High rose colored clouds decorated the pale Andalusian sky like delicate lacework. A cool evening breeze caused the fields of maturing grain to wave lazily and cooled the men who worked the land. It was August 1936 and the air was filled with the aroma of healthy growing things.
From the hillock where she sat Senorita Dolores Margarita Arenillas took it all in and found it good. She wondered if anywhere in the rest of Spain there could be such beauty and tranquility. The very landscape was a tribute to God and an argument against atheists and His detractors.
Dolores gave a sigh of contentment and thanked God for this sight which eased her worried mind. But like all Spaniards she could not long ignore her troubled spirit. There was rebellion and war throughout her land. Only weeks ago the generals and their troops had risen against the Republican government.
The news was full of it. Daily she listened to the radio as the president tried to reassure the populace. But Queipo de Llano had captured nearby Seville and General Franco's legionnaires and Moors had soon joined him. In the north the Fascists had already won a great deal of land.
How horrible it seemed to the beautiful fifteen-year-old senorita. Anything that disrupted God's perfect harmony was anathema to the beautiful black-haired girl. Yet her father Don Adolfo Alberto was a staunch Carlist and therefore also vehemently opposed to the Republicans. Perhaps by now he had even joined the rebellion himself.
Immediately after the uprising he had left in excitement and dispatch for Pamplona. Beautiful Pamplona in far away Navarra which her father often spoke of and she had never seen. There the Carlists were strong and truly dedicated to "God, King and Country." It was their noble slogan. With it on his lips he had left Dolores alone with her mother and her three sisters.
Remembering that dinner would be ready she got up and headed home. It was already to dark to see clearly and she had come several miles. Though all this land and much more was part of her father's large estate it was not safe to be out by one's self in times of revolution.
Walking along the crest of the hill she could see and hear a band of her father's peasant field hands moving slowly in her direction. They were noisy and boisterous so that even from a distance she could tell they were drunk. She wondered why they were celebrating. It was not a holy day.
Dona Dolores quickened her step in hopes of avoiding them. Not that she was frightened-she knew all of them and was friendly with most. As a little girl she had played with them and their children. Only when she reached pubescence did her father force her to desert their company and assume her rightful position as a lady of the estate.
But she did not like to see them like this. The wine made their talk crude and the spoke only of women. The pious young girl would blush whenever she heard the way they talked about the girls in town.
As best she could she hurried on but her clumsy clothing retarded her speed. like her father Dolores loved the traditions of Spain and because she was so small and pretty and looked so very Hispanic, her family spared no expense in clothing her in rich old-fashioned dresses. But long skirts, voluminous petticoats and tight shoes had not been designed for rapid walking.
With mild vexation the fifteen-year-old realized she could not outdistance the peasants. One of them called out and she paused. Clumsy, sweaty and dirty the motley bunch approached, holding burning torches above their heads.
"What are you celebrating?" the girl asked politely of Juan whom she recognized first.
"We celebrate Spain," broke in Leon instead, his voice slurred. He was walking beside Juan. "We celebrate a quick end to Fascism, the rise of Communism and the international brotherhood, and we celebrate ourselves as free men. Will you join us Senorita Arenillas?" he concluded drunkenly, offering her the filthy wineskin.
"Have the generals been defeated?" asked Dolores excitedly, ignoring Leon's proposal. "Is the Republican government again secure?"
"No, but it soon shall be," responded Juan this time. He too was obviously intoxicated. "We shall be when the workers in the fields join the workers in the factories. Workers of Spain unite!" he shouted, "and you shall lose your chains."
"But you are free," objected Dolores anxiously, trying to deny the reference to that odious Karl Marx.
"We are only free, Dona Dolores Margarita, to slave for your father's profit. We are free to work his farm and to die-but not to be educated, to have land, to suffer abundance and to be truly men."
The small girl was shocked and hurt. Never had she known Juan to speak so freely in her presence. And to say such things about her father who had always been so good to his peasants was outlandishly ungrateful.
"But most important is the right to make love," broke in another, staggering up close enough for her to see him now. It was Antonio. He was a dear companion of her childhood. like herself he was a youth of only fifteen but already with several years experience in the fields behind him. "The freedom to love who and how we please," he continued.
Dolores stared at him. He was the most handsome of the bunch and thankfully the least drunk. And he was her friend. She could talk to him.
Yet something seemed wrong. He was fumbling at his crotch hastily. Perhaps he had an unexpected pain or had been hurt. She bent forward to look more closely. There seemed to be a large strange strip of flesh hanging loosely from his unbuttoned fly. Then suddenly she realized what it was.
Dolores spun about quickly and turned her back to the hideous sight. Her face burned with shame. How could he-her childhood friend-do such a thing to her, a pure and virgin good Catholic young girl? There would come a day-the night before her marriage-when her embarrassed father or their priest would ask her if she had ever seen a man's organ. How humiliated she'd be to have to answer "yes."
