again the young wife felt the reckless impulse to start screaming hysterically.
Sandro and another guerrilla came trotting up to Melar, their guns leveled at the four prisoners. Melar spoke first.
"Who have you got?" he asked gesturing at the fat man kneeling a hundred yards away from them, his hands tied behind his back and guarded by the other two guerrillas.
"Es Sancho, the landowner."
"Ah, our old friend Sancho," smiled Melar cruelly. "Sancho would get along well with Mr. Barton here. Last year when the crops failed, he seized the land of his peasants and evicted them in mid-winter. Several of them died. Good business, wouldn't you say, Henry?"
"We take heem with us?" Sandro wanted to know, his eyes on Liza Jones as he fingered his machine gun.
"No. Sancho's too fat to make the climb, so we will have to have a quick trial here. There will only be time to carry out the sentence, and then we must move. Guard these four and wait for me here."
As Melar moved away from the four hostages toward the condemned man, Sandro passed his machine gun to one of the other guerrillas, all short tough-looking men. He walked straight toward the actress. Gail had deduced that he was some sort of a sergeant, out-ranking the regular guerrillas because of his physical size and probably also because of his brutal efficiency, but subordinate to men like Melar and Don Carlos who had the superior intelligence needed to lead the men. He was a head taller than anyone else in the group, but Liza Jones gave no sign of being afraid of him and stood her ground as he came up to her.
"I see you in movies," he growled at her.
"Just what I needed, a fan," the woman responded sarcastically, putting her hands on her hips and staring up at the savage bearded giant.
"Never see all," Sandro grunted, his eyes blazing like coals and one hard calloused hand reaching out for the throat of her blouse. Gail saw that there was trouble coming and she glanced quickly down the field, realizing that she was thinking of the brutal communist Melar as her protector. But he was standing over the captured landowner, talking to him, and no help could be expected from that quarter.
Sandro's giant hand gripped the collar of the woman's flimsy blouse, but Liza stood perfectly still, no doubt realizing that she was absolutely helpless and deciding to take whatever they dished out to her with as much dignity as possible.
"Always hide somethin' in movies. Wanna see everythin'," Sandro informed her, only a few inches separating their two bodies. With an abrupt downward thrust of his hand, the guerrilla sergeant ripped the buttons from the frail fabric, neckline to waist. Even someone as natively cool as Liza Jones could not repress a cry of fear as she felt herself being brutally denuded like this, but she quickly recovered, her hands still on her hips and her eyes trained steadily on his face.
"You stink," she told him bluntly. But Sandro was too occupied with what he was doing to take the time to react to this insult. With a demonstration of pure brute force, he seized the strap which connected the two cups of her brassiere and ripped it in two, exposing the actress' succulently full breasts. Gail noticed that Liza's brown nipples instantly became protuberant and turgid, as if she was excited by this savage act of sex at the hands of a man who was just as capable of putting a pistol to her forehead and blowing her brains out.
"Ah, lookit dem tits," grunted Sandro, and the two guerrilla-guards stared with licentious concentration, their eyes practically bulging from their heads as they surveyed the woman's lush tempting breasts. They were apparently not worried over the possibility that Henry or the ambassador might try anything now. One of the men said something rapid in Spanish and Sandro nodded in agreement.
"He say he wan' see the rest," the sergeant told her with a lewd gleam in his eyes, his powerful hands roughly massaging the tender yielding flesh of her breasts as he continued to humiliate her before the other leering guerrillas. "You take off clothes!"
Gail was amazed at Liza's steady composure thinking that if they had turned their lusty attention on her, she would either have fainted dead away or started screaming her head off. The dark-haired actress did not flinch, however, and made no move to obey the depraved order of this huge man that stood before her. Sandro stepped closer to the half-naked actress so that their faces were almost touching. Gail winced in sympathy as she saw that the guerrilla was cruelly twisting the sensitive brown nipple of her left breast.
"You do, or Sandro hurt you bad," he threatened her, his face reddening at her defiance as he saw that she was not showing any fear of him. He gave a sudden sharp twist to her nipple and she cried out in pain.
"Okay, okay, don't twist it off," she surrendered finally, her hands darting to the zipper of her skirt. "I just hate to do this without getting paid for it." As the actress lowered the zipper, her skirt slid sensuously off her softly tapered hips and fell to the grass. Not wanting to cause any more of the pain she had just felt, she quickly slid down her panties and stood before them stark naked except for her sandals.
For a moment, no one moved, and Gail noticed that even her husband seemed to be caught up in the mood of open lust which had swept over the male members of the group. When Melar had announced that she and Liza would be privileged to "entertain" the troops, Gail had thought at first that the communist was merely trying to frighten the two of them but now she saw clearly that he had meant every word of what he had said. These men were not subject to any law on the earth except their own savage dictates of power and lust. She and Liza were helpless prisoners without hope of escape, there was nothing that she or anyone else could do to stop them. But she expected Henry to at least say something to at least verbally protest this lewd violation of Liza Jones' body, yet from the moment when Melar had disdainfully dropped his enormous check into the scarlet pool of Milton Pearson's blood, Henry had seemed to be in shock. His all too direct confrontation with these ruthless men who did not love money and who could not be bought no matter what the price had shattered his whole carefully nurtured system of values. And now he was staring blankly at Liza's sensuously exposed body, his face utterly blank and emotionless.
"You big actress," muttered Sandro, his eyes blazing with unrestrained desire as they danced over the splendidly formed body of the actress. "Rich lady fuck only rich men. I know. Now you fuck Sandro."
Gail's mind practically went into orbit as she heard these brutally blunt words. Sandro was sometimes hard to understand because he apparently knew only a handful of English words, but there was no doubt now as to what he had in mind. Could this huge man really be so savagely brutal as to expect Liza to make love to him in front of everyone? Why didn't Henry do something?
"You down on knees, big actress," commanded the sergeant sternly, and Gail realized that he was trying to humiliate Liza as a way of humiliating all the rich and beautiful North American women he had seen but could never possess. Santa Marta was a popular resort area and beautiful Yankee women often sunbathed on the country's lovely golden beaches. Sandro must have seen them as a young man, seen their curvaceous and nearly-naked brown bodies across the beaches in their revealing bikini s while he burned with the knowledge that these desirable women would always be beyond his reach. But now, with the revolution, nothing was beyond his reach, at least not Liza Jones and Gail Barton.
Sandro's hands wound their way into the woman's long black hair, forcing her to her knees. Gail noticed that the actress closed her eyes and went down slavishly in front of the bearded guerrilla without resistance, perhaps understanding that it was useless to fight back against three strong, murderous men with machine guns. Sandro was twisting her hair savagely and it was obvious that the actress was doing her best not to try out with pain. Beneath the rough khaki pants he wore, Gail could detect that this brutal man's penis was already hard and rigid with depraved excitement.
"You get it out. Present for you in there," he chuckled at her, gesturing at his fly. "Fast or I make plenty hurt."
Liza did not hesitate to do exactly what she was ordered to do, obviously wanting to placate this monster before he ripped her hair out by the roots. With experienced ease she drew down the zipper of the man's pants, allowing his huge rigid rod of flesh to spring free into the mid-afternoon air. Gail gasped as she saw the man's massive sexual organ. Accustomed to her own husband's more modest dimensions; it had never occurred to her that penises came quite this big!
But Liza Jones behaved as if there was nothing extraordinary about this bulging thick cudgel that waves menacingly close to her face, only inches from her tightly closed lips.
Keeping one hand in the actress' long flowing black hair so he was still in a position to hurt her whenever he wanted to, Sandro used the other hand to guide the giant red-fleshed head of his cock up to her moist ruby red lips, deliberately pulling back the uncircumcised foreskin to let everyone see the swollen scarlet glans. Obviously, this was a man who was proud of the equipment he carried beneath his pants.
Gail leaned weakly back against her husband as the sergeant lewdly rubbed the tip of his throbbing penis back and forth across Liza's trembling lips. The young wife wondered if anyone would dare to try the same thing with her, or if they were just being particularly abusive to Liza because she was a well-known sex-star. She contemplated the horrid notion of having her mouth used as a receptacle for some guerrilla's vile sperm, deciding that nothing in the world could make her open her lips and admit a perfect stranger's penis into the delicate sanctuary of her throat. True, she had been almost at the point of performing this lewdly depraved act on Henry, but that was her own husband, not some hairy, murderous guerrilla soldier from the wilds of Santa Marta!
"Open mouth!!!" Sandro growled evilly, yanking fiercely on Liza's hair, and as the suffering woman parted her lips to emit a groan of pain, Sandro's hips plunged swiftly forward. Gail clapped her hands across her own mouth as she watched the bulbous shaft of the man's enormous cock glide obscenely along the surface of the woman's tongue, towards the back of her mouth. Sandro caught the frightened bride's gesture out of the corner of his eye and favored her with a crooked perverted grin.
"We do also to you!" he sneered at her, standing up straight to give her a clear view of the glistening length of his rigid shaft penetrating past the straining moist lips of the actress. Either Sandro was hurting her badly by pulling her hair, or Liza had decided to suck him and get it over with, because the naked woman kneeling submissively at his feet had tightened her mouth around the man's invading cock, and seemed to know exactly what she would have to do to satisfy this murderous man's warped sexual desires. Intentionally or not, she was apparently doing precisely what Sandro had in mind, and the giant's eyes practically bulged from his head as he looked down at this spectacularly famous woman who was now nibbling experimentally on the long throbbing column of cock-flesh protruding from her cruelly stretched mouth.
Gail could not tear her eyes off the perverse scene before them, but her thoughts were centered on herself. This was all a nightmare! A half-hour ago, she had been a prosperous upper class married woman accompanying her husband on a business trip. Now she was the prisoner of a gang of sex-starved guerrillas, virtually under a sentence of death. And before her very eyes, the murderer of Under Secretary Pearson was vilely enjoying himself by ravaging the mouth of one of her fellow passengers! It was all too much for the young woman to handle, and she leaned against her husband, feeling faint and looking for support.
"Oh, Henry, what can we do?" she whispered to him desperately. To her surprise, he moved a little away from her.
"Nothing at the moment, but for Christ's sake, do whatever they tell you. You saw what they did to Pearson."
"But what if they want to ... to do that to me?" she whispered, gesturing in the direction of the poor abused actress.
"What do you expect me to do?" demanded Henry impatiently. "They can do whatever they want! I can't stop them!"
Everything her husband said was true, and Gail caught sight of one of the guards looking at her darkly, so she fell silent, not wanting to draw any more attention to herself. Sandro had transferred both of his demanding muscular hands to the sides of Liza's head now, and he was obviously in seventh heaven at this point, his hips plunging wildly in and out as he drove his super-hardened instrument farther and farther into the moist depths of Liza Jones' throat.
"Suck hard," Sandro growled, and Liza responded almost as though she was enjoying it, leading Gail to speculate that this was almost certainly not the first time in her sin-filled life that the actress had allowed her mouth to be used in this depraved manner.
She certainly seems to know how it's done, the young wife thought, watching with horrified fascination as the guerrilla's gyrating hips flicked powerfully back and forth, driving his piston-like cock in and out of the woman's hungrily clasping mouth. Sandro was muttering what seemed to be obscene phrases in Spanish, and the two guards watched with undisguised lust, their eyes shifting back and forth between the intensely erotic scene before them and the frightened blonde wife who would be next in line if Sandro would only hurry up and finish.
Sandro was going like a madman now, his huge sperm-swollen balls beating a perverted tattoo of unrestrained sensuality against Liza's chin while her cheeks puffed as if she were blowing up a balloon. Sandro, now red in the face from his exertions was looking down at her with a mixture of desire and contempt, probably thinking that all women were really pretty much the same. This famous actress could be fucked in the mouth, just like the whores down in Central City. The actress had her eyes now closed in shame, licking and sucking with all her might to bring him to a climax and get the degrading business over with as soon as possible.
It suddenly occurred to Gail to wonder what was happening with Melar. She tore her eyes off the scene before her and glanced down the long grassy plateau in time to see Melar deliberately remove the pistol from his holster and point it at the little roly-poly landowner who was kneeling before him, his hands tied securely behind his back. Slowly and sadistically Melar forced the barrel of the weapon between the condemned man's quivering lips, forcing him to hold it in his mouth while the communist guerrilla pronounced judgment. Then there was a dull muffled explosion, and even from a distance of two hundred yards, Gail could see the back of the landowner's head explode into fragments of skull and grey matter splattering out from the back of his cranium. For a long moment, the fat man teetered on his knees as if death had come too fast for his body to react, and then, slowly as if he were very tired, his body crumbled into the tall grass and disappeared.
The shot seemed to be a signal for Sandro's perverted lust, since the moment the reverberations of the explosion reached his ears, his cock began throbbing wildly with the beginning throes of his orgasm. Moaning in ecstasy, he thrust his long glistening shaft deeper into Liza's throat, pressing with his muscular fingers against her cheeks to increase the pressure on his maniacally ejaculating cock. The actress began to sputter and choke as his hot syrupy semen swamped her mouth, but Sandro held her mouth in a vise-like grip, refusing to allow her to turn away until he had completely drained every last drop of his spurting semen into the warmly receptive confines of her throat. Liza clearly had only two choices before her: She could either swallow the waves of stored-up cum he was pumping endlessly between her lips, or she could choke to death. Tiny little rivulets of saliva and semen trickled down over her chin, dropping on the proud swells of her breasts, while her Adam's apple bobbed up and down frantically as she sucked him dry.
A moment later, Melar and the other two guerrillas were at their side.
"Idiota!" the communist screamed at his sergeant as Liza tiredly let his slowly deflating cock slip from between her cum covered lips and collapsed nakedly on the ground before them. "You couldn't wait, could you! They could have airplanes up searching for us at any time now! Let's go!"
* * *
The spectacular view would have been beautiful had Gail been in any kind of shape to appreciate it, but her scratched and bruised body ached from head to toe and all she wanted was to find a comfortable position on the mud floor of the cage. Despite the menacing danger hanging over their heads, Henry Barton had managed to doze off into a fitful nap while in the next compartment of the barbed wire enclosure, Ambassador Brenner and Liza Jones were both silent and half-asleep.
The climb had been the most brutally exhausting physical ordeal of Gail's entire life, and it had been fortunate that all four of the hostages were reasonably healthy and athletic people, or they would never have been able to make it up the side of that hostile inaccessible mountain, covered with brambles, pricker bushes, and sharp rocks. Melar and his men had climbed like mountain goats, occasionally pausing only, to strike at the hostages with the butt of a Sten gun when one of them slipped and fell behind.
Now their hopes of escape seemed to be completely shattered. They were imprisoned in the very center of the guerrilla's camp, with Sandro and his men camped just outside their cages, most of them sleeping or chatting quietly as they rested from their exertions. Melar had disappeared.
Unable to make herself comfortable, Gail sat up trying to pull her short skirt over her knees, glancing in the adjoining cage where the actress and the diplomat had been thrown. Liza Jones had been unusually quiet after being ravished by Sandro, and she had followed the guerrillas obediently up the mountain, holding her torn, shredded blouse close against her lushly mature breasts. She now looked distinctly less glamorous than before, her hair filled with mud and her short skirt torn in several places from falling on the sharp rocks, but there was still something intensely sensuous about her. Gail understood why she had become a million-dollar film star. She had certain qualities other women seemed to lack.
"Liza?" Gail called to her softly, not wanting to alert the guards.
"Yeah, honey?"
"Are you okay?" It was the first time the two women had been able to talk privately since the moment of their capture. Despite the fact that they were two completely different personalities who would never have gotten along under normal circumstances, the dangers of their common situation drew them together.
"Oh, I'll be all right. And so will you, unless I miss my guess. I can't say as much for our two men, unfortunately." The actress glanced over her shoulder as she spoke, noting that the ambassador had drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
"You think they'll shoot the men and not us?"
"Honey, have you seen any other woman up here but us? We're it, as far as dames are concerned, and these boys are pretty hungry for sex, if our buddy Sandro is any example. I figure if we keep giving 'em what they want, they'll let us live. Besides, we don't really count. We're accidents, both of us. It was your hubby, the Ambassador, and that guy Pearson they wanted. They'll do whatever they're going to do with the two men, and we'll just get passed around, I imagine. I'm not looking forward to it, but anything's better than the business end of a gun."
For a moment, Gail could think of nothing to say to this grim prediction. It seemed inconceivable that she should be facing the alternative of mass rape or execution, with almost certain death in store for her husband.
And after the guerrillas had gotten tired of assaulting their bodies, what then? Sooner or later . . .
"Shush!" hissed Liza suddenly. "Here comes that mother-fucker, Melar!"
The communist guerrilla was walking slowly towards the barbed wire cages in which the four hostages were imprisoned, apparently involved in an argument with the man by his side. The two leaders nodded to Sandro's squad as they walked through the encampment. Some of the guerrillas were preparing dinner and a shower tent had been set up to allow the tired dirty soldiers to wash the dust and sweat from their bodies. The two men walked past Sandro, who jumped up and saluted, but they did not seem disposed to stop and chat with the burly sergeant. Instinctively, both Liza and Gail curled up as if they were sleeping. The sun was warm, even at this altitude, and had she not been so supremely miserable, Gail thought she could easily fall asleep from pure exhaustion.
"Okay, okay, it was a brilliant operation," the man with Melar was admitting, "although I don't see why it was necessary to kill Pearson."
"I told you, Carlos. The bastard tried to kill me and Sandro thought I was in real trouble. It was touch-and-go up there and we didn't have time to waste on him. Besides, we've got our four hostages." Gail found herself wondering why the two men were speaking in English, and it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps Melar was not a Santa Martan after all, and did not speak much Spanish. He did not look much like a South American and his name was not particularly Spanish . . .
"You got two hostages," the other man argued in a deep baritone voice. Gail opened one eye, observing that he was a tall, handsome man with a closely trimmed brown beard. His English was soft and well educated, and she realized with a shock that Melar had just called him by name. So this was the famous Don Carlos!
"I count four!"
"I count two. Barton and Brenner are legitimate, but I'll never understand why you took the women. Neither one of them are to blame for the way things are in Santa Marta, and we can hardly shoot them in reprisal, even if we have to execute the men."
"Why not?" persisted Melar. "War is hell, and they're both Yankee capitalists, women or not. But I was thinking of them more for fun than profit. The men appreciate little things like this, and most of them haven't had a woman in months."
"You may not use these women for that purpose," Don Carlos informed him coldly. "Is that what your people regard as honorable?"
"My people, as you call them, regard as honorable anything which advances the cause of the revolution," snapped Melar angrily. Both men were now standing only a few yards from the wire cages now, their backs to the four hostages and ignoring them as if they did not exist. "And may I remind you, Comandante, that we have had a very successful revolution, so successful that you now depend upon us for help."
"I will do what I have to do, with you or without you," Don Carlos glared at him angrily. "If you want to help, we thank you, but you must not think I am going to sink down to your methods of doing things. We will not have a blood-bath in Santa Marta and my troops will not rape women. And our country is not going to be a communist dictatorship after our victory, unlike yours!"
"Ha! Fidel Castro said the same thing fifteen years ago," sneered Melar. "You are a great man for la guerra, my friend, but you are naive. And I think your men may not be as honorable as you are when they see these two little presents I have brought them. The women will be enjoyed whether you like it or not."
"The women will be treated as guests until I can figure out what to do with them," ordered Don Carlos curtly. "What's the matter, Melar, weren't there any pretty boys on that airplane?"
Gail winced expecting that this bitter insult would provoke a battle between the two partisan leaders. But Melar, who was obviously a European advisor of some kind, merely chuckled and shook his head.
"Ah, you know my little weakness, Comandante. What a pity you don't know your own. You are a timid man at heart. You long for slippers and a fire and a little wife to make you dinner. You are soft, amigo."
"You will see how soft I am. I can't believe that he would dare go through with it, but if Salvatore dares to execute my men, Barton and Brenner will face a Firing squad. And if you disobey my orders again, amigo, I will put you up against the wall with them. Remember that."
Stung, Melar turned to spit disgustedly in the dust, while Don Carlos turned on his heel and stalked away, as if he had urgent business elsewhere. Melar stared malevolently at the two cages and then marched off in a different direction.
As soon as the two guerrilla leaders were out of sight, Gail sat up and looked around, seeing immediately that her husband was awake and had heard the entire conversation. Henry was pale and frightened and he looked desperately through the barbed wire at the ambassador who was brushing the mud out of his gray hair. The older man simply met his gaze blankly for a few seconds and then shrugged.
"Hope your friend Salvatore doesn't execute those guerrillas," Brenner said in a flat resigned tone of voice. "At least we know where we stand. I'm relieved for the women."
"You may be but I'm not the slightest bit relieved. Look Brenner, we've got to get out of here."
"Do you have any ideas? I'm considered a reasonably good negotiator, but no one seems to be around to negotiate with. And I'm afraid I don't know much about escaping from prison camps."
"Look, you've ..." Henry's voice cracked, and Gail was aghast to see that her husband was on the brink of tears. His whole body was trembling with fear, and Gail realized she had never before seen him in such a pitiful state. "You've got to do something! If Salvatore shoots those guerrillas, they'll kill us!"
"I think that's an accurate analysis of the situation. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to sleep." With an enviable display of coolness, Ambassador Brenner rolled over on his side, tucked his jacket under his head, and closed his eyes. His quiet courage was in complete contrast to Henry's childish whining, and Gail felt vaguely ashamed of her husband.
"Maybe we could escape?" she proposed uncertainly, having no specific plan in mind.
"That's it, we've got to get out of here," agreed Henry immediately, his voice still trembling with poorly concealed terror. "Look, maybe we can work a diversion, something to distract their attention ... let me see . . . " Henry began to look frantically around the barbed wire enclosure, searching desperately for a way out. The structure had obviously been erected in a hurry, and there was one point at which a man might conceivably be able to squeeze through the wire if he was willing to risk some bad scratches, providing no one was watching him. Night was falling rapidly now, and it struck Gail that it might actually be worth a try. But there were six guards in Sandro's squad, and they were sitting amongst their tents eating dinner, just a few dozen feet away.
"There's no way out of here," reported Liza after checking the wires in the other part of the enclosure. "But you might be able to slip under the wire on your side. But somebody'll be sure to see you."
"Not if we can distract their attention in some way," argued Henry Barton feverishly. "Look, if . . . that is . . . Gail, if you could get them to take you out of here, and attract their attention, then I could slip away and find something to cut the wires with. Then I'd come back and we'd wait until it gets real dark. We cut the wires and we run down the mountain as fast as we can go."
"Suppose you don't come back, darling?" inquired Liza dryly, her nerves holding up much better than the businessman's.
"Don't say that!" flared his young blonde-haired wife angrily. "My husband's no coward!"
"Sure, Henry the Lion-Hearted! How does she get their attention, Henry?"
"Look, there's a shower tent over there and the whole squad's just finished showering."
"So what?" asked Liza Jones, looking hard at the frightened business man.
"So Gail can ask to be allowed to use the shower," stammered Henry nervously, noticed the guerrillas all went in the other side of the tent where we couldn't see them, took off their clothes and then went inside."
"While another guy dumped water over him," put in Ambassador Brenner, who had been following the discussion with skeptical interest "Gail's likely to have a very well-observed shower."
"That's the idea," gulped Henry, blushing a little as he unfolded his plan. "Look, we all heard Don Carlos say that the women were not to be hurt, but he didn't say that the men couldn't look. If Gail takes off her clothes, every man in that squad is going to be watching with both eyes. Gail, you take as long as you possibly can, while I try to find a wire-cutter or something. By the time they bring you back here, I'll be inside the cage again and when they knock off for the night, we cut our way out of here."
"Henry . . . I . . . really don't think I can pull it off," Gail faltered when she fully understood what her husband wanted her to do. "Maybe Liza could ..."
"Not me, baby!" snapped the actress. "I'm not going to volunteer for a gangbang."
"There's not going to be a gangbang!" pleaded Henry, anxious not to have the dangerous defects of his plan pointed out. "Don Carlos said ..."
"We heard what Don Carlos said, but I didn't see anyone telling Sandro and his men," observed the ambassador. "We saw what they did to Miss Jones down in the valley."
"They must have been told," insisted Henry. "He probably passed the word. Look, Gail, this is our only chance. For Christ's sakes, they're going to shoot me!"
Henry was gripping her arm so forcefully that it hurt, and wailing in despair, the young wife wished her husband could behave more like Ambassador Brenner, but she also knew that she was going to have to risk it. If she refused to do what he asked her to, and they shot him later, how could she ever forgive herself?
"Okay," she assured him hesitantly. "What do I have to do?"
* * *
Sandro's flashlight played on the ground before them as he led the blushing young woman away from the wire pen where her husband and the two others were still imprisoned. She had had a certain amount of difficulty making the big sergeant understand what she wanted, but once she had gotten through to him, his lustful face had lighted up like a Christmas tree with simple-minded happiness.
"You want be clean girl," he was chuckling as he pushed her along before him on the bumpy path. "That good! Like clean girls!"
Gail had been afraid before, in fact, during the first few moments of the hijacking she had been virtually hysterical, but now there was a raw sullen fear gnawing at the edge of her soul which was almost a physical pain. Her whole well-ordered universe seemed to have shattered into a thousand pieces. Before leaving the United States, she had begun to realize that her husband was no stallion as far as sex was concerned, but it had never occurred to her that he could also be a coward. Or was he right in sending her off to perform a strip-tease in front of a squad of sex-starved guerrillas? After all, it was a question of life or death for him. Yet somehow it did not seem quite right.
The guerrillas all looked up with great interest as the sergeant led the trembling young woman into their midst, and Sandro explained the situation to them with a burst of rapid-fire Spanish saying something which must have been obscene, since the men howled with lascivious laughter. To a man, they jumped to their feet immediately, grinning at her savagely like a pack of devils, and they formed a procession as Sandro led the way to their shower stall. The stall was nothing more than a piece of canvas stretched around four poles driven into the earth, open on top and on one side. Suspended over it was a large can with holes punched in the bottom.
"Is shower," Sandro announced proudly, pointing to the primitive contraption while the men formed a circle around the young woman, looking on expectantly. Gail glanced around her quickly, trying to remember exactly how many men there had been in the squad and whether they were all here watching her. If they had left one man behind to stand guard over the prisoners, then her little performance was a waste. But the men were shining flashlights on her body, which blinded her, and she realized that she had no choice but to go through with this lewd charade and hope for the best.
Henry had told her to take as long as possible, and she wracked her mind for ways of postponing that horrible moment when she would have to strip her innocent body naked in front of this leering gang of sex-starved guerrilla soldiers.
"You have warm water?" she asked, as if she were talking to the night clerk at a second-class hotel. Sandro giggled and pointed to a man who stood beside her with a bucket of water in his hand. It did not look particularly warm or particularly clean, but she was hardly in a position to complain to the management. It occurred to her that they probably expected her to object to undressing in the presence of so many men, and might even suspect something if she just went ahead and stripped, but she also knew that South American men had a reputation for being gentlemen. If she insisted too much, some of them might remember their manners and lead her back to her cage, catching Henry as he crawled under the wire. So she decided against saying anything at all, and turned her back on the staring group of men as her trembling fingers found their way to the top button of her blouse.
* * *
Henry was going to run away. He had not even admitted it to himself yet, but the business executive knew in his heart that once he found himself on the other side of that wire, he would never find the courage to crawl back under it again. And the others seemed to sense it as well.
"Good-bye, Henry," drawled Liza Jones laconically as he struggled to force his slender body under the wire.
"Be right back!" he whispered hoarsely, feeling the barbs in the wire snatch at his clothing.
"Sure you will, baby. See ya in the movies," she hissed at him scornfully as he rolled free into the darkness and crawled quickly into some nearby bushes. It was difficult to tell which way he ought to be moving since the underbrush was thick, so he simply followed the slope of the land, occasionally catching glimpses of a campfire or a flashlight. After about five minutes of crawling, he raised himself cautiously up on his hands and knees in an effort to see where he was in relation to the camp. Ahead of him, about twenty feet away, there were lights and voices, and he heard Gail say something about hot water. Henry knew that he had to circle the camp to find the trail they had used to climb up the mountain, and he needed the light to get his bearings, so he crawled carefully forward, hoping that the excited chatter of baritone Spanish voices would cover the sound of snapping twigs and leaves.
Before he expected it, the business man found himself at the edge of a small bluff, overlooking the shower tent. How different everything looked in the darkness! He could have sworn he had crawled a hundred yards and yet he was only a few yards from where he had started.
For a moment, he suffered from a guilty conscience, at what he was about to do, and he realized that he really cared a great deal about this young girl he had married, despite the fact that she thought about sex a little too much and not enough about serious things like business. Henry could see her plainly, just below him, looking scared as she slowly undid the buttons on her blouse. She was lit up like a stage-stripper by the glow of a half-dozen flashlights, and Henry watched curiously as she slid the frail fabric of her blouse down off her soft, milk-white shoulders and handed it to the guerrilla who reached out eagerly to take it from her quivering fingers. Seen in this strange, bizarre light, her breasts looked bigger than he remembered them, high-set and straining eagerly against the cotton cloth of her brassiere, as if they were mindlessly impatient to be free. Gail's face seemed absolutely still as she hesitated for a moment, gazing blindly into the flashlights, and then she reached for the buttons on the side of her short torn skirt. The guerrilla fighters were laughing and shoving each other eagerly as they jockeyed for the best possible positions, their movements making the lights falling on the silky softness of the young woman's body shift and play as if there were a talented stage-manager behind the whole scene trying for some specially created erotic effect.
The sensuality of the moment even caught a hold of Henry as he crouched fearfully in the shadows, telling himself that he had to go, that he needed every minute he could get if he was going to reach the safety of some police station before the guerrillas tracked him down. But something held him rooted to the spot, and he shivered, even though the night air was warm, watching the plaid material of Gail's dress slip tantalizingly down over the smooth flatness of her soft white stomach, across the firmness of her rounded thighs, and down onto the ground. The girl stepped out of it quickly, and picked it up, but one of the men impatiently snatched it out of her hands.
By now all pretense had been lost that she was routinely stripping for a shower, and Gail had turned to face the squad of lusting animalistic men who were watching her with barbarian desire printed all over their savage, bearded faces. It seemed as if the entire group was involved in some stark primitive fertility rite, and Henry could almost smell the smoldering lust rising into the clear mountain air. Gail, for these battle hardened men, was some kind of ancient sex-goddess who had mysteriously decided to reveal to a group of mere mortal men the secret intimacies of a body unlike anything they had ever seen before. Accustomed to the fat old whores who serviced their needs in Central City, the guerrillas looked at this succulently fresh young body which now appeared before them in brassiere and panties as if she were a vision from some pagan heaven. The critical moment was upon them all now, and the giggling and whispering stopped as the girl reached behind her back to undo the fastening on her brassiere.
Henry noticed that she had stopped trembling now, and that struck him as strange for a woman in her position. Her finely chiseled features were calm, almost serene as she shrugged the brassiere off of her shoulders while a half-dozen pairs of hands shot out to snatch it away from her two voluptuously formed white breasts.
"Que tits!" muttered a voice thickened with coarse desire, but all their eyes, including Henry's, were focused on the two tiny brown rings of distended flesh in the center of each roundly pendulous breast. Strangely enough, Gail's nipples were strongly erected, the way they sometimes were when the two of them played in bed. Henry noticed this fact and it puzzled him. From what he had heard, this was supposed to mean that a woman was excited. Surely this bizarre strip-tease could not be exciting his wife? How could it be arousing for a woman to stand brazenly before a group of half-wild murderers and take off her clothes? His young wife was breathing deeply, and each time she inhaled, her nipples seemed almost ready to explode away from the surface of her skin. The crowd of guerrillas moved a step closer, glancing covertly at Sandro as if they were asking permission to begin.
Henry's eyes shifted to the guerrilla sergeant, and he saw that the big man had shoved his hand boldly down in the front of his pants as he stood gaping open-mouthed at this strange Yankee woman who took of her clothes so calmly. It was not until Henry saw what Sandro was doing that he realized that his own penis was hard and throbbing, and the realization shocked him. What on earth was he doing here? Why didn't he take the chance Gail was heroically offering him and flee? But things had gotten too silent, and if he moved now, they would surely hear him. He had to wait awhile longer.
"Do!" mumbled Sandro's hoarse voice, his hand still busy inside of his pants, and Henry realized that nearly thirty seconds had passed since Gail 'ad displayed the lust-provoking richness of her temptingly full breasts to the squad, and that no one had moved, or even breathed, in the meantime. The newly-naked young woman glanced at the sergeant nervously, as if she were prepared for anything but this final irrevocable step. Slowly, artlessly, her hands moved to her hips and she placed her palms flat against her smooth taut belly, and she slid her fingers gently but decisively down under the light nylon fabric of her panties, pushing her last remaining garment down over her soft white thighs. As the panties cleared the lush fullness of her legs, gravity took over and they fell to the ground. She stepped quickly out of her last remaining bit of clothing. But no one made a move to pick them up. The group was stunned!
Gail stood meekly before the muttering, sweating squad of soldiers, like a lamb awaiting slaughter! Her hands crossed modestly across the golden blonde triangle of soft pubic hair between her legs. Her head was lowered and as near as Henry could tell, her eyes were closed, as if she could somehow make herself alone by shutting out the world around her and retreating inside of herself.
"Now water," grunted Sandro, taking a step closer to the totally exposed woman while the men crowded eagerly around behind him. Obviously frightened, Henry's wife took a step backwards, feeling behind her in the darkness for the flaps of the shower stall, the tantalizing white flesh of her thighs appearing in a burst of light as one of the guerrillas dropped to his knees and flashed his flashlight obscenely up between her legs. Henry saw one of the men running the smooth white nylon of Gail's panties over his rough unshaven face with pure barbaric delight while another fingered the cup of part of her brassiere, obviously half out of his mind with anticipation. Looking around her wildly, Gail stepped backwards into the stall, while Sandro gestured brusquely to the man carrying the bucket of water.
The shower was hardly worth the effort. The moment that she was enclosed by the canvas, the soldier splashed the luke-warm water into the perforated pail and it came drizzling down, soaking her naked body and then seeping away promptly into the ground. The lights were still playing on her body as she stepped back out of the enclosure, looking bewildered, and the practical-minded Henry found himself wondering if anyone had thought to bring a towel.
Now the men really seemed agitated and Henry found it difficult to see as they crowded eagerly around the lushly tempting wetness of the young woman's defenseless body. Sandro stepped forward, and quickly threw a blanket around her, sweeping her into the air and throwing her over his shoulder as if she were a sack of potatoes. A roar of lustful triumph went up from the squad of guerrillas and Sandro was grinning like a Mongol conqueror as he strode across the few yards separating him from the nearest tent.
They're going to rape her, thought Henry with alarm as he watched the sergeant roughly pile his helpless young wife into the tent, followed by the men under his command. That movie actress was right. They're going to fuck her, every one of them! They're all going to stick their thick hard cocks into her belly!
For a moment, the businessman waited in the bushes, his heart beating wildly, searching his mind in his methodical way to see if there was anything he could do to stop them. There were machine guns laying around and he considered the possibility of grabbing one and trying to save her from the horrible punishment she was facing. And there was Liza Jones and Ambassador Brenner still locked back in the enclosure, waiting for him to come and rescue them. There were a lot of things he could do, but they were all dangerous. He thought about it for a few minutes longer, and then Henry J. (for Jericho) Barton jumped to his feet and fled down the side of the mountain, seeking the safety of the valley like a river seeks the sea.
* * *
Gail's mind had not quite caught up with what was happening and mentally she was still back outside the shower stall, posing nakedly for the benefit of the guerrillas. I did it, she told herself in a daze as the men hauled her into the tent. I did just what Henry told me to do! He must have had plenty of time because I did it so slowly. For a few moments she had been cold when the water had splashed suddenly over her naked skin, but now she was warm again. There were so many men in the tent with her that there was hardly room for all of them, but none of the guerrillas wanted to be left out of the fun, and they were crawling over each other like puppies, each one trying to get a hand on some part of her body. Gail was confused and stunned by everything that had happened in the past few minutes, and she felt the strength flowing out of her muscles as men began touching her everywhere they could. There were rude demanding hands on the softly yielding flesh of her breasts and rough fingers gripping the warm smooth skin of her thighs, inching steadily up towards the delicately resilient pubic hair between her legs. For a few moments she struggled feebly, but she was on the bottom of a pile of men, and could hardly move a muscle. Still too shocked and frightened to be capable of clear thought, her body went limp as the realization swept over her that she was going to be raped. A gang bang is what Liza Jones had called it, and the worldly wise actress had been absolutely right in predicting that this would be the inevitable result of Henry's plans.