"What's wrong, Senorita?" laughed Antonio loudly and mischievously. "Did you not think us peasants real men?
Look and see that we are."
"Antonio, please," the brunette spoke crisply, "put it back and say no more about it. You insult me."
"Insult!" countered the youthful laborer angrily. "Is it an insult to see a common man's only valuable possession? I am proud of my cock. Look at it!"
Without warning he grabbed the teenager by her long black hair and spun her about, forcing her to her knees. Dolores was too stunned to either cry out or protest. She found herself trembling as she stared at the huge snake now only inches from her face.
Never had she seen anything so ugly or vile. Even in the torchlight it was a sickly white, covered with slime and jutting out six inches hard and straight from the slot in his trousers. Yet even in her shock she was amazed at how large it seemed. She wondered how men could carry such a big rod between their legs without it showing in the crotch. She concluded Antonio's must be abnormally large, a mutation.
"Do you like it, Dona Dolores?" he persisted, twisting her hair behind her head until it hurt. "Answer me. Is it not as fine as a nobleman's? Is it not as thick as your father's and brothers'? Does it not stand as firm and erect as a priest's?"
"It's disgusting," spit out the tiny brunette "and so are you. I have never seen a man's privates before. You degrade me."
"Never seen a prick before," laughed the youthful man boisterously, "never before? Perhaps we should call you Dona Prude. Or Senorita Pura."
"Please," she gasped in confusion. "I should not see such things. I am too young. Let me go and I promise to say nothing to my father."
"Too young," chortled the drunken Leon, unbuttoning his own pants, "you are all of fifteen. I fucked my first whore when I was twelve and so did Antonio. It is time you learned. Tonight we shall teach you."
Juan watched all of this hesitantly. For centuries his fathers had served this girl's fathers. He knew nothing but to respect the aristocracy and especially the wealthy landowner Don Adolfo Alberto Arenillas. Yet it was time the haughty nobility learned that he and his fathers too were human. He made no move to protect his patron's daughter.
Behind him the crowd looked on intently. Some watched with Antonio's pride, other copied Leon in his drunkenness and a few like Juan were frightened and meek.
"Please," they all heard her beg, "please just let me go Antonio. I must get home." Tears began to fill the tiny girl's eyes. She was confused but she sensed the situation was serious.
Leon shoved his trousers to his knees and exposed himself brazenly to her. His prick also stuck out straight at her and it too was large, perhaps even longer than Antonio's. And in the flickering of the many lights she could see there was some hideous wrinkled growth hanging down behind it. It looked like a sack of dead skin holding two large rocks.
"Aren't you ashamed to show it in public?" the fifteen-year-old whispered to Leon alone, staring at his testicles. "It's ugly. You should go to a doctor and have it removed. My father would advance you the money."
"Advance me the money," bellowed the filthy peasant in delight, "Loan me the money to be castrated. I'm sure he would, Dona Prude.. And all the rest of us too-to have our proudest part cut off."
Dolores glanced about her helplessly. She had meant well. With tear blurred eyes she looked to Juan's crotch and to two or three others she could see. To a man they also had huge bulges in their pants. It was strange she had never noticed such things before but always she had faithfully kept her eyes from lingering on that part of a man's body.
The long-haired brunette thought of her father and brothers. In their tailor-made suits they could not have hidden such abnormalities. This huge deformity in them simply did not exist. Perhaps this was the real difference between nobility and peasants-in the size of their penis. That way even naked they could be told apart. The naive girl had never heard of an erection. She was sure the organs of aristocrats must be unoffensively small, modestly hidden, regularly bathed and perfumed.
Antonio twisted her hair harder, forcing her gaze to remain on their pricks. Yet it was not necessary, for the naive teenager was unconsciously transfixed by this brazen display of cock. She could no longer take her eyes off of them. But the pain in her head was increasing, intruding into her thoughts. Dolores suddenly realized she had to quickly get away.
"Please, Juan," she began, addressing herself to the more discreet of the three, "please help me. You have always served my father honestly. You are older and wiser than the rest. Talk to them. Help me get back to my mother and sisters."
"Yes, old wise one," snickered Leon impudently, "can't you get it up anymore? Make your choice. Will you fight to free her and escort her back to safety?"
"No," spoke the man softly after a moment's thought and hesitation.
"Then will you join us, Comrade, in ravishing this little virgin piece of nobility?"
Juan's eyes shifted nervously back and forth between the oily face of Loen and the frightened weeping young girl. Could he throw himself in the face of centuries of Spanish tradition? Rape his superior's daughter? But already men were dying in the streets of Madrid and Seville for him, for his right to deny history.
"Yes," he said at last. "I will rape her too."