For a few moments, there was nothing but the enormous confusion of men kicking off their pants as the tiny cramped tent slowly filled with the pungent odor of male lust.
When she opened her eyes and got them properly focused, the first thing she saw was the obscenely grinning face of the squad leader, Sandro. The big hairy man was sitting at her feet with his naked hairy legs crossed, his half-erected cock stretched languidly across his ankles as he stroked it lewdly, working himself up into an absolute frenzy of passion. It seemed logical to Gail that he would be the first to assault her tenderly inexperienced young body, but the guerrilla sergeant had apparently decided he would delegate someone else to do the softening up.
"Pedro, tu primero," he chuckled, and Gail craned her head around to see who her first ravisher was going to be while the other men cheered and pushed forward the youngest of their group. Pedro was obviously the favorite of the squad, a big raw-boned good-looking kid about Gail's own age, with a head of rich full brown hair. Perhaps a little shyer than the others, Pedro had neglected to remove his pants, but the others raucously remedied this oversight by stretching him out and ripping the fatigue pants from his legs by brute force. The moment he was naked from the waist down, Gail understood why he was popular with the men. His cock, already rigid and quivering with lustful excitement looked twice as big as Henry's on his best day. What if he tried to thrust that long thick rod of flesh up into the delicate unstretched confines of her tender vagina?
My God, she thought in near-panic, he'll tear me in half! It's not possible! It'll never fit into me and he'll ruin me for life if he even tries!
There was the anxious murmur of low lusty Spanish voices as the men urged Pedro to go ahead and get started so that they could all take their turns. Most of these guerrillas had not even seen a woman in months, and now that they had this staggeringly beautiful North American woman under their power, their male desire was hard to contain. Each one of the guerrillas knew that a government attack could come at any time, and by tomorrow, they could all be dead. This meant that pleasure had to be grabbed when it was available, and some other day they could count the costs.
"Day wan' he should fuck you now," Sandro explained, unnecessarily since even without knowing a word of Spanish, the quivering young woman had understood precisely what the men wanted. Pedro's eyes were dilated with lust, and his pupils seemed to glow in the half-light of the crowded tent as his tough calloused hands roamed lustfully over the lascivious delights of her nakedly exposed young body. One knee was already between her thighs, and the guerrillas all cooperated by holding her arms and ankles as the young man maneuvered his well-muscled brown body into position.
"Where he fuck you?" the guerrilla leader asked mockingly, acting like the master of ceremonies. "You like in mouth?"
"No, please, don't..." Gail groaned in agony as they baited her shamefully, although it quickly occurred to her that her chances of escaping uninjured would be better if he decided to go ahead and violate her virginal lips. It would be grotesquely humiliating, but not fatal. However, she was too shocked and frightened to make any suggestions and her only response to his cruelly tormenting words was an idiotic sputter of meaningless syllables.
"He start by eat cunt," Sandro informed her bluntly, glancing around at his subordinates to see if they were suitably impressed with his command of the English language and then kicking Pedro in the buttocks to let him know that it was time to begin. Sandro had once been a hall porter in a large hotel which catered to American tourists, and he had heard that North American women were practically addicted to this unnatural act. It would be easy enough to rape this helpless woman, but Sandro was sophisticated enough to realize that their triumph would be immeasurably greater if they succeeded in breaking her down a little first, if they were able to make this civilized white woman beg for their dark brown bodies, make her ache to be fucked by all these virile and eager young soldiers.
"You like?" he inquired as Pedro obediently lowered his head down between her widespread thighs while another guerrilla propped himself up on one elbow, shining the beam of a flashlight directly onto the softly curling blonde hairs of her pussy. "He eat you good. Make you groan, no?"
As far as Pedro was concerned, crouching lasciviously between the young blonde's quivering thighs, what he was about to do was all part of the revolution. He had heard Melar say many times that the Yankees had exploited Santa Marta for years, and since they had become revolutionaries to reverse this intolerable situation, it seemed only logical that they should now exploit the Yankees whenever possible. Particularly the women, and especially a desirous woman like this. Pedro had not had the benefits of much education but it seemed clear to him that the revolution meant that now even peasants like him could fuck Yankee women whenever and however they could get them.
His sperm-bloated balls tingled with desire as he surveyed the mysteries of her trembling vaginal lips, illuminated by the bright circle of light thrown by the flashlight. She was blonde even down there, and his eyes bulged with wonder as he saw how tiny and tight she was, practically a virgin! That cowardly husband of hers had obviously made very little use of her, and she needed a little stretching before she could really service a man like him.
Pedro's roughly bearded face was only inches away from the thin pink folds of flesh which covered her defenseless vagina, and the young guerrilla put his thumbs boldly into the light pussy hair surrounding her tight little vaginal hole, opening her up curiously, as if he had never seen a woman's cunt before.
Gail groaned in agony as she felt the man's cruelly invading fingers poking their way up into the most intimate part of her voluptuous body, but she was still unable to move so much as a muscle, and fighting back was obviously impossible. Another man was now bending over her, too impatient to wait his turn, and he was fastening his hungering mouth over the swollen brown nipple that protruded from one of her large sumptuous breasts, sometimes playing with it with his tongue and sometimes nibbling on it with his teeth, making her cry out with the pain. But this was basically nothing more than a lecherous side show, and except when he sank his teeth into the succulent yielding flesh of her breast, the young woman's attention was concentrated on what Pedro was doing down low between her widely spread thighs. The eager young guerrilla was planting a series of moist noisy kisses on the quivering red-rimmed lips of her vagina, making her whole body tremble with the anguish of having this humiliating attention focused on her heretofore private parts. He was down on his elbows and knees now, using his muscular hands to force apart the tightly clenched cheeks of her buttocks so that the whole flat plane of her loins was open and vulnerable to whatever lewd degradation he chose to inflict upon her.
With surprising gentleness, he moved his expectation-ridden face closer, running his thick red tongue up and down the length of the narrow, tempting cuntal furrow - from the tingling pink bud of her clitoris all the way down to the tiny puckered hole of her anus. Gail felt her taut muscles becoming even weaker as he lapped away the last traces of her resistance. She had been mentally preparing herself to be hurt, to be split asunder beneath this guerrilla's great marauding cock, but this sudden unexpected shift from brutality to gentleness had caught her completely off-guard, and she could not decide quite how she ought to react.
With the primitive instincts of an animal, Pedro understood instantly what was going on in the woman's confusion-ridden mind. Feeling the tension in her firm young buttocks slacken, the young guerrilla took the opportunity to improve his position slightly, moving forward and taking the moist little button of clitoral flesh between his lips, swiping it gently but persistently with his relentless tongue. The tingling inner flesh of Gail's defenseless vagina began to relax involuntarily, and the young woman's tormented body started to open up like a blossom touched by the morning sun. A more experienced woman than Gail would have understood clearly that she was becoming aroused and would have struggled against it, but the innocent young American knew only that she felt less wretched now than she had a few minutes ago. The other guerrilla who had been chewing on her tender brown nipple was now sucking her breasts with obscene determination, creating a novel tingling sensation in the ripely sensuous white mounds of soft flesh, and Pedro's ceaseless lapping of her loins was sending fiery little sparks back and forth within her quivering belly.
For a moment Gail relaxed, trying not to think of the future, feeling only the strangely warm sensation which was slowly building between her legs. She shivered slightly as she felt the athletic young guerrilla grow even bolder, using his tongue to agilely separate the palpitating lips of her vagina in order to spear into her cuntal depths even more deeply than before. Then, when the wetly probing surface of his tongue washed electrically across the super-sensitive interior walls of her throbbing passage, she began to realize what was happening to her. She was becoming aroused! It had happened so seldom during her married life with Henry that it took awhile for her to recognize the symptoms of growing desire, to recognize that her body's long-suppressed lustful needs were slowly but inexorably overruling the moral dictates of her conscience. Buried deep down inside of her, there had obviously always been a servile masochistic streak that she had never ever known existed. But Pedro's hotly searing tongue had penetrated deep enough into the depths of her being to find that hidden streak, waiting so traitorously to betray her body, mind, and soul.
"Oooohhhhhh!" she sighed, scarcely aware that she was uttering this first obvious sound of surrender. Some of the men laughed lasciviously, beginning to understand that their favorite comrade was putting this voluptuous white woman exactly where he, and everyone else in the sweat-filled tent, wanted her. Pedro heard that first unconscious gasp and chuckled, feeling her buttocks begin to move uncontrollably, jerking her straining body convulsively up and down as her cuntal passage contracted and expanded around each lashing thrust of his torridly burning tongue. Her narrow vagina was expanding now, and he could taste the orgiastic fluids beginning to flow as her over-stimulated body reacted involuntarily to this bizarre and unholy provocation.
"Oh my God," groaned the beautiful woman, desperately realizing that she was going to have to try to fight back against this maddeningly obscene impulse that was threatening to overcome her. Physically, of course, surrounded by a group of sex-crazed guerrillas, she knew that her case was hopeless; but she could not let them have the satisfaction of knowing that they had succeeded in arousing her, or she would have lost whatever fragments of civilized honor she still possessed. To be raped was one thing; it could happen to anyone, but only a whore came alive in the arms of the man who was assaulting her. She could not let that happen to her! She must not be a whore!
"Maravillioso," commented one of the guerrillas happily, as the lusting group watched he young American's voluptuous body writhing wantonly out of control, despite her best intentions. The men were becoming impatient now, urging their comrade to mount their gorgeous captive and fuck her luscious American body so that they all could have their turn before one of the senior officers came along and broke up their little party. This was such a hot little bitch and it would be a shame to waste her. Who would have thought such a seemingly refined North American beauty capable of lustful cooperation in this guerrilla gang bang?
Gail's breath was coming hard now, and she knew with a feeling of utter anguish that she was making an absurd spectacle of herself in front of these callous lust-driven men. But Pedro was working her over like a slave as each depraved thrust of his long searching tongue into her moistly churning cuntal softness brought a new gasp of pleasure to her parted lips, and it always came so suddenly that the sound was out before she could clamp her lips together.
"Ooooohhhhh, ahhhhhhhh," she moaned, beginning to perspire profusely from the accumulated heat of all the male bodies in the tent and from the intensity of the arousal being generated inside of her own sensuously stimulated body. She could feel her vagina flowering open wider with every passing second and the warm cuntal secretions were practically gushing out of her.
Pedro was illiterate and fairly stupid about many things, but he had learned in his short life exactly how to handle a woman, and he understood instinctively that the time had now come for him to ram his hotly throbbing cock deep into her well-lubricated young cunt.
There was a ripple of excited voices among the soldiers as they watched their protege slowly crawl up over the curvaceous length of the helplessly aroused young woman, and all of them knew she was too deep into the realm of insane female lust to object to anything that anyone wanted to do to her perspiration-soaked body now. Pedro took his time, however, grinning lecherously at his cohorts as he used one hand to guide his iron-hard cock-shaft close to the widespread lips of her obscenely moistened little pussy.
"Noooooooogh," she groaned, knowing that the moment of truth had finally arrived. "Please ..." Abruptly turning her head to one side, she gritted her teeth as the blood-filled glans of his massively swollen cock ploughed deep into the soft wet folds of pink flesh guarding the entrance to her to her all but defenseless cunt.
"Madre de Dios!" Pedro whispered as he felt the palpitating walls of her vagina strain uselessly against the powerfully invading length of his throbbing cock. It had been a long time since the guerrilla fighter had felt anything quite this good and the exquisite sensation filled his straining body with an unexpected driving hunger for more. The time for gentleness was over now, and the taut muscles in his battle-hardened body tightened with a sudden explosive force as he fought his way brutally into the narrow confines of her cuntal passageway.
"Ooooaagggghhhhh," she moaned, her pleasure suddenly turning to pain as the enormous size of his male weapon bludgeoned its way into the moistened tenderness of her aching vagina, pushing waves of flesh ahead of its lust-bloated head like a barge ploughing calm waters. It was a brutal, straining struggle, and the powerfully resisting internal muscles of her clenching cunt brought him to a temporary standstill. But gathering his knees under him, he rammed forward with all the strength in his body, trying to force open a path into the most intimate depths of her clasping cunt, bringing impassioned groans of real agony to Gail's lips each time he shoved ruthlessly forward.
"Aaaaaaggggggg..." the tortured young woman cried out as the guerrilla's heavy sperm-filled balls smashed into the unprotected cheeks of her buttocks just as the iron-hard tip of his rigid cock collided with the softly resisting tip of her cervix. Gail's body trembled and quivered while she struggled desperately to relax the tensed muscles in her abdomen, knowing that the battle was over, that she was merely making things harder for herself by continuing to fight back. The pleasant sensations of arousing excitement she had experienced just a few moments before we all gone now, and suddenly the reality of her horrid situation settled upon her like an enormous weight! This was but the first man who would thrust his lust-swollen penis deep into her belly tonight! When the young brute now sprawled across her unresisting young body had shot his vile sperm up into the depths of her vaginal passage, he would be replaced by another man. And he by another. And they would keep using her innocent young body until they had satisfied their primitive sexual instincts, or killed her in the process, whichever came first.
Pedro reared up on his elbows and looked down at her, the corners of his handsome face twisting into a sadistic grin of triumph. Now, the revolution begins, he told himself hungrily. She had the warmest tightest little cunt he had ever known, and he knew how to stretch it out for her. The fun was just starting.
"You fuck Pedro," Sandro cruelly ordered from the foot of the mattress. "He fuck you and you fuck back!"
If the violated woman understood what those malicious words were supposed to mean, she gave no sign of it. She lay passively still beneath Pedro with her eyes shut tightly while the lusty older sergeant obscenely urged her on to greater depths of depravation at the hands of the young guerrilla.
"You fuck back!" Sandro roared at the helpless woman while Pedro dug his long, uncut fingernails into the smooth flawless flesh of her buttocks, yanking her body up against him while he surged powerfully into her. It was not enough for his sadistic desire merely to ravish her in the presence of all these men; she had to cooperate in her own defilement!
"Do!" Pedro growled furiously, his cock flexing and expanding wildly within her tight cunt as he dug his fingers even deeper into the softly yielding flesh of her delicate buttocks. The pain was too great, and Gail no longer could find the strength to resist, even mentally. Turning her head passively to one side, she began to answer his thrusts, bucking up against him with her naked loins in the hope that her voluptuously undulating body would excite him even more and make him cum all the faster. She would do anything now to escape this obscene impalement or the end of his massive blood-swollen cock!
As he felt her body begin to move beneath him, Pedro seemed to lose his mind. Releasing the weight on his elbows, the big man let his torso collapse heavily on her delicate breasts, almost knocking the wind out of her straining body, and he began to skewer in and out of her pulsating pussy with all the strength left in his battle-hardened body.
But the other guerrillas had been forced to wait too long, and were becoming restless. Several of them were completely naked by now, no longer able to stand quietly back and watch until their protege finished breaking in this obscenely undulating female hostage. Gail felt someone pry open the clenched fingers of her left hand, and although she could not see anything in the darkness, someone was lewdly laying his erected penis across the sweating palm of her hand. Then he forced her fingers closed again and began to plough enthusiastically in and out of this artificial cunt, almost tipping over the bed as his thighs smashed into the mattress in a primeval erotic rhythm. Another man with even more depraved tastes was worming his arm laboriously beneath her buttocks, his fingers searching for the tiny puckered opening of her anus. She gyrated her buttocks wildly, trying to throw this new intruder off as his index finger evilly probed the defenses of her virginal little rectum; but Pedro, above her, merely interpreted these frenzied undulations as intended for his benefit, and the muscular young revolutionary redoubled his strokes, driving his long fiery shaft into her so hard and so deep that she thought he was going to split her helpless body in two.
All of Gail's concentration was going into the business of tightening her buttocks against this other man's merciless finger trying to force its way into the unnatural sanctuary of her anus, and at first she failed to understand what was going on at the other end of her body. A man whose face she could not see had managed to curl his naked body around her head so that her face was looking directly at his massively pulsating erection. Then she felt his fingers fumbling with her mouth, and in a moment of horror, the terrified woman understood everything.
"Noooooo ..." she tried to groan in protest, but it was a stupid thing to have done, for the moment she parted her lips to speak, the guerrilla deftly stuck his fingers into her mouth. She was too frightened of what he might do to her to even think of biting his hand, and she gagged as he forced her mouth open wider. In another second, the depraved deed was done! She closed her eyes in acute misery, not wanting to see the long stiffened cock that had violated the virginal sanctuary of her mouth, but feeling the rigid hardness gliding easily along her tongue towards the back of her mouth.
Not giving her an instant to adjust to this bizarre invasion, the marauder forced her lips tight around the glistening shaft of his cock, and began fucking wildly into her face. There were so many men on top of her now that she could hardly move a muscle, and it was impossible to twist her head away from the unseen man who was lewdly defiling her lips. Gail struggled to retain some fragment of her sanity as she felt the man's bulbous instrument probing wickedly for the back of her throat, but in that precise moment, the guerrilla who was assaulting the narrow passageway of her buttocks got what he wanted, plunging a brutal finger far up into the depths of her futilely protesting rectum.
Gail opened her eyes, blinking in the harsh light of the tent as someone directed a beam towards her straining, cruelly stretched lips. She tried not to reflect upon what was happening in her mouth, and after a moment of gagging and sputtering, she adjusted as well as she could to the brutalizing presence of a man's intruding cock between her delicate lips. Crouched between her widely splayed thighs, Pedro was building towards a climax, and the dazed young bride could feel his lust-inflated penis expand until it seemed ready to burst with tension. His hands clung desperately to her gyrating buttocks as if he were possessed by some irrational fear that she could somehow escape from him in his moment of triumph. The young guerrilla was panting heavily as he strained to reach the ecstasy building deep with his pounding cock, raising himself up on his elbows and exciting himself further by watching his comrade who was fucking ruthlessly into Gail's helplessly impaled mouth.
"Madre de Dio!" he grunted, seeing the girl's lips curl desperately around the long glistening shaft emerging obscenely from her mouth. The female hostage was sucking for all she was worth, trying to make the man spill his vile seed into the depths of her throat and get it over with. But Pedro did not concern himself with her motives. This was the best fuck of his entire life, and it made no difference to him whether the voluptuous blonde North American woman loved them or hated them. She would do what they wanted her to do and her feelings did not count!
Gail was dully conscious that her overstuffed mouth was slowly filling with a depraved mixture of saliva and the warm sticky semen oozing slowly from the gland at the end of the man's long pole-like cock. She felt his fleshy instrument throbbing wildly in her abused mouth, knowing that he too was only seconds away from spewing his fiery hot cum into the forbidden repository of her throat, and she knew that if she lived to be a hundred, she would never again be as humiliated and degraded as she was in this awful moment, lost in the wilds of Santa Marta with a sex-crazed gang of desperate guerrillas.
Suddenly the man in front of her groaned as if he were in pain, ramming his sweating loins into her abused face, shoving his powerfully-throbbing cock so far into the inner recesses of her throat that she was forced to keep swallowing in order not to choke. With an animalistic cry, his semen-filled balls suddenly tightened and contracted, and the warm syrupy cum began to pour obscenely from the depths of his cock deep into her lewdly violated mouth, while she gulped involuntarily to keep from choking to death. The warm thick liquid washed endlessly into her throat, and Gail found herself wondering if it was ever going to end. The man's thick pungent cum seemed to be searing its way down her throat and into her stomach, and just when she hoped that his bottomless supply of semen was coming to an end, Pedro gasped and began exploding his own burning liquid up into her bruised and clasping cunt. He seemed to want to rip her thighs and buttocks apart as he thrashed up and down over her doubly-ravished young body, thrusting deeply into her over-stretched vagina with one last heroic lunge.
The moment Gail felt Pedro's hot searing sperm streaming deep into her wide-split vagina, she shook the other man's slowly deflating instrument from her mouth, and-let loose with a desperate scream, wailing like a wounded animal as the young soldier filled her belly with spurt after spurt of his life-giving seed. No one paid any attention to her, and Pedro's loins continued to pound convulsively into her pelvis until he was exhausted.
For a few minutes, things became very confused. Pushed by several of the men, an exhausted Pedro rolled off of the young woman's battered body, and for a moment or two, she lay in a double pool of cum, feeling the soothing night air course over her battered body. Then, there were more hands on her nakedness and another man whose face she could not see crouching between her outstretched legs. There was a babble of Spanish voices, and someone giving orders. It made no difference to her. None of this concerned her. She was floating a mile above it all now, tasting the cum slowly drying on her lips, thinking of nothing, while a man's face dived into her unashamedly naked loins and another nibbled at the bruised mountains of her breasts. Nothing mattered . . . there was more confusion and shouting, and she closed her eyes. No one was touching her now and she wondered dully if she could have been unconscious for awhile. Had they all had their way with her? Had she been asleep, knocked out? There were so many questions, but nothing seemed to be important at the moment, and she was comfortable, almost happy. She had behaved like a whore, but that was all right too. Who cared? Henry had sent her here to distract the guards and she had done just that and more. Where was Henry now?
"Where is Henry Barton?" At first she thought the voice had come from the confused depths of her own subconscious. Then she cautiously opened one eye, reluctant to come back down into the horrifyingly real world. How should she know where Henry was?
"Where he is?" The voice repeated, and her eyes slowly focused on the stern face of Don Carlos who was bending over her naked body. "Are you hurt?"
"It was a trick," cursed Melar, standing behind the guerrilla leader, his face flushed with anger. "This little slut tricked Sandro while her husband escaped. She should be punished!"
"She's half dead," commented Don Carlos dryly, glaring at the terrified squad of soldiers. "I should have you all shot for this."
"It's her we should be shooting," claimed Melar hotly. "Give me the word and we'll dispose of this filthy whore right now!"
"Take her to my quarters," ordered the black-haired man abruptly. "We will dispense justice in the morning."
* * *
Gail Barton awoke without opening her eyes, and decided that this morning she would allow herself the luxury of sleeping in for awhile. Her body seemed to be stiff, as if she had performed some energetic gymnastics the day before, and in the half-sleep of the early morning, she tried to recall what she could possibly have done to tire her out so. It seemed that she had been sleeping for days.
With one hand, she reached out to feel for Henry, expecting to find him, as usual, curled up in a ball on the other side of the bed. To her surprise, she discovered that the bed was empty. Furthermore, the blanket covering her naked body was a coarse wool and not the soft linen she was accustomed to. In another minute of gradual awakening, she realized that she was not in her own bed, and the flood of horrid memories from the night before came sweeping back over her. But where was she now?
"Are you all right?" asked a deep masculine voice, and the frightened young wife opened her eyes, finding herself in a small room which evidentially served as a combination office and bedroom for Don Carlos. The revolutionary was seated on the edge of a wooden desk, wearing khaki pants and a military style shirt left open at the throat. He was looking at her seriously, his eyes full of concern. "We cleaned you up as well as we could last night, but you were out cold. I don't know where we can get a doctor ..."
"I . . . I'm okay, I guess," she stammered, taken aback by his attitude, since she was frankly a little surprised to find herself alive at all. Hadn't Melar said something the night before about killing them all? She stared to sit up in bed, but remembered in time that she was still perfectly naked, and slumped back down beneath the covers. "What happened?"
"That's what we were hoping you could tell us," commented Don Carlos calmly, lighting a cigarette and walking to the foot of her bed where he stood watching her with interest. "What went on last night? How did your husband escape? And what was this madness about taking a shower?"
The young wife blushed furiously as she realized that the time for telling lies was over and she had no choice but to explain her actions. Apparently Henry was gone, which meant that she had at least partially succeeded. And how about the others?
"My husband thought that I could distract the soldiers while he slipped out of the enclosure and found something he could use to cut us free," she told him honestly, watching him spill some inky black coffee into a chipped earthen jug and hand it to her without comment. She accepted it gratefully, realizing that she had grown so accustomed to brutality that Don Carlos' easy gentility was throwing her off-balance.
"Not his father's son, I would say," mused the guerrilla leader, shaking his head. "I don't think Henry Senior would have sacrificed his wife to save his own skin, although it's hard to tell with capitalists?"
"Where is my husband?" Gail demanded, slightly frightened by the implication of what he was saying.
"Your husband, Senora, is probably drinking wine in the air-conditioned office of our esteemed President Salvatore right now. I sent out a patrol to see if we could pick him up, but I imagine he's out of our reach. We found his foot prints on the mountain path, which means he was heading in the right direction."
"And . ..and the others?" she asked doubtfully, hopeful that Henry had at least made a try at rescuing the Ambassador and Liza Jones.
"The others are right where Henry deserted them. Miss Jones found some colorful words to describe your husband when I went to see her this morning." Don Carlos almost grinned as he recalled the torrent of incredible language which had poured from Liza's mouth, but the situation was too serious for much mirth. He recalled his four soldiers in prison cells in Capitol City awaiting execution. Today was the day. Would President Salvatore dare to execute them? All they had left was one hostage, and the power mad dictator might realize that it was now really to his advantage. . .He frowned, and then looked up sharply to find Gail Barton's eyes trained on him questioningly as if she were reading his mind.
"And . . . and what about us?" her voice quavered as she spoke, but the South American guerrilla leader seemed so intelligent and well-educated that Gail could not bring herself to imagine him treating them brutally.
"What happened to you last night will not be repeated," he informed her firmly, lighting a second cigarette from the butt of the first one and turning distractedly to gaze out the window. "And I apologize. But you provoked them into it with that little strip tease. As far as you and Miss Jones are concerned, nothing will happen. I intend to open negotiations for your release, and we will let you go when the American Government meets our terms, which will be reasonable ones. Ambassador Brenner's situation is more difficult. If Salvatore executes my men, I will have no choice but to do the same thing to Ambassador." "But you can't!" the blonde-haired girl cried in dismay, thinking of the gentle but courageous diplomat being murdered in cold blood.
"I will have no choice!" Don Carlos snapped as if the thought irritated him as much as it did her. "If I break my word to my men, they will simply elect a new leader and shoot Brenner anyway. Melar would enjoy that enormously ..." And then he snapped his mouth shut tight as if he had already said too much.
Gail gazed at him for a long time as he stood by the side of the window, smoking and thinking. He was a handsome man, tall and rugged, and for half a moment, the young woman wondered what it would be like to be married to a man like him. He was everything Henry never even tried to be.
"I know it seems cruel," he explained, pacing restlessly from the window to the foot of her bed, "but you must understand that Santa Marta has always been a violent country. If I live to see the victory of the revolution, perhaps I will be able to change things, but even I will have to start by shooting men like Melar or we will never have peace in this land. And your country and the Barton Company have done their best for twenty years to keep us poor and wretched. That's what this revolution is all about, Mrs.
Barton, and that's why we have to take things into our own hands."
"Why would you have to shoot Melar?" the girl questioned him timidly. It seemed ridiculous having such a cozy little chat with the man who had arranged for her to be kidnapped and who had been planning to execute her husband, but anything was better than silence at the moment. Besides, she was still curled nakedly beneath the sheet, holding the coffee cup in her hands, and sipping from it occasionally as they talked. There was something almost domestic about the scene, as if she and Don Carlos had been married for a decade, living in this tiny cabin high in the hills.
"I suppose there's no reason not to tell you. In the country where Melar comes from, they believe that violence should go on forever. I think someday it has to stop. Melar thinks people should be slaves of the government for their own good, and I think that slavery is never good. And I think that it is sad that we may have to shoot Mr. Brenner. Melar thinks it is a happy occasion. That's why when the revolution comes to pass one of us will have to go. I hope it will be him, but Melar has survived other revolutions and perhaps he will survive this one."
"But why don't you uh . . . get rid of him now?"
"Melar's government sends me guns and money, two things I need very badly at the moment. They would be very unhappy if I were to shoot Mr. Melar."
There was a long silence. Out of nowhere there came into Gail's head the overpowering desire to tell Don Carlos that the phosphate mines that they were practically sitting on were rich in uranium ore, but she checked this reckless impulse. After all, they were hardly friends, despite his kindness. And perhaps she could use that little bit of information at some future moment to save herself if the going got tough. Henry had taken advantage of her sacrifice to save his own neck. Apparently in the revolution business, it was every man for himself, and that rule applied to women as well!
"Listen, the men are feeling a little restless after what happened last night and I don't think I'd better send you back to the enclosure. There are some clothes next to the bed. You'd better dress and stay here until things settle down."
There was an awkward moment, and then Don Carlos turned and stepped out of the cottage, closing the door very firmly behind him. Gail glanced out the window and saw that the hut was surrounded by guards, but at least no one was watching her now. And she quickly stepped out of the bed and picked up a crude pair of khaki pants and a shirt off the floor. It was the same uniform the guerrillas wore, and besides the fact that it fitted rather poorly, she had no underwear. But it was better than nothing, and she quickly fastened the belt around her waist and pulled the field jacket over her naked shoulders, buttoning it between her heavy unharnessed breasts. The rough material rubbed teasingly against her bruised nipples, provoking them into hard and rigid brown buds, but otherwise she felt in remarkably good shape for a woman who had been raped the night before.
After a respectful interval, the door opened and the guerrilla leader re-entered, glancing at her masculine clothing with poorly disguised amusement. "We'll make a guerrilla fighter out of you yet," he commented laconically and then turned his back to her as he sat down at his desk and went to work on a pile of papers.
The day passed slowly for Gail. There was nothing to do or much to look at in the tiny cottage where Don Carlos alternately worked at his desk, or left her alone for long periods of time while he attended to matters in various parts of the camp. Her meals were brought to her on a tray by a silent soldier, and she ate the simple nourishing food alone, welcoming the meals as an interruption in an otherwise boring day. As darkness fell on the mountain-top, Don Carlos returned from an errand and chatted with her for a few minutes as he prepared his bedroll, obviously planning to respect her privacy by sleeping elsewhere. He asked her about her home and family in the United States and Gail thought that he looked sad as she described the warm comfortable house she had grown up in. Henry had remarked that Don Carlos was the only man in Santa Marta with "two brain cells to rub together," and Gail guessed that the guerrilla leader had left a prosperous upper-class existence behind him when he chose to take to the hills and command this rebel band.
It was very early the following morning when the trouble started. Sleeping restlessly in her clothes, Gail awoke with a start as Don Carlos barged into his office, his solid muscular figure outlined in grey against the dawn sky.
"Wha . . . what's happening?" she sputtered, propping herself up on one elbow, her hands spread defensively across her breast. Don Carlos halted in the act of strapping a pistol around his waist, looking at her in surprise as if he had forgotten she was there.
"A message on the radio . . . Salvatore executed our four men. I had a feeling he would." There was the noise of men's voices shouting with raucous anger, and Gail realized with fright that the whole camp was in arms. "You stay where you are and keep your mouth shut," he ordered her brusquely. "We've got problems ..."
There was no time to explain further and Don Carlos just managed to block the doorway as Melar and Sandro marched up, backed by a dozen men, their faces dark with rage. / should have gotten rid of you a long time ago, thought the rebel leader as he gazed at the brutishly ugly face of his foreign advisor. Now you've got half the camp against me and it's going to be hell getting them back.
"We heard the news, Don Carlos," reported Melar dryly, looking at the youthful revolutionary with a challenging expression. "The men were wondering when we should set up the executions ..."
"There will be one execution," snapped Carlos shortly as if Melar had merely made a mistake in grammar. "And I have scheduled it for noon today. A firing squad will be chosen."
"We have three hostages," Melar sneered unpleasantly. "The men feel that they all deserve to suffer, including the women."
"Ah, now you inform me what the men think? Since when did you learn to speak Spanish, Melar?"
"You can't back out of this one, my friend," laughed Melar scornfully. "You see the evidence here before you. These men have been promised that they could enjoy those two women and they will not be told otherwise. Brenner we will shoot now. The women later, when the men are tired of them."
"You talk as if you'd know what to do with a woman!"
"You would be surprised, Commandante. I have enjoyed many a woman in my fashion, although the women are almost never pleased by my humble efforts. Perhaps I shall do better with the little pigeon you have taken such a liking to."
"Want girl," put in Sandro stubbornly, gesturing with his rifle towards the cowering young woman behind Don Carlos.
"Pig!" spat Carlos angrily, blocking the entrance to the doorway with his body. "Men do not execute women. Or rape them!"
"You are out-numbered, Commandante," giggled Melar, gesturing to the glowering group of rebellious men. "I told you that you were too weak to lead a guerrilla movement. Now Castro was tougher than anyone else in Cuba ..."
"Pigs!" repeated Carlos, staring at them steadily as he saw rifles pointed in his direction. "To have the American woman, you must kill me first!"
* * *
"It sounds like feeding time at the zoo," quipped Liza Jones, rising from the pile of mud in which she had spent the night and walking to the front of the enclosure to see what she could observe. The actress was holding together amazingly well after the endless hours in the filthy cage but the Ambassador was looking feeble and old.
"They don't sound to happy to me," he grunted, pulling himself into a sitting position and trying to wipe the mud from his face.
"You don't suppose Salvatore has ..." Liza Jones began, but the actress could not bring herself to finish her sentence, knowing full well what it would mean for the two of them.
"It was in the cards, Liza, from the moment Barton deprived us of his company. With Henry here, Salvatore would never have dared to do it, but now it actually suits his purposes to have the guerrillas execute me. Somebody shoots an American ambassador and the Congress just might come up with some money to help fight the nasty guerrillas who did it. If Carlos lets me free, the U.S. would go back to forgetting about Santa Marta just the way they have for the last hundred years. And Salvatore was opposed to my assignment here anyway because he knows how I feel about his government."
"And you . . . you think ... oh Geoff, I don't like this," the actress began to cry.
"Here they come now. Scruffy looking lot but I suppose they shoot straight enough." Geoffrey Brenner commented. "You'll remember to relay my comments to the State Department? Not that I really expect them to switch their support to Don Carlos, but I want the President to know that was my recommendation!"
"Geoff!" wailed the actress, clinging to his arm and burying her face in his shoulder.
"Listen, Liza, I've been am ambassador of the United States for fifteen years, and something like this was always possible. I'm representing the country today, just like I always have and the State Department wouldn't want any sniffling."
The soldiers stopped at the gate while Sandro turned the key in the lock and stood wordlessly to one side, somehow sensing that the ambassador would come out of his own free will.
"Good-bye, Liza."
"Good-bye, Geoff."
The old man straightened his shoulders as he walked out of the barbed wire enclosure, and Sandro's men unconsciously stiffened to attention, struck by the man's simple dignity. The sergeant growled an order, and they marched Ambassador Brenner around a corner and out of sight.
* * *
It was not until she joined Don Carlos at the window of the cottage and saw the guerrillas come into the clearing with the ambassador that Gail realized how everything had changed. Don Carlos was at least temporarily not in command of his men; Sandro and Melar were running the show now and this meant that anything could happen.
"What . . . will they do?" she managed to whisper, wishing he would say something to acknowledge her presence, but he seemed too absorbed in his own thoughts. The guerrilla's eyes were flashing with barely subdued rage as he watched Sandro shove the grey-haired government official up against a mud wall and harangue him viciously in Spanish.
"This was not meant to turn out like this," he muttered as if he were speaking to himself. "Even if I had wanted to execute him, I would never have done it like this. The fools are playing into Salvatore's hands! This could mean the end of the revolution, but Melar is too power-mad to realize it."
"What do you mean?" quavered the American girl, unconsciously putting her trembling hand on the man's muscular arm, "I mean that I never intended to shoot anyone. It was a bluff and a bluff that failed. We stood a good chance of defeating Salvatore's army, but the moment we kill an American ambassador, we'll have your Marine Corps on our necks."
"Can't you stop them?" she pleaded.
"By tomorrow they will have come to their senses, and when Salvatore's troops attack, they will need me to lead them. But all of this will be too late to help Geoffrey Brenner. Right now you are seeing a demonstration of the kind of Latin pig-headedness that has always kept us from making any progress here in South America. Perhaps it would be a good idea if you didn't watch just now."
It would have been a good idea, but somehow the young woman was hypnotized by the horror of the scene before her. Geoffrey Brenner gazed straight ahead of him as Sandro concluded his speech by spitting in the diplomat's face. Then he did a clumsy about face, tripping on his left heal and falling onto his knee as he foolishly tried to give the appearance of extreme military discipline. He stood up quickly, and marched back to the three of his soldiers who had been appointed members of the firing squad. A rousing cheer jarred the early morning air as the men raised their rifles, three barrels trained on the ambassador's heart. Sandro barked a hoarse order but only two shots rang out, the other rifle having failed to fire.
Morbidly, Gail's eyes were locked on Brenner's face as one bullet slammed viciously into his stomach, flinging him back against the mud wall. He swayed dangerously, but the girl could see instantly that the wound was not mortal.
"Rotten shots," he managed to mumble, blood seeping past his lips as he struggled heroically to stay on his feet. Sandro was screaming furiously at the squad as they all desperately checked their rifles and even Melar looked embarrassed at this botched-up execution. After what seemed to Gail like an eternity, the squad got their rifles up for a second try and another crackle of gunfire shattered the air. An expression of agony flashed across Brenner's face and this time he had no cynical words to say, sinking slowly to his knees as little spurts of bright scarlet blood erupted from his chest like miniature volcanoes. But he was not quite dead.
She had no idea how it happened, but in that terrible moment Gail found herself in Carlos' arms, her cheek pressed against his chest while his arms tenderly held her shivering shoulders. Peering over one arm, she saw Sandro still swearing venonomously in Spanish, march back to the brick wall, slowly withdrawing his sidearm from his holster.
Geoffrey Brenner was coughing blood now, uselessly expending the last of his mortal strength in a futile effort to raise himself up on one elbow. Now enjoying his brutal role as captain of the firing squad, the awkward giant kicked the dying man in the back to roll him over face down onto the ground, pointing his pistol at the back of Brenner's skull.
Gail's body jumped as the hammer fell, pressing herself closer to Don Carlos, but there was no shot since in the excitement the sergeant had neglected to load his pistol. Enraged at this constant frustration, Sandro threw himself blindly on the stricken man, pounding him with the butt of the pistol. The assembled members of Don Carlos' band looked on, a little stupefied by this senseless violence. It seemed incredible that a frail and aging man could live through so much, but Brenner groaned desperately and tried to crawl away as the sergeant pounded him unmercifully. Throwing his heavy body onto the Ambassador's slender bleeding body, Sandro proceeded to smash the helpless man to death with the butt of the gun, continuing to beat him with blood-thirsty vengeance long after his ravaged body had ceased to move.
* * *
Her bones aching from the damp, Liza Jones got up and walked around the confined space of her enclosure, wishing that she could be back in Hollywood, for just one afternoon. First she would take a long luxurious bath in the sunken tub in her mansion in Beverly Hills. Then she would call for her favorite masseur and let him rub all the weariness out of her bones. And after that she would sit down with her telephone book and call the handsomest man she could find to take her out to dinner in the most expensive restaurant in California. And after at least six courses, the handsomest man in her telephone book could take her home to bed, and he could bring a friend if he needed help, because Liza had been without a desirable man for far too long, and even these grubby soldiers were beginning to look good to her.
Then she heard the sickening echo of gunfire and she hated herself for having held these thoughts while her friend was dying. She shivered, despite the warmth of the sun, realizing that she had no more tears to cry despite her sorrow. Would they be coming for her next? Would it be for a firing squad? Or a gang bang? Liza Jones was no innocent virgin, not after five husbands and innumerable lovers. But back in the compound there were several hundred lusting sex-starved guerrilla fighters . . .
"A penny for your thoughts?" came Melar's mockingly gentle European voice from behind her, and she started with fright.
"Oh, it's you. What do you want now, Melar?"
"At your service, Madam. I told you that you would be privileged to entertain the troops, and the moment has arrived." Melar, accompanied by two grinning soldiers, quickly unlocked the enclosure and stepped in, taking the woman roughly by the arms and leading her up the path towards Don Carlos' command post.
"I thought your glorious leader said nix on the rough stuff as far as the women were concerned."
"Unfortunately our glorious but puritanical leader is temporarily not commanding this group. Sandro and I have taken over by popular consent."
"Where's Gail?" snapped the actress, frankly worried about her younger friend.
"Mrs. Barton has been spending her time with Don Carlos, regrettably. She seems to have forgotten her husband rather easily, but we will deal with her in turn. For the moment, we have you to entertain us."
Liza vowed internally that she would never surrender to this horror without a fight, but the two soldiers were dragging her bodily up the path, and it seemed pointless to start resisting until she had to. They emerged from a clump of trees, skirted the flat open area where the majority of the guerrilla force was camped, and arrived at the back of the wooden headquarters building. Liza saw Gail looking out the window at her, white-faced with fear, despite the fact that Don Carlos was standing with both arms around her, and the actress understood with a sudden pang of despair that the high-minded and courageous guerrilla leader was really no longer in charge. Just outside the window, there was a small squad of Sandro's loyal men waiting for her and Liza realized that they had decided to do whatever they were going to do in full view of Don Carlos as a crude gesture of defiance.
For a moment, Liza stared blankly in the window of the cottage, silently pleading for help she knew Don Carlos was in no position to give her. Then the action started. There was a babble of excited Spanish voices as the indefatigable giant Sandro charged across the few feet of open space separating him from the sensuous actress, moving with incredible speed despite his enormous bulk. Gail winced and drew closer to Don Carlos who cursed under his breath in his native language as they watched Sandro cruelly knock the breath from Liza's voluptuous body. In a second he had her on the ground, only a few feet away from them where they would be able to see everything that happened. Framed by the window and watching as the lustful sergeant began ripping the woman's clothing from her vainly struggling body, Gail had the weird sensation that she was watching some strange erotic movie. How many times had she gone to the cinema with Henry to watch the famous Liza Jones battle for her life against some Hollywood monster?
But this was all real. The man Gail was clutching so desperately against her was not her panty-waisted husband, Henry, but a heroic guerrilla leader whose men had turned against him. And the violence going on before her widened eyes was genuine!
Liza writhed and twisted futilely beneath Sandro's enormous weight, but she was surrounded by armed and vicious men and she had not the slightest hope of escaping. And the little session Sandro had already had with the actress had only served to spur his depraved appetite for more of the same brutal demands. His eyes bulging with lust, Sandro knelt over the girl, grunting like an animal, trying to press his fat moist lips against her face while the actress wiggled desperately to avoid this unwelcome embrace. Temporarily repulsed, the sergeant flared into sudden anger, slapping her hard against the cheek he had been trying to kiss only a moment before.
"Show her who's boss!" advised Melar sadistically, leaning placidly against a tree with his arms crossed as he watched this brutally violent scene. Sandro seemed to have gone temporarily out of his mind, slapping the dazed helpless actress nearly senseless as he struck her again and again. Her body went suddenly limp and Gail thought she must surely be unconscious, but Liza's eyes were still open. The actress had gotten tough after nearly twenty years in the rough world of the motion pictures, and there was a lot of fight still left in her. She was resting, hoarding her strength for the crucial moment when this monster tried to penetrate her.
Sandro slapped her a few more times for good measure, solid bone-jarring blows which sent shudders through Gail's body. She felt faint and clung to Don Carlos for support as Sandro, virtually frothing at the mouth with uncontrollable excitement, began tearing the clothes from the actress' helpless, but succulently appealing, body. Her brassiere had been left behind down in the valley when Sandro had attacked her the first time, and the moment he stripped away the already torn fabric of her blouse. Liza's firm tanned breasts burst into view, jiggling temptingly back and forth as she struggled to roll away from her assailant.
Sandro quieted her with a cruel blow to the side of the head and then proceeded to tear the short fragile skirt from her wildly thrashing hips.
Another sadistic jerk and her black nylon panties flew into the air, leaving the actress totally naked and completely helpless before the sergeant's frenzied assault.
"They are not all like this," Don Carlos muttered, half to himself. "Brutes like Sandro are useful only because they are always the best fighters in battle. The others are good men, but they have been misled." His arms tightened around Gail's slender waist. "Are you sure you want to watch? This is being done to show defiance to me, but there's no need to torture yourself."
He was right, of course, but somehow Gail could not make herself turn away, her eyes still trained on the blood-thirsty spectacle before her as if she were hypnotized by the violence and rampant sexuality of it all. In all her twenty-two years of life she had been so protected by her family that she found herself absolutely petrified in the face of this violent action.
The actress had stopped resisting now, but Sandro was still tearing at her like a madman, now so anxious to thrust his monstrous cock into the softly receptive depths of her body that he could barely contain himself. He was wasting no time with foreplay, as his eyes focused unwaveringly on the brief brown triangle of defenseless pubic hair between her widely spread thighs. With a quick fumbling movement, he flicked down the zipper of his fly, freeing the oversized shaft of his cock which sprang almost joyfully into the air as if it were a caged animal suddenly liberated from captivity. Gail had never clearly seen the man's gigantic cock that night in the tent, and her eyes widened with horror as she viewed the long bulbous object which the guerrilla sergeant had been planning to use on her. It seemed impossible for any human female to take this monstrously thick shaft up into the delicacy of her vagina, and she thanked the fates for having spared her this body-rending torment.
The American girl shuddered at the idea, and Don Carlos seemed to understand what she was feeling, because he pulled her even more tightly against his chest and she instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, desperately anxious to be held by someone, even the man responsible for bringing her here. Don Carlos seemed to understand and he stroked her hair soothingly as she clung to him. Both man and woman had their eyes locked on Sandro's massive penis protruding rigidly from his black pubic hair as he positioned himself over Liza's helpless body.
The giant lost no time with idle preliminaries. Using his fingers with rough skill, he separated the delicate pink lips of her trembling hair-covered vagina and then flicked his hips forward decisively, driving his rigidly pulsating cock immediately up into the intimate furrow of her unwilling body. "Aaaaaggghhhhh!"
"He's killing her," whispered Gail in fright.
"She'll live through him," Carlos muttered calmly. "Whether she can take fifty more men after him is another question."
But Gail found it hard to believe, and with her own lush young body shivering sympathetically, she watched her friend being skewered like a chicken on a spit. Sandro had pierced her all the way now, so that the only thing she could see were his enormous sperm-filled testicles pressed obscenely against the unprotected and widely spread cheeks of the woman's buttocks. The big guerrilla rested for a second, as if he had decided to let the long pulsating shaft of his cock warm itself inside the softly moist flesh of Liza's trembling cunt, and then began to surge in and out of her, powerfully, as if his big muscular body were really a machine with a steel shaft and gears driven by a powerful motor. Each stroke seemed to carry the full monstrous length of his cock deeper and deeper into the softly churning depths of her body, and Liza's sleek white thighs were flailing out farther and farther with each deadly lunge as she tried desperately to position her savagely abused body beneath this bone-crushing assault. Gail looked at her pityingly, remembering how she had looked during their flight together from New York. Then she had been the proud and famous Liza Jones, the movie star who cavorted with kings and governors, giving her sweet sexual favors only to the richest or the most handsome of men. And yet here she was being fucked half to death by a savage brutish guerrilla on the grass in the presence of ten lasciviously grinning soldiers. How the mighty had fallen!
"Oh God, stop him!" the besieged actress groaned to no one in particular, but her plea elicited a chorus of vulgar chuckles from the crew of battle-hardened guerrillas who were watching this vile spectacle and waiting for their turn to ravish this captive movie queen.
"Shut up, bitch," snarled Melar. "You're getting what you got coming to you!"
Liza's normally glamorous face was now a virtual mask of torment as she realized how low this gang of lust-driven guerrillas had taken her. Sandro slapped her once again across the face, probing remorselessly with his lust-bloated cock into her visibly convulsing vagina in the same vicious instant. The guerrilla sergeant was becoming more excited by the second, and his brutality increased in equal measure to his pleasure at fucking this sensationally voluptuous actress. He dug his fingernails cruelly into the voluptuous mounds of her breasts as his hips surged in and out of the tenderly receptive furrow of her helpless cunt. Gail watched in horror while the sensitive brown nipples of the actress's breasts popped out from the sheer pressure Sandro was putting on her as his log-like cock rampaged through the grotesquely stretched passage of her cunt. Each time his loins collided mercilessly with hers, they could hear the coarse obscene slap of his balls against the smooth white flesh of her buttocks and sometimes it looked less like an act of sex than some savage ritual form of primitive combat.
Gail tried to shut her eyes and turn away, knowing that the longer she watched this sadistic scene in degraded fascination, the more of this horribly obscene spectacle would be imprinted on her mind; but try as she might, there was something about this depraved and dangerous situation which seemed to have paralyzed her. Immobilized by shock and pathetic grief, she stood with her trembling young body crushed against Don Carlos' muscular frame while Sandro ravaged the actress like a sex-mad Mongol Warrior from Asia, his face contorted into a veritable mask of sadistic lust as his long rigidly pulsating cock steamed in and out of her abused vagina like a piston gone mad. No human male could possibly go on like this forever, and even the innocent Gail knew from her limited experience with sex that the bulky Sandro had to cum soon or have a heart attack. But even knowing that the huge man's orgasm must be imminent, she was caught off guard when the guerrilla sergeant suddenly raised his head to the sky like a wild animal and screamed out his ecstasy with all the power in his body. The woman's finely tapered legs splayed out frantically, lifting spasmodically up into the air as his pole of tension packed flesh began skewering wildly inside of her. Gail could see the glistening shaft convulsing and jerking as it shot load after load of hot burning cum into the woman's ungrateful vagina, searing its way deeply into the internal recesses of her womb, pouring into her quivering body until it overflowed, squirting past his wildly ejaculating cock and dribbling obscenely down through the delicate valley of her buttocks.
The exhausted woman's legs collapsed as she realized that she had been thoroughly conquered and there was no more reason to waste her energy on resistance. His giant cock slowly deflating as the last few drops of sticky sperm oozed out of him, Sandro's body went momentarily limp as he lay stretched across the woman's voluptuous but rampaged body. Then, with a satisfied grunt, he pulled his now-flaccid instrument free of her battered vagina and got to his feet, casually zipping up the fly on his trousers as if nothing had happened. Liza lay where he left her, too tired and depleted even to bother closing her legs. Her eyes were tightly closed as if she could no longer bear to look at a world which had degraded her in this humiliating fashion, and if she was aware of the rich white cum slowly seeping from her still-open cuntal passage, she gave no sign of it. The violated woman had simply quit fighting.
Gail could see Melar's face settle into a grin of satisfaction and the young blonde wife shivered as she realized that there was something not quite normal about the European advisor. He seemed to have no sexual desires himself for women, yet enjoyed seeing them humiliated and abused by other men.
"You wan'?" Sandro offered respectfully, facing Melar and gesturing casually in the direction of the naked actress.
"Not, not just yet. In fact, I had my heart set on the young lady our ex-leader is guarding so jealously," sneered Melar, really speaking to Don Carlos although he was looking at Sandro. "Women appeal to me only in special circumstances and for very special uses, and I have a little treat in store for Mrs. Barton when she falls into my hands. But there is still some fun to be had with the Queen of Hollywood here. Jose!"
"Si, Senor," responded another guerrilla, a squat robust man who had been one of the original sky-jackers on the plane, and who was obviously very impatient to have his turn with the now submissive actress. "She's all yours."
"Con gusto, Senor!" said the guerrilla enthusiastically.
As the eager man advanced on the helpless woman, Gail's eyes glanced at the crotch of his pants and an expectant bulge in the material told her that his penis was already erected and hard. The young American girl had heard Melar's thinly disguised threat and she trembled with fear, wondering exactly what he meant by "special uses". She could only hope that Don Carlos would continue to be in a position to protect her. God help her if she ever fell into Melar's hands!
Liza stirred tiredly and pulled herself into a sitting position as the short squat guerrilla stood menacingly over her, and for a moment Gail forgot her own troubles and studied the voluptuous, desire-provoking form of the actress, wondering in her innocence exactly what it was about women's bodies which aroused such unquenchable lust in the loins of a man. Propping herself up on her arms, Liza looked up at her next torturer, beaten but not broken, and Gail noticed how perfectly her two succulent ripe breasts were placed on her body, swelling on her chest like melons. Below, the woman's world-famous body continued its sensual promise, with lush, flaring hips and full, sensuous thighs. For the first time, in her life, the young American wife was beginning to understand what lust was all about, and this sudden realization sent shudders up and down her spine, since she sensed that some of this unrestrained animalistic desire had insidiously communicated itself to her. Don Carlos was holding her very tight, and while it seemed that she was clinging to him for protection, could it be possible that there was another explanation, something less noble then the mere desire for male support?
"Una cuerda!!!" screamed Jose, turning to face his comrades who took up the cry while one of them darted around the corner of the building as if he had been sent in search of something. Gail was dimly wondering what a "cuerda" was when the guerrilla promptly returned, a coil of stout rope under his arm. Jose seized the actress and several of his friends jumped in to help him as they wrenched her legs apart, tying one end of the lengthy "cuerda" to each ankle. Then, as two men pinned her futilely writhing body to the ground, the rope was thrown over the low-hanging bow of the tree which was shading them from the sun. Upon Jose's command, the men holding Liza suddenly released her while the others cooperated in hoisting her up in the air, pulling in opposite directions so that her legs were forced farther and farther apart as she rose up before them. Surrendering his end of the rope to a friend, Jose stood next to the dangling woman, directing the operation like a construction engineer. When her head reached the level of his loins, about three feet off the ground, he called a halt and the guerrillas fastened the rope to the base of the tree. Jose snapped something out to Sandro who walked up to where the girl was gently swaying back and forth upside down and translated the words.
"He say you stay like dis until he get mouth-fuck," the guerrilla sergeant informed her brutally. From the tormented actress, there was no reply, and Gail could see that she was in agonizing pain with her legs stretched cruelly apart and the harsh texture of the rope biting into her ankles. To make matters worse, Jose was mercilessly investigating the defenselessly soft flesh between her straining white thighs, a malicious gleam on his evil face as he poked his fingers into the delicate pink flesh of her pussy.
"Bueno," he muttered with lascivious delight, running his finger lewdly along the feebly clasping slit of her cunt, still moistly convulsing from the ravaging it had received a few minutes earlier from Sandro. The other guerrillas crowded around, exchanging degrading comments as they surveyed the lust-provoking intimacies of her ripely succulent body. One of the men seemed particularly fascinated by the tiny round oval of her anus, and Gail heard the actress groan with despair as he began spreading her buttocks cruelly apart, his fingers lecherously probing the defenses of her rectum.
"Aaaaagggggghhhhhhh..." The scream seemed unnaturally loud in the silence of the morning, and Gail found that her body was shivering with a kind of horror she had never dreamed possible. There were no limits to what these men could do to a woman! They were playing with Liza like some life-sized toy, and this was only the beginning! Liza herself seemed to be realizing that fighting back from this position was worse than useless, and she let her body go limp as the degenerate man plunged the thickness of his middle finger into the warm moist depths of her rectum. Her hands dropped down over her head and she groaned piteously.
Seeing that the fight had gone out of her, Jose stepped boldly up in front of her and brusquely dropped his pants, the naked whiteness of his buttocks contrasting sharply with the well tanned lushness of Liza's delicate skin. The actress looked at him from her upside down position, his loins occupying the entire field of her vision. The man's long, sperm-laden cock was pointed directly into her vulnerable face like a cannon ready to fire, and while other men's lustful hands were roaming over the succulently yielding terrain of her body, Jose took another step closer, tangling his hands in her hair as he steadied the inverted woman's head. His cock was built like his body, short but enormously thick, and its rigid length jutted crudely out from his body, straight and immobile, the uncircumcised gland pointing directly at Liza's sensual red lips. Slowly but steadily, Jose worked his hard muscular hands around to the side of her head while the actress grimaced, feeling the pressure of his thumbs as he forced her jaws apart with brute force.
The guerrilla was smiling broadly now, sure of his victory over this helpless woman, and knowing that the worse her discomfort became, the more she would be compelled to cooperate in the satisfaction of his lewd desires. Trying to deepen her humiliation, he moved her head back and forth, rubbing her lips lasciviously across the broad spongy gland at the tip of his turgid instrument. Meanwhile he dug his thumbs deeply into the flesh of her cheeks, slowly but surely forcing her jaws even further apart.
Liza strained with all the strength left in her body, but she knew in advance that the force was too great to be resisted, particularly since there were men all around her poking and prodding every square inch of her nakedly vulnerable body. The blood was draining rapidly into her head and she was afraid that she was going to lose consciousness at any second. Jose was gradually opening her mouth all the way, and whether she liked it or not, he was going to batter his way into the unnatural sanctuary of her throat. With a sigh, she gave in, deciding to save her energy for a fight she had a better chance of winning, suppressing a wave of revulsion as she felt the man's pulsating organ glide wetly towards the back of her throat.
She hesitated for a fraction of a second, fighting the inevitable, and then clamped her lips firmly around the man's thick glistening rod, now inspired with a feeling of overwhelming anger for these brutal torturers. All right, she told herself in a frenzy of anger, if he wants a blow job, that's what he'll get! I'll suck him so dry he won't be able to walk straight for a week! Bringing her tongue agilely into play, the battered actress began to nibble teasingly at his lewdly throbbing cock while a roar of approval went up from the guerrillas who were watching from all sides. Jose groaned with this sudden pleasure and began to flex his hips rhythmically back and forth as he stood before her inverted body, occasionally bending over to plant a moist kiss on the pink cuntal lips surrounding the entrance to her cunt.
Liza took it all with a grimly stoic hatred, vowing she could handle as much as they could dish out, and reminding herself that the sooner she coaxed this sadistic soldier into discharging his hot sticky cum into the intimate confines of her mouth, the sooner this terrible ordeal would be over. After all, she told herself as she frantically sucked his blood-swollen cock, it's nothing you haven't done before! Just pretend he's a rich producer who's just promised you the lead in his next film.
But it was hard to concentrate on anything but the agony she was facing as the man's bulbous cock probed farther and farther up into the back of her throat, the blunt rubbery tip grazing smoothly along the moistly vibrating surface of her tongue. Her lips were clamped tightly around his cock-shaft and her mouth was slowly filling with the oozing emanations of semen from his orally violating penis, mixed with the saliva being generated by the glands in her cruelly stretched mouth.
Jose's body was beginning to quiver spasmodically now, and Liza knew it would only be a matter of seconds before this lust-incited guerrilla spewed his fiery semen into the unnatural repository of her throat. Gagging and gasping for breath, Liza struggled for consciousness, sucking him desperately while her eyes were shut tight with shame. Suddenly there was a roaring in her ears like a faraway waterfall, and the next thing she knew, the man had thrust his exploding organ deep into the back of her mouth as he howled with savage joy. All the accumulated passion behind months of waiting began to erupt from his wildly pulsating cock in that single horrendous moment, and the actress choked and sputtered as waves of hot sticky cum flooded into her mouth. With a grip of iron, Jose held her head before him as he emptied every last drop of his spurting semen into her gaping mouth and as his cock grew slowly flaccid and limp, he pulled himself triumphantly free of her battered mouth, raising his arms like a victorious prize fighter.
Gail knew she had had enough as she watched the milky-white cum dribble obscenely past Liza's exhausted lips while the guerrillas loosened the ropes which were keeping her dangling in the air, lowering her back once again to the welcome solidity of earth. She could watch no more, but just as the young woman turned away there was a crash behind them, and the door on the other side of the room swung violently open. Don Carlos released her in an instant, spinning on his heel as he prepared himself to face this new danger.
Two young guerrillas spilled into the room, quickly followed by Melar, who was holding a gun.
"A little selfish of you to keep this one all to yourself," he sneered at the unarmed guerrilla leader, waving the pistol vaguely in Gail's direction. "But a couple of the boys here are willing to set matters straight!"
Don Carlos glared at the two younger men, stopping them in their tracks with the sheer force of his personality. It was clear that most of the guerrillas in his group bore him no ill will, and were possibly even unaware of the implications of what was going on. Melar controlled only Sandro's squad and a few misfits like these two who he recognized as men he had been forced to discipline a week earlier for looting during a raid. And now they had come to take their revenge against him.
"Animo!" screamed Melar, seeing that they were behaving indecisively and exhorting them to have courage, but Don Carlos realized that psychologically he held the upper hand. He could still save the situation, and this young woman, if he acted fast enough, gambling that Melar would not dare pull the trigger of that pistol out of fear of what the still loyal troops might do to him.
Gail backed into a corner, terrorized by the notion that this was really the end. Everything now seemed to be happening in slow motion as if she were watching some extraordinarily violent film and the cameraman had deliberately slowed the projector. Don Carlos jumped quickly between her and her two attackers, moving with surprising agility for such a big man, and once again the two guerrillas halted in their tracks, not quite convinced that they ought to be grappling with the man who had become the symbol of the revolution in Santa Marta. Don Carlos made instant use of this advantage, driving his fist viciously into the face of the man nearest to him, shattering the cartilage in his nose and driving him backwards towards Melar.
Now realizing that his life was in mortal danger, the second guerrilla backed a few steps away, a long vicious looking knife suddenly appearing in his hand. Don Carlos feinted quickly and the guerrilla slashed desperately towards his neck, but the tall leader was too fast. Instead his foot shot out with lightning speed, catching the guerrilla square in the groin and doubling him over in agony.
"Aaaggg!" his scream filled the room, and Gail tried to force herself even farther away from the scene of battle, her eyes widening with horror as she watched Don Carlos snatch the knife from the man's hand.
"Stop or I kill..." muttered Melar threateningly, his English starting to desert him under the stress of the situation. The foreign adviser was backing slowly towards the door seeing that the battle was starting to go against him and knowing that if he fired a shot, the main force of guerrillas would come running to see what had happened. And if they found him standing over the lifeless body of their fallen leader with a smoking pistol in hand, their justice was liable to be short and bitter. Carrying the gun had been an empty gesture, and Melar began backing out the way he came in while Don Carlos pounded the two struggling guerrillas.
In the meanwhile the man whose nose had been shattered managed to get up off the floor and hurl himself at Don Carlos with a blood-curdling scream of rage. The guerrilla leader whirled murderously and simply let the anger-maddened soldier impale himself on the sharp shaft of the knife as' he rushed to his own destruction. There was a stupefied look of absolute dismay on the man's savage face as he felt the cold steel of the blade slide to the hilt between the ribs, slicing its way clear through muscle tissue to an artery in his chest. With an enormous shove, Carlos pushed the dying man out the door, letting the traitor's heart pump his last few spurts of blood uselessly onto the grass.
Then, still holding the bloody knife in his fist, Don Carlos slowly turned to the one remaining man. The guerrilla was on one knee, his hands clutching at his testicles where he had been kicked, the agony clearly visible on his face.
Yanking him up by his hair, the guerrilla leader pushed him backwards toward the door. Gail was horrified by what he was about to do, but Don Carlos knew he could never have afforded to turn his back on either of these two men again. With a slow deliberate gesture, he took the struggling, terrified man by the hair, and cut his throat from ear to ear with the man's own knife. Gail watched the blade go through the man's sweating skin and bury itself deep into his windpipe, severing the jugular vein. The sight of the scarlet blood pouring out of the man's mangled neck was too much for Gail and as Don Carlos pushed the man's lifeless body out of the door, she felt her knees giving out from under her and a moment later, was lying unconscious on the floor.
* * *
Don Carlos looked for a long moment into the frightened face of his European advisor and then slowly closed the door, this time taking the trouble to lock it securely. He crossed the room to the window where he had been standing a few minutes before, and saw that Liza was now virtually buried under the struggling members of Sandro's squad and that she was being savagely fucked in every conceivable way. Don Carlos shrugged and closed the shutter to block the ugly scene. Maybe she would live and maybe she wouldn't, he told himself coldly, but there was nothing he could do about it in either case. Then he noticed the American girl who had fainted, and he gathered her in to his arms and stretched her gently on the bed.
For a moment he felt tired, and he gave into the temptation to sit down on the bed beside her in the darkened room, brushing the hair out of her eyes while he gave some thought to the situation he was in. A few things were immediately clear. Most of the men under his command would be loyal to him under any circumstances, even though they were furious at the news that their four comrades had been executed. It was impossible to explain to these ignorant men why it would have been better not to have carried out that savage reprisal against the Ambassador, and why they could not do as they wished with the two women. A few of the men had listened to Sandro, who was popular among them because of his courage in battle, and had decided to try a little rebellion to get a chance at these two female captives.
But they would never follow either Sandro or Melar into battle. The soldiers knew that the big sergeant was as ignorant as they were about battle tactics, and Melar was a foreigner who could barely speak Spanish. This meant that he was needed to lead the men against Salvatore's troops. When would the battle come?
Probably tonight. Once he had Henry Barton safely by his side, Salvatore would get his rag-tag army together and move out into the mountains. There were guerrilla sentinels guarding all the paths leading to the rebel hideaway, so the government troops could hardly sneak up on them unannounced. Yes, there was no question about it. Sandro and his baboons would never figure it out on their own, but Salvatore's corrupt overweight, cowardly troops were probably already speeding out of Capitol City in trucks, shivering in their boots at the idea of having to actually face the guerrillas in battle. Don Carlos would defeat them again as he had in the past, even though his men were badly outnumbered. And perhaps Sandro had out-lived his usefulness. This little rebellion could not go unpunished, and the men who were subjecting the actress to their lewd desires would be privileged to lead the counter-attack tonight. If they survived, they would be forgiven. If not . . . then, too bad. Revolution was a tough business.
In the meantime, there was nothing to do but wait. The blonde woman was still unconscious, and in a moment of concern, Don Carlos wondered if the field jacket he had given Gail Barton to wear was excessively tight around the neck. Alarmed, he undid the button, noticing that she immediately began breathing more easily. But the act of unbuttoning the curvaceous woman's shirt had started a chain of thoughts running through his head, and the patriotic Santa Martan found it impossible to drag his thoughts back to military matters. For the first time since he had ordered Gail brought to his office for her own protection, he really looked at her, seeing almost with surprise that she was a staggeringly beautiful girl. What was that cowardly shrimp Henry Barton Junior doing with a woman like this?
Slowly an immoral temptation came over him, and his fingers toyed with the next button on her field jacket while his conscience tried to remind him that if he took advantage of this helpless woman that lay inches from his body, then he was no better than a sex-warped ruffian like Sandro. After all, Don Carlos rationalized she was under his protection, and he had just cold-bloodedly killed two men to keep her from being abused sexually. And yet . . . and yet, it had been such a long time since he had enjoyed a woman, particularly one as young and tender as Gail Barton. His fingers toyed with the button indecisively as he struggled with himself, and suddenly it gave way, almost as if it had been an accident.
The jacket was now open to just below the softly tantalizing rise of her sumptuous young breasts, and the ripely succulent flesh of her body seemed to be calling to his hand, begging to be touched and caressed. After all, he told himself, you've just saved this lovely woman from unimaginable horrors and maybe even from death itself. Would it be too much in return if he simply touched this woman's luscious body? It had been so long since he had touched a woman, so long . . .
"Uhhhhh," the young woman groaned in her sleep, turning her body slightly so that the front of her jacket opened of its own accord, revealing to Don Carlos' widened eyes the lust-inspiring sight of one high, magnificent mound of her breasts. The temptation was too great, and even before his mind had given its consent to this ignoble act, his hand had undone one last button and slipped slowly beneath the rough fabric of her shirt, his fingers searching for the tenderness of her nipple.
It was all Don Carlos could do to suppress a moan of pure pleasure as he felt the tiny brown nipple react instantly to his touch, springing enthusiastically to life even though its owner was still unconscious.
Or almost unconscious. In fact, the blonde-haired woman's mind was wandering vaguely as she slowly came to her senses but felt no impulse to open her eyes just yet. The room was warm and comfortable, and she realized somehow that danger had once again passed away. For Gail Barton, the events of the past few hours had been like an excessive charge of electricity passed through some delicate component of a computer, overloading her circuits. She was no longer capable of reacting to horror or bloodshed, and the violent deaths of the two guerrillas seemed to have taken place ages and ages ago, in another place, and at a different time in history. Now she was reduced to a state of pure animal being, feeling that she was all right so long as no one was hurting her. She had no worries about the future; since she was absolutely helpless today, there seemed to be no point in speculating on what was going to happen to her tomorrow.
As she floated closer to the surface of awakening Gail slowly became aware that her left breast seemed unusually warm, and tiny dots of pleasure were darting from the tip of her extended hardened nipple into the interior of her body. Somehow, without opening her eyes, she realized that the hand caressing her so softly belonged to Don Carlos, but the thought failed to alarm her. This is his show, she told herself dreamily, he can do whatever he wants. I'm not responsible.
Desire was flowing over Don Carlos like the inexorable rise of the tide, and he knew that he had to have this girl and had to have her now. But he could not rape her, that much he still recognized. The guerrilla leader had been raised a gentleman, educated at the best schools of Europe and the United States, and in the great Spanish tradition of which he was part, gentlemen did not rape women. And somehow he sensed that rape would not be necessary any way. Her eyes were fluttering and he knew that she was slowly regaining consciousness. He had yet to hear a single protest concerning the hand which was gently massaging the lushly yielding flesh of her breast.
Gail's eyes opened, very slowly, and she looked at him for a long moment, apparently without being able to think of anything to say.
"Are you all right?" he whispered, keeping his hand exactly where it was.
"Everything's okay now," she answered submissively, touching his arm lightly with her fingertips. Then she gave him a tired smile and closed her eyes again, as if she were drifting back off to sleep. His heart beating like a jackhammer, Don Carlos carefully undid the one remaining button on her field jacket, knowing that if this beautiful woman were going to protest, she would have to do it now.
But there was no sound as he folded back the harsh khaki material, revealing the two warm white mounds of her breasts to his eyes. Despite the dim light, Don Carlos could see clearly that both of her tiny brown nipples were slightly erected as if some of his own intense excitement had communicated itself to her voluptuous young body. Could he go further? Would she submit to the indignity of having him strip her naked before him?
"It's warm," he said, immediately feeling foolish for the inappropriate remark. But the girl did not reply, at least verbally, contenting herself with twitching restlessly on the bed as if she too were suffering from the heat. Inside of her head, the fog was still fairly heavy and Gail only knew that she was feeling relaxed and safe for the first time since the moment of the hijacking. It felt good to have the nakedness of her ripe full breasts revealed to the open air after so many years of keeping them torturously confined in stiff uncomfortable brassieres. This man was right about the room being warm, and with the shutters on the windows closed, she was starting to perspire, while the stiff unyielding fabric of the khaki outfit she was wearing began to be uncomfortable. It would almost be nice to be completely naked to let the air touch all of her warm skin, liberating her from this scratchy material that only served to irritate her sensitive skin.
As if the thought had been instantly communicated to Don Carlos through some mysterious mental telepathy, Gail felt the hands of the guerrilla leader leave the swollen globes of her breasts and begin to fumble with the buttons on her fatigue pants. Since she had been carried in wrapped in nothing more than a blanket, she was naturally without underwear, but somehow a little thing like that hardly mattered at the moment. Gail Barton, lost in the revelries of exhaustion, felt that, as long as she kept her eyes shut that this would be all Don Carlos' doing, and she would share none of the blame. She sighed as he slipped the coarse material down over her hips, knowing consciously that he was stripping her utterly naked, but somehow unable to worry about it.
The khaki pants slid down over her milk-white loins and then past the well-tanned flesh of her thighs, leaving her completely undressed. But, after all that had happened in the last two days, her sense of modesty seemed to have been partially destroyed. She was dimly aware that Don Carlos was now rapidly stripping the clothing off his own body, and curiosity finally overcame her, forcing her eyelids up. It was a moment before her pupils adjusted to the dim light, but soon she was able to make out his smoothly-muscled athletic body. He seemed younger without his clothes on and she closed her eyes again with satisfaction as he stretched his lean hungry frame out next to her.
Don Carlos lay quietly for a moment, his head propped up on his hand while he stroked the magnificent succulent young body laid out defensively before him. He touched her very gently, knowing that she was in some kind of special semi-trance brought on by shock and horror and understanding that she was like a forest animal with whom it was necessary to avoid brusque, sudden movements. There was so much he wanted to tell her, so much to explain, but somehow, he could not find the words, and this, perhaps, was not the moment for prolonged conversations. Their bodies would do all the talking.
Slowly, he bent and kissed the tips of her breasts, smiling with satisfaction as she groaned sensuously under this stimulation. Emboldened by this success, his hand strayed down out of the mountains of her sumptuous breasts onto the smooth flat plane of her belly, stealing towards the jungle of softly fragrant pubic hair between her slightly spread thighs.
"Ooooooohhhhh." she crooned, as his fingers brushed lightly over the glistening pink tip of her clitoris, causing a convulsive twitch to ripple through her slowly awakening body. For a moment, he feared he had gone too far and too fast, because now she put her hands on his wrist, as if to stop him from caressing the most intimate part of the body.
"But. . . but we're strangers," she objected meekly, her eyes watering as she searched his bearded face for reassurance.
"Men and women are always strangers," he told her gently. "Your husband realized that when he went away."
There was no more argument. With a sigh of resignation, she released his arm, as if the mention of her husband had solved everything for her. Strangely enough, she felt no guilt about what was about to happen, at least not for Henry's sake. All right, she was committing adultery, but, when her husband had abandoned her here to these unspeakably cruel guerrillas, he had done something much, much worse. Later, if she came out of this alive, she would have to decide whether she could possibly ever live with him again, but at that moment he seemed like a faraway figure out of the distant, distant past, someone she had known once, but was slowly forgetting. All her thoughts were now concentrated on the strong brave man who was holding her in his arms, the man who had saved her from the horrible sexual tortures of Sandro and his squad. It was clear what he wanted from her because his strong, searching hands were asking the question. Now her body was giving him the answer.
Encouraged by her submissive attitude, Don Carlos returned one daring hand to the thin vulnerable slit of her vagina, softly caressing the quivering hair-covered lips which shielded the entrance to her body. Moving with the greatest caution, he worked his hand slowly back and forth between her gradually parting legs, feeling her warm welcoming body begin to loosen up as his fingers became moist with the wetness of the orgiastic juices starting to seep from her sex glands. The girl sighed again, realizing that she was involuntarily opening the most intimate confines of her body to him, but unable to stop her muscles and skin from reacting to his expert touch. This guerrilla leader was playing her like a violin, gradually robbing her of her will power and self-control, and for a minute she began to panic, wondering if she ought not put a stop to this obscene sex-play. After all . . .
But that was as far as she got. Don Carlos' finger slipped skillfully between the sinfully yielding lips of her slowly expanding cunt, causing her to sigh with unbelievable sensual pleasure as he stroked the palpitating walls of her moist cuntal interior. Moving with the tawny self-control of a mountain lion, Don Carlos climbed to his hands and knees, struck with an intense desire to see all of this magnificent country he was about to conquer, suddenly inspired with the notion that sex was really the ultimate form of revolution. The submissive woman's head was rocking gently back and forth on the pillow, her golden blonde hair spilling down into the mattress as she grew more highly aroused by the minute. Her eyes were shut tight as if she were trying to pretend that none of this was really happening. But Don Carlos wanted to make her respond directly to him, wanted to show her that all of this sexual electricity was being created with her consent.
The powerful guerrilla leader took her soft white hand and guided it directly to the hardness of his erected penis, wrapping her fingers firmly around the long rigid shaft. As soon as Don Carlos felt her taking hold of his aching cock, he released his grip, now knowing that she was one hundred percent committed to what was going to follow and could no longer back out.
For a moment, the blonde-haired woman seemed content just to hold this handsome man's throbbing cock firmly in her hand, but soon she instinctively tightened her fist and began moving it back and forth, forcing down the uncircumcised foreskin to reveal the glistening scarlet glans at the tip of his bulbous instrument. Her eyes were still tightly shut, but Don Carlos grinned to himself, knowing that the battle was now nine-tenths won.
The last vestiges of resistance evaporated from Gail's mind as she wrapped her fingers around the man's blood-swollen penis, and the few last lingering doubts she had in the back of her head seemed to disappear as her body began to tremble with the unnatural illicit passion of what she was doing.
"Oh Lord," she whispered intensely under her breath, talking to no one in particular, as one powerful wave of emotion after another swept over her shamelessly aroused young body. Don Carlos seemed almost like a wild man now as his strong sure hands coursed lustfully over every inch of Gail's writhing twisting body. He could hardly convince himself that it was all really happening, but the revolutionary leader was a man of action, and without any further philosophizing, he applied the moistness of his lips to the softly yielding surface of her voluptuous breasts, teasing the tiny brown buds of her nipples until she groaned with unsatisfied sensuality. Encouraged by her obvious pleasure, he thrust a second finger into her warmly clasping cunt and began to massage from within, bringing short animal-like cries of ecstasy to her lips.
The South American knew that he had her where he wanted her now, and he decided to make this experience as completely satisfying as possible, for both of them. For all he knew they could both be dead tomorrow. Tonight, they would do everything a man and a woman could do to one another on a mattress. For a start, he dropped down between the woman's firm white thighs, spreading her legs even farther apart and pushing her knees up in the air. The desire-tortured blonde whimpered in disappointment as she was forced to release her hold on the firm muscular shaft of his cock, but her disappointment was only destined to last for a few moments, as he bent over and put his bearded face into the moist crevice of her quivering cunt, applying his lips directly to the swollen palpitating organ of her clitoris.
"Ahhhhhhhhhh!" she sighed in ecstasy, and the rebel leader saw that there was not an ounce of resistance left anywhere in her recklessly aroused young body. Then he levered up over her, balancing the weight of his torso on one arm while he used the other hand to maneuver the rigid shaft of his cock into position, inches from her splayed pussy-lips. For a moment he was sorely tempted to dispense with all further foreplay and simply come crashing into her expectant little cunt. His heavy sperm-filled balls were tingling with wild anticipation, and he almost succumbed to the temptation, but managed to hold himself back at the last moment. Tonight was the night he had promised to do absolutely everything, and there were still many, many things to do.
Hoping to stir her up just a little more, he used his hand to wiggle the tip of his cock up and down through the wet fleshy folds of her vagina, tormenting her unmercifully as she wiggled her hips shamelessly in an attempt to force his murderously hard cock into her wantonly longing hole. But there was one thing the guerrilla leader wanted to try first, something which was certain to drive her insane with desire. He had thought of this titillating position before with other women, but it had never been possible with them, because none of his previous sex-partners had had a magnificent pair of breasts like Gail's. She was truly enormous, even by South American standards, and this would be one more way of possessing every single inch of her lust-provoking body. With this woman, in this moment, he wanted everything there was to take!
Gail lay passively beneath him as the powerful man began inching his way up her sensuously trembling body, now half-lost in a thick erotic cloud. Her breath seemed to be coming in noisy little gasps as if she had been running, and for some reason her body had become spasmodically uncontrollable. Her buttocks were gyrating wildly beneath her, as if they were pleading for something that this man alone could give. Nothing even remotely resembling this had ever happened to her with Henry, and she knew now that there was a whole side to sex that she had never even known existed. Deep, deep inside of her open womb, she could feel nothing but an unexplainably powerful desire to be filled, something like hunger and a little like thirst, but far more powerful than either. It scared her more than a little, because she had been sheltered all her life from violent emotions; but now all she could think of was the absolutely compelling carnal lust to be filled and having that insistent hunger satisfied.
His eyes widening with a sensation of violent desire unlike anything he had felt in years, Don Carlos now gazed down upon the young woman's voluptuously large breasts, his hands trembling with lust as he massaged and stroked her protuberant brown nipples. He inched forward deliberately bending over her so that the desire-swollen column of his cock dangled just between her breasts, and then used his hands to push the two large yielding mounds together, trapping his rigid manhood between the soft warm flesh of her rounded breasts.
"Ohhhhhh . . . that's so good," he murmured, feeling the most exquisite sensation he had ever experienced in his life as the warmth of her ripely succulent bosom enclosed his ecstatic penis on all sides. He kneaded the whiteness of her breasts with his muscular hands, even at the risk of hurting her and breaking the magic spell she was under, twisting and pushing her yielding flesh together to apply even more pressure on his pulsating rod. The girl groaned under this mistreatment, but she was too far gone now to protest anything he might choose to do to her.
For a few delicious minutes, he rocked gently back and forth, the bulbously scarlet gland of his cock emerging on the far side of this bizarre artificial vagina he had created for himself. Then, for a moment at least, he had to sit still and ease up on the pressure, since he realized that he was bringing himself dangerously close to an orgasm, and there were still many many things he had to do before he treated himself to the carnal joy of shooting forth his hot sticky cum. Once the moment of danger had passed, he began a second time, twisting her brown little nipples as he surged into her again with renewed vigor. As he worked over her like a slave, the rebel leader studied the young American woman's- face, watching for any signs of resistance.
There were none. As a matter of fact, she seemed to be going quietly out of her mind! Her blue eyes were glazed with the kind of violent lust she could not hope to hide, and her mouth was twitching and working as if she was trying to speak, but could not find the words. Behind him, Don Carlos could feel her hips gyrating with insane impatience, as if a fire were burning between her legs. She was gone, over the brink, and he knew that he could fuck her now to his heart's content.
He released his hold on the soft white mounds of breasts, intending to drop quickly between her legs and thrust his searing penis up into the moistly churning depths of her inflamed vagina. But there was something about this beautiful woman's mouth which stopped him dead, fascinated with a new desire.
You're out of your mind, he told himself savagely. Fuck her while you can! Don't ruin everything now!
But Don Carlos' dark eyes were locked intently on her full sensuously red lips, and the idea of taking her there got a hold of his lust clouded mind and would not let go. He had to try, no matter what the cost! But even thinking about the idea of shoving his wildly pulsating cock down into the delicacy of her throat brought him dangerously close to an orgasm, and he first had to take several deep breaths before he could do anything else. Moving slowly to avoid alarming her, he inched farther up her writhing body so that his knees creased the mattress on either side of her neck, and the length of his lust-hardened cock was projected almost to the tip of her dimpled chin.
"Oh ... no ... no ... " she gasped feebly, when she saw what was coming, but something in her tone of voice told Don Carlos that in this case, no meant yes and he could safely go ahead.
Another few inches forward and his sperm-heavy testicles rested against her throat while the underside of his quivering cock lay stretched across her already parted lips. He was being careful not to crush her with the weight of his body, but Gail's hands found their way to his thighs and she wiggled up against him seductively, crushing the softness of her voluptuous breasts against his muscular buttocks. No matter how many times she said no, her body was calling her a liar!
Then, bending forward, Don Carlos deliberately placed the tip of his pulsating penis against the moist opening between her lips, waiting for a reaction. A giant quiver seemed to run through her sex-tormented young figure as she slowly opened her mouth. Without wasting an instant, he flicked his hips forward and watched with incredulous delight as her red ovaled lips closed hungrily around his surging cock. He was in!
Gail began nibbling at the length of his hardened manhood immediately, just as if she had been expecting this depraved act and knew precisely what she had to do to give Don Carlos the maximum amount of pleasure. Tightening her lips, she sucked around the man's deeply penetrating rod, using her tongue to wash sensuously back and forth across the broad spongy top of his organ.
"Dio! It feels so good!" he groaned, and she answered him with a muffled grunt as she began to suck him even harder. He could feel the saliva collecting in her mouth, bathing his rigid throbbing instrument in a warm liquid as her tongue curled sensuously around the rigid shaft. It was as if she had been born for nothing but to suck his cock to depletion, and he felt her hands creep up to his buttocks, urging him to penetrate even deeper into her warmly inviting mouth. Don Carlos ran his fingers wildly through her golden blonde hair, moaning with ecstasy and pressing as far into her as he could possibly go without choking her to death.
It was a moment when the guerrilla leader wished he could somehow take the clock and freeze it so that time was still. He could stay this way, in this lewd position, for the rest of eternity. But it could not be. He had been without a woman too long and when he started to cum, he knew that there was no force in the universe strong enough to stop him. He had not intended to cum in her mouth, but it was too late now to stop this wild surging flood raging the entire length of his spasmodically twitching cock. There was a roaring in his head like a sonic boom, and his loins jerked involuntarily forward as he crammed every inch of his male organ into her, searching wildly for the back of her throat as the hot sticky cum poured out of his body in torrents.
Gail Barton groaned in passion as the first thin fiery stream of semen sprayed into the back of her mouth, and instinctively she began gulping, swallowing the waves of white cum as if it were the nectar of the gods. At times she seemed close to choking, but she swallowed it gluttonously as if she were afraid of losing the smallest drop of the precious life-giving liquid. The man's powerful body quivered convulsively as he emptied the very last drop of the burning liquid into the depths of her throat while Gail's fingers dug into the muscular flesh of his buttocks as if she were obscenely urging him to defile her even more. As Don Carlos started to pull himself away, he felt the pressure of her hands increase as if she were holding him prisoner.
The lust-ridden woman's mouth continued to caress him, even after she had gulped down the last traces of his sticky white cum, her tongue washing sensuously over the entire length of his slowly deflating cock. As his orgasm finished, the rebel leader felt drained and sexless, but this still desirous woman was unusually persistent. Within the space of a minute, his indomitable cock began to rise again. Don Carlos grinned lustily as he realized that this seemingly innocent young woman had no intention of letting him go until she had fully restored him to state of rigid manhood. He had started a job, and she meant to make sure that he finished it!
The moment he was turgid and firm again, Gail let her head drop back tiredly against the pillow and for a long time the two of them merely looked at each other, communicating things with their eyes which could not be said in words. The two of them made an incredible couple. He was a hunted man, an outlaw, with death never more than a moment away, while she was a wealthy young American socialite, married to one of his most insidious enemies. But somehow, at a time like this, none of these differences seemed to matter much. She was a woman, stretched out nakedly and submissively beneath him, a slave to whatever he chose to do to her, and he was a man with a rigid cock and limitless desire. The resulting lustful coupling is the oldest story in the world.
"Are you ready?" he asked hoarsely, trying to hide the emotion in his voice.
"Take me," she told him simply, gazing directly into his eyes, no longer ashamed and no longer embarrassed. There was still a streamer of white sticky cum stretching from her parted lips to his iron-hard cock, but she was no longer concerned about her honor or her dignity. She wanted that rigid penis to fill every inch of her yearning belly, and she wanted it now!
The guerrilla leader slid his battle-toughened body down, resting his chest on the softness of her two high breasts as his hips fell naturally between her widely spread legs. She was totally ready for him now, her pussy virtually soaked with the rich orgiastic juices being secreted by the sex glands deep within her vagina, and as he shoved the lust-swollen length deep into the dark confines of her wet cunt, he felt her smooth vaginal muscles clamp down upon him eagerly from all sides in a moistly fervent embrace. Don Carlos told himself that if he lived to be a hundred, he would never again find himself in a cunt this warm and this soft, and since he knew that a violent end to his guerrilla career could come at any moment, he wanted to make this a fuck both of them would remember until the day they died.
"Aaahhhhhhh!!!" the young American woman moaned in ecstasy, wrapping her arms around Don Carlos' neck as he began skewering into her over-stimulated body with long lust-filled strokes. Stretched out on her back with a man's body covering her smooth mounds and swells, Gail seemed to feel her vagina taking on a life of its own, flowering open as the guerrilla speared into her with his rigid penis, and she let her body do whatever it chose. Involuntarily, her hips and buttocks were grinding passionately down into the mattress as Carlos delivered one soul-shaking blow after another, and the room echoed with the lascivious sound of flesh meeting flesh as their loins slapped together.
"Oh God, harder, harder," she found herself pleading, her shame and modesty now a thing of the past. "Fuck me, fuck me!"
Don Carlos shoved his rigid tool farther and farther up into her moistly accommodating cunt while Gail's body twisted and twitched beneath this onslaught as though she were having convulsions. Both their bodies were covered with sweat and the girl found it impossible to keep from groaning insanely as she felt her lithe young body floating higher and higher on a cloud of ecstasy. Nothing in her past life or in her timid bedroom experiences with her husband had ever prepared her for this, and she knew that she would never again be satisfied with what a man like Henry had to offer. She was storming her way to an orgasm more powerful than anything she had ever imagined possible, and there was nothing, nothing which could stop her now.
Don Carlos heard men shouting somewhere outside the cottage, but he knew that he had to finish what he was doing or die in the process, fucking her with all the strength in his straining powerful body. Her legs were up around his back now, the muscles in her thighs pressing down on his buttocks as she urged him to fuck her harder and faster and one ecstatic cry after another emerged from her lips. Her nostrils flared open like a mare in heat and her lithe, sweat-soaked body surged up against him . . .
"Don Carlos! Don Carlos!!!" came the cries from outside, and the rebel leader knew that this brief interlude in his life was coming to an end. But no matter what else happened, he knew he could not stop now, and he slammed savagely into the woman's body, feeling the heat grow deep within his burning testicles. Gail's face had become a mask of pagan lust and she screamed as the orgasm hit her like a truck, every muscle in her over-stressed body abruptly going rigid as the violently uncontrollable sensation swept madly over her.
"I'm . . . cum . . . cumming ..." she gasped desperately, her fingernails digging furiously into Don Carlos' flesh as the spasm took complete control of her body. "Deep . . . deeper..." As she groaned, her tongue spearing into his open mouth, the pressure of her vagina on his cock became unbearable and the fugitive guerrilla found himself pounding into another body wrenching orgasm of his own. For what seemed like an eternity, the two of them held each other in a death grip while they groaned out their savage joy deep into one another's throats.
* * *
"Don Carlos!"
The rebel leader climbed hastily into a pair of pants and threw back the shutter while Gail pulled a blanket over her nakedness and stayed where she was, too happy inside to care much about what was going on in the rest of the world. Outside, there was an angry group of men, guerrillas from the main force whom Gail had not seen before, shouting furiously at Melar and Sandro.
"Tell them, you fool!" she heard Melar's voice as he tried to whip the sergeant into action. "Tell them Don Carlos has committed treason to the Revolution and we have taken command!" Don Carlos chuckled dryly and stepped up to the window, relieving Sandro of the necessity of explaining to the excited guerrillas why he had locked up their beloved leader. Sandro's short-lived power was finished, that was obvious, and so was Melar. There was a threat of battle, and the regular fighting troops wanted to know where their leader was. Immediately taking command of the situation, Don Carlos ordered the guerrillas to make their report, and then issued his orders in clipped, stern tones. Sandro bustled off towards his encampment, and Gail looked apprehensively out the window as a group of soldiers seized Melar and dragged him off into the trees.
"What's happening?" she quavered nervously, as the man who had just raised her to the heights of ecstasy stepped away from the window and began climbing into his clothes.
"What I was afraid of," he told her calmly. "The Federal troops have been landed by helicopter only an hour's march from here. They're attacking us in strength and I've got to see if I can catch them in an ambush ..."
"And Melar?"
"Melar didn't have much support for his little revolution, I'm afraid. Most of my men didn't know what was happening and only Sandro's squad followed him. I'm leaving him here for Salvatore's men to deal with ..."
"Here?" she questioned, getting out of bed and walking nakedly towards him, now totally unashamed of her body. "You mean, you're not coming back?"
Don Carlos enfolded her in his arms, running his lips across the smoothness of her forehead.
"No, now that the Federal troops know where this place is, we have to leave. You should be free within a few hours. I'm going to ambush them as best I can and then move my force higher into the mountains where we can finish our preparations ..."
"I'm free now," she asserted stubbornly.
"Salvatore's troops will be here soon. You'll be rescued."
"I don't want to be rescued. I want to stay with you." There were tears in her eyes as she spoke, and for a moment, the rebel commander considered the possibility. But it was not in the cards, and he knew it.
"I can't have a woman when my men do not," he explained gently. "But ... in six months, perhaps, if we can defeat this dictator and his hired troops, you could come to Capitol City and I'll be waiting for you . . . there's no one else in my life to wait for. . . . But it's too much to ask. After the revolution, we'll be poorer than before without the salaries from the Barton Company, at least until we get our feet on the ground." He started to pull away from her, but her arms clutched him eagerly.
"I'll come to you," she promised, "and Santa Marta won't be poor. Mine number Seven - the one your troops seized - it's ..."
"Phosphates. No country ever got rich on phosphates. They use it for fertilizer."
"Not this phosphate! It's three percent uranium!"
There was a long pause while he digested this startling information. "That does make a difference doesn't it," he said slowly. And then he was out the door, and gone.
* * *
The camp was quiet. Gail did not bother dressing, since there was no one around to see her and the late afternoon sun was still warm. The guerrillas had all silently faded into the hills, preparing for their ambush. Melar was presumably around somewhere tied up and waiting for certain death at the hands of the government troops who would torture him for information and then quietly shoot him in a dungeon somewhere. From the window of the little cottage, there was no sign of life anywhere, and the girl wondered what had become of Liza Jones. No doubt the ravaged actress was dead, and Gail decided not to go out of the womb-like little cottage, not wanting to stumble over her friend's lifeless, horribly violated body. The minutes went by slowly, and she snuggled back under the covers, smelling the faint odor of Don Carlos' semen on her body and remembering how fine it had been. Surely her life would be completely changed now. Going back to Henry was impossible, that much was perfectly clear, but could she ever reasonably expect to see Don Carlos again? Did he want to see her again? And now that the Barton Minerals Corporation was firmly committed to the Salvatore Government, the chances were great that the revolutionary band would be hunted down and executed like stray dogs.
"Pleasant dreams, I hope?" came a voice from the door, and Gail's body went rigid with panic, as a finger of light stabbed into room and Melar entered, a pistol strapped to his waist.
"You . . . you ... I thought that ..." she stammered, now realizing that she was once again in mortal danger.
"You thought I was securely tied and waiting for the arrival of our mutual friend Salvatore?" he jeered mockingly. "I was, but these guerrillas are shockingly inefficient and getting free was child's play."
"You'd better run," the girl tried to convince him desperately. "The Federal Troops will be here any minute now and ..."
"The Federal Troops will not be here for an hour or so," he informed her smoothly, shutting the door behind and advancing on her nakedly trembling body. "First they have to fight their way out of an ambush, and then whatever's left of the force will have to climb several thousand feet up the side of this mountain. In the meanwhile, we have some negotiating to do, you and I." Melar sat down comfortably on the bed and snatched the blanket away from her, leaving her shivering body completely exposed and defenseless in the face of his warped lusts.
"What do we have to negotiate about?" she quavered, pulling her legs together quickly and crossing her hands over the lushness of her breasts.
"I'm in a rather difficult position. You see, my government is not terribly forgiving towards people who fail in their missions, and I find myself caught in Santa Marta between the government and the rebels, either of whom will kill me if they get the chance. I need a ride out of this country and some money, and the Barton Mineral Corporation will give it to me."
"Why should we help you?" the girl burst out at him, surprised at her own courage. Melar laughed, amazingly cool despite the situation he was in, and stood up to unbuckle his belt.
"Let me see if I can give you a reason or two," he sneered, dropping his pants to the floor and stepping out of them while the girl's eyes widened with horror. She was stunned that he could even think of sex at a moment like this, and realized that she still had a great deal to learn about men.
"I thought you didn't like women," she faltered as he advanced on her, his cock half-erected and waving back and forth in front of him as he climbed onto the bed.
"You're right, I detest women, including you," he snapped at her, his hatred suddenly showing as she touched the vulnerable spot in his warped personality. "And I enjoy making them suffer. And I intend to make you suffer until you agree to help me. Roll over!"
Gail lay frozen in terror. She hated to be raped again, especially so soon after the rapturous experience she had just enjoyed with Don Carlos. But the source of her fear was something even deeper. That morning she had noticed the familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach which indicated that she was entering her period of fertility. If she became pregnant, the baby would be the son of Don Carlos. If this monster took her in the same way, then she could never be sure!
"No . . . no!!!" she groaned as his lustful hands reached out for her, but the agony of fear had robbed her body of its strength and her muscles went slack as he seized her roughly by the hips and rolled her over onto her stomach. Immediately his hands flew to the delicate half-moons of her buttocks, and he began cruelly twisting them apart as if he intended to rend her in two. She could hear him panting and grunting lustfully above her.
"Ho! Woman . . . back here you're just like a boy," he was mumbling fervishly. "Ever had it in the ass, Mrs. Barton? Some women get to like it, but I can tell you're not the kind. You're going to hate every minute of it, and I'm going to keep doing it until I get what I want out of you!"
"No . . . please . . . not there!" she screamed, now understanding for the first time that he had every intention of sodomizing her, of thrusting his long rigid organ up into the virginal aperture of her ass! It was impossible! He'd kill her on the spot!
Melar was in a frenzy of hate-filled lust by now, his face lowered between her cruelly stretched buttocks, biting and licking the softly flaccid cheeks of her ass like a man gone berserk. His fingers were probing at her furiously as she screwed her pelvis desperately down into the mattress in a futile attempt to escape this bizarre ravishment. But the man was ten times too strong for her, and Gail realized with a sob that fate had chosen her to be the object of all this hate and resentment stored up inside of him. In punishing her, he was punishing the world for making him ugly and a failure, a man who could be hunted down and killed by anyone.
"Aaaaaagggggghhhh," she groaned as his stout middle finger forced its way brutally into the tight rubbery ring, plunging into the moist darkness of her rectum. Melar was nudging her legs farther and farther apart with his powerful hands and to ease the tension on her loins, she was compelled to raise her buttocks into the air, involuntarily assuming a position which was perfect for what he had in mind. His finger probed even deeper, and the anguished girl let out another scream, knowing she was wasting her breath. There was no one in the camp to help her now. Don Carlos was far away.
There was a moment of sudden relief as his finger slipped from the outraged entrance of her anal passage, but she realized immediately that this was merely a prelude to the real horror that lay ahead. Melar's eyes were bulging with lust as he stared down at the tight but defenseless little round circle of flesh before him. She would be better than a boy, and the tighter she was the more she would suffer. His cock was trembling with rampant anticipation now and the communist knew he could wait no longer. Taking his throbbing rod in hand, he guided the bulbous gland to the narrow aperture, stroking the shaft with his fingers to bring it up to its full length. Her anguished moaning was music to his ears!
For a moment there was mortal combat between the force of his loins pressing in on the tightly puckered little hole and her rectal muscles struggling weakly to hold him out, but the contest was unequal. Frustrated by her persistent struggles, Melar lifted his body clear off the bed and let his entire weight sink down on her nakedly quivering body and chortled with obscene joy as his lust hardened rod began sinking inexorably into the depths of her anus. The scream she had been repressing broke the air and the blonde-haired woman writhed in agony like a butterfly impaled on a pin, but there was no escape. She was stuck like a pig on a spit!
Gail reared back at him, but all her futile struggles served only to increase his depraved pleasure, and the man's iron-hard cock plunged even deeper into her defiled backside. Soon he was buried in her to the hilt and she grunted in abject pain, now too far gone even to muster the strength to scream. She felt as though her insides were being blown up like a bicycle tire and about to burst, and the pain forced her to lay still, afraid that the slightest motion would increase her agony.
"Now, maybe we can begin our negotiations," Melar sneered at her from above, flexing his penis to bring her added torment.
"Uhhhhhhh," she moaned, ready to agree to anything if only he would withdraw from her ravaged ass. But Melar interpreted her groan as a refusal to bargain, and he began to fuck violently back and forth into her, rocking his body sideways with every stroke as a means of widening the painfully ravaged anal passage. Her rectal muscles were loosening up slowly and the going became easier every time Melar skewered lustfully into her, and the communist advisor temporarily forgot about his troubles, riding her for the pure obscene joy of sodomizing a helpless woman.
Gail found the pain easing off somewhat as her overstretched anal muscles gradually grew accustomed to the massive presence of his invading cock in this unnatural sanctuary, and she bucked back against him, trying to somehow hurt him back, to make him suffer for the degrading torment he was inflicting upon her. Melar, in his madness, misinterpreted her intentions, his eyes glowing with delight as he watched her white buttocks begin to gyrate in regular circles, bringing grunts of pure animal pleasure to his lips. The girl was gurgling and gasping every time he thrust his long punishing rod up into the moistly churning softness of her anus. The heat in his balls was growing more intense with every lunge and he knew now that it would be only a matter of seconds before he came, and he wanted to make it good. His cock seemed to be growing and swelling, and Melar suddenly collapsed on top of her bare helpless back, digging his teeth into her shoulder as the white hot cum began to stream into her belly in powerful seemingly never-ending spurts.
Gail clamped down on him with the last traces of her strength, knowing with a sudden feeling of despair that this was as low as a human being could go. His cock was exploding wildly inside of her now, all the man's pent-up emotion flowing into her helpless sodomized body. This is the end, she told herself. He's never going to let me go alive, never . . .
"Melar!" came a woman's voice from across the room, and Gail suddenly felt a coolness sweep over her sweat-covered body as the door to the cottage opened. She felt the communist's cock begin to shrink as the last drops of cum dribbled out of his now-flaccid instrument, and then there was an obscene pop as he pulled himself free.
"Why Liza, how nice to see you," Melar said quietly, climbing down off the bed and reaching for his pants as if this intrusion was the most natural thing in the world.
"Stay where you are, motherfucker," the actress snapped at him bitterly. Liza Jones was still naked, a pistol in her hand. She was covered with bruises, and there was dried blood on her thighs. She was a mess, but the woman was still standing, and Melar realized she could be dangerous.
"Liza!" called Gail, slipping out of the bed and rushing to her friend's side. "Thank God . . . "
"Get the gun," snapped the actress, gesturing in the direction of Melar's pants, and the younger woman hastened to obey, picking up the pistol gingerly by the handle and carrying it cautiously away from the now captured man.
"Well, here I am, a prisoner of two naked women," Melar said glibly, obviously still convinced that he could talk his way out of this. "Now Liza, why don't you let me have that pistol? You know perfectly well you could never bring yourself to pull the trigger ..."
The actress lowered the weapon, and for a moment Gail thought she was weakening, but as Melar self-confidently took a step in her direction, she raised it again, and fired, hitting him in the right thigh. He grunted in pain and hit the floor as the blood spurted out of a small hole in his upper leg. Melar was hurt, but not badly, and he gritted his teeth as he spoke.
"I'm going to make you pay for that," he growled. With a supreme effort, the wounded man got to his hands and knees, crawling doggedly towards the two naked women. Gail backed away in terror, but Liza took a deep breath and shot his right arm out from under him. The bullet caught him precisely at the elbow, sending a spray of blood and bone fragments across the floor. Melar fell flat on his face with a scream of utter agony. Gail looked across at her friend, seeing a change come over the actress' face. Before, she had looked tired and hurt, but now her eyes were burning with revenge! Rapidly circling the man's profusely bleeding naked body, Liza stepped over him, putting one foot on either side of his hips and staring down at him with undisguised triumph.
"How do you feel now, Mr. Sky-jacker?" she taunted him with the cruelty of a female lion. "Do you want a few more bullets?"
"No . . . no, please," he begged her pathetically, but a sinister grin came over the woman's face as she lowered the pistol, holding it with both hands over her blood clotted pubic triangle, and coldly shot Melar in the stomach. The bullet ripped open his fat flesh, exposing the man's bleeding entrails, and sending a thick stream of blood pouring onto the floor, which then leaked through the floorboards, filling the now absolutely silent room with the sound of each drip of blood as it struck the earth beneath the cottage. Liza sank down onto her knees, still clutching the pistol in her hands as she watched Melar's one good hand clutch frantically at his belly as if the bullet hole were an itch he could rub away. Liza Jones seemed to have gone completely out of her mind. Putting her head back, she rocked with obscene laughter, her bruised and bleeding breasts shaking as she watched the man beneath her writhe in agonized pain.
"And this is the man who wanted to fuck Liza Jones!" she spat at him, still laughing hysterically. "You never managed it, did you Melar? Everyone else in camp got to fuck Liza, but poor Melar never got the chance."
With horror, Gail realized that the screen actress was temporarily out of her mind, driven mad by the experience of having been ruthlessly violated countless times. Liza flexed her legs, slowly lowering her body down on top of Melar's groin, running her hands insanely over his blood smeared torso.
"What's the matter, lover?" she taunted him, drenching her hands in his blood and then smearing it onto her breasts as she indulged herself in an orgy of gore. "Don't you want to fuck Liza? Can't you get it up anymore? Touch my tits, Melar, that'll turn you on!"
Seizing Melar's good hand, she pressed it to her nipple for a moment, and then put the barrel of the pistol against his shoulder and blew the arm away, practically detaching it from his body. The room was filled with Liza's maniacal laughter, and Melar's body was deathly still, although Gail could see his eyes gaped wide in total terror, very much alive since none of the bullets had struck a vital spot. Liza Jones, now completely berserk and smeared with dripping blood from head to toe, began rubbing her bloody cunt back and forth against his penis as if she were trying to entice him into making love.
"Oh, that's it, fuck me Melar," she crooned madly, rubbing her ravaged cuntal lips back and forth across the man's uselessly flaccid penis. "Kiss me. I want you to kiss me, Melar . . . " Slowly she forced the barrel between his lips, precisely the way Melar had with the landowner at the time of the skyjacking, and she jammed the metal shaft deep into his throat while the man's eyes looked at her pleadingly.
Gail turned away, unable to watch.
There was a muffled explosion and the sickly sound of Melar's brains as they erupted from his skull and coated the floor around his body. Then there was silence, except for spasmodic sobs as Liza Jones lay on the blood smeared corpse of the communist advisor.
THE END
EPILOGUE - THREE NEWSPAPER CLIPPINGS
AP 6 July, 1973 - Santa Marta
The body of Ambassador Geoffrey Brenner was flown aboard Air Force One to Washington today, where funeral ceremonies will be held on Friday. The President has ordered the nation's flag to be flown at half-mast for the remainder of the week as a symbol of the nation's mourning for the well-known and respected career diplomat. Accompanying the body aboard the presidential aircraft were the two women who were prisoners along with Ambassador Brenner, but were spared execution through the intercession of fugitive revolutionary leader, Don Carlos. Liza Jones, the screen actress, was reported to be suffering from exposure and mental fatigue and is scheduled to be hospitalized immediately at Johns Hopkins Hospital for tests and treatment. Her companion, Mrs. Gail Barton, the noted young New York socialite, was reported unhurt, hut refused to discuss her experiences with reporters. Mr. Henry Barton Junior, who had earlier escaped from captivity, said that he had not been in contact with his wife since she was rescued by Santa Mar tan Federal troops, but that he expected to rush to her side as soon as his company's business concerns permitted him to leave the Santa Marta capital. On the military front, President Salvatore's troops are reported to have been ambushed for the third time in three days by revolutionary forces striking from hidden camps high in the mountains. The Santa Martan Government has denounced the rebels as communists, and asked for US aid in pacifying the country side. "There is light," commented the Chief of the Santa Martan General Staff, "at the end of the tunnel. "
UPI 17 February, 1974 - Santa Marta
After confused but violent fighting in the Capitol City last night, revolutionary leader Don Carlos seems to have effectively seized power in this tiny Latin American country. Long criticized by the world's liberal community as a dictator, President Salvatore was reported killed during a firefight inside the presidential palace after an assault was led on the building by Sergeant Sandro Gonzales, who also died in the conflict. The crowds in Capitol City this morning turned out in tens of thousands to cheer Don Carlos as he made a triumphant entry into the city. While suspected on some quarters of entertaining sympathies for communism, Don Carlos said at a press conference that he was not a Marxist and hoped merely to bring good government to his country after decades of dictatorship and exploitation by North American companies. The new president said he hoped to have good relations with the United States, despite the fact that it would be necessary to nationalize all of the mining interests now owned by the Barton Mineral Corporation.
THE WASHINGTON POST July 21, 1974 - GOSSIP CORNER
"What happened that night on the mountain? Social circles in New York and California are buzzing with speculation and while everyone denies that anything happened, the facts are beginning to add up. First Liza Jones, who was under contract with M.G.M. for six motion pictures, is still living in seclusion in a hospital in Beverly Hills, and despite official denials, rumor has it that Miss Jones has suffered from a series of nervous breakdowns that intimates say may lead her to never again return to public life. Even more sensationally, Mrs. Gail Barton, the beautiful young New York socialite, recently received the final papers from her quickie Mexican divorce from hubby Henry, heir to the Barton Minerals fortune. Word is out that Mrs. Barton refused the enormous alimony settlement offered her by the Barton family, and is determined to keep her three month old son, Carl, despite legal action from her ex-husband. On top of everything, Mrs. Barton was spotted by reporters last night at Kennedy Airport with her son, leaving for - that's right - Santa Marta You figure it out!"