"Rape!" gasped the tiny child. The word shot through her head like a thunderbolt. The gravity of the situation overwhelmed her. She had to escape. Ignoring the pain she wrenched herself free of Antonio's grasp.
She began to run. Kicking off her shoes she sped through the night, lungs bursting with exertion. She glanced over her shoulder. They were a scant six feet behind.
Dolores pushed on through the soft earth and grass. Home was still miles away. Again she looked back. They were just as close and hardly exerting themselves. Instead the whole bunch was laughing, jeering, singing. The wine passed freely from hand to hand.
She realized they were only playing with her. They could catch her at any time. Her only salvation was God. Fervently she began to pray.
"Oh Mother Mary," the child chanted to the rhythm of her pounding feet. "Save me. I am your child. I have been good. My thoughts have been pure. Please help ... oh, oh, oh," she grunted as strong arms circled her and squeezed away her breath.
She fell with the heavy weight on her back. Dolores felt pain as viciously he twisted her on her back. It was her childhood friend Antonio again. Instinctively she fought but she was too small and frail for his strong arms.
"No, Antonio, no," she cried as he straddled her. There were eleven pearl buttons down the front of her heavy dress and she pled with him pathetically as slowly he opened each one.
"No, no, my friend," she argued tearfully. "Why do you do this to me? Aren't we friends anymore? Antonio, stop."
The fifteen-year-old glanced down to see that her dress was being spread wide. Her graceful neck and throat were bared. Already they could see her bra-a thick one strapped tight so that it would squeeze her breasts flat and de-emphasize her bust. She moaned in humiliation. Antonio said nothing, nor did he stop.
The cool Andalusian wind touched her stomach through her thin chemise. It meant she was unbuttoned, her dress spread open to her waist. The breeze had comforted her earlier. Now it sent chills up and down her spine.
Dolores looked up in wide-eyed disbelief at her former playmate. His young face was handsome, but filled with lust and greed. He had been a cherished friend, always so courteous and polite, willing to obey her every order and anticipate any capricious whim. Now he hurt her, degraded and shamed her.
She had known him as a clean and thoughtful little peasant boy. But now he was a man who stunk of sweat, dirt and sour wine. That ugly thing that had grown between his legs had transformed him. Through her thin slip she felt his hands stroke sensually over her flat tummy, stopping to embrace her tiny waist. His palms were calloused and rough and there was cruel strength in his fingers.
"Oh Mother Mary," she began to weep into the night, "oh God our Father hear me and save me. I am pure. Don't let them defile my body."
"God is busy talking with General Franco tonight," sneered Antonio, looking down at her with contempt. He began slowly to slip the dress off her shoulders as he talked. "You see, God needs their help. In Barcelona they had already fired the churches. The priests and nuns have burned in them or run into the streets to be shot and raped."
"You are Satan," she shouted at him passionately, "you are Lucifer himself. You are hatred and cruelty and lust and ... and....."
"And man. More than anything else I am a man, Dona Dolores. And your cunt makes you a woman."
"Oh don't use such language, Antonio," she begged, blushing at the vulgar word. "Think, Antonio. You are degrading us both. Pray to God before it is too late. Stop now."
"My God is no longer your God, Dolores Margarita."
"You have forsaken Him?"
"He has already forsaken us-the common man, the workers, the peasants. Centuries ago he forsook us. And now we march in a different army and we have captured one of his soldiers: you. You who have kept your cunt as a holy temple dedicated to spiritual love.
"But the love you will feel there now will not be God's love but mine. It will be my prick crushing into your pussy, breaking open the gates and reaming you wider. And then will come Juan and Leon and all the rest of us time after time until our balls are dried and withered. You will know the love of mankind."
"Oh no, no, no, no," screamed the petite child hysterically, trying to squirm away. Violently she dug her fingernails into his arms but he only laughed at her struggles. He was right. There would be no salvation for her tonight.
"Let me help," broke in Leon, impatient with all the talk. His fingers clutched at her dress and together they jerked it down her arms. United they held her legs and pulled the heavy skirt and stiff petticoats off of her pretty legs.
The teenager squirmed and begged, bit and scratched in vain. She slmost strangled as they pulled the chemise up rudely over her head. When she was naked except for bra and panties they lifted her to her feet in front of the lascivious crowd.
"And now the grand unveiling," shouted Leon to them with a triumphant grin.
"No, please, please," she begged, peering into the darkness beyond the flickering torches. "Please. We are friends. I have done nothing to any of you. I beg you. I am only fifteen. Leave me my virtue."
"You are the daughter of Don Adolfo," called one of the spectators venomously. "You are an Arenillas. You have inherited the sins of your forefathers and now you shall pay."
"Yes, strip her," shouted another. "She is Senor Arenillas' favorite child. Let us see what kind of jugs and cunts aristocrats have."
Deftly Antonio grabbed her wrists and held her arms immovable behind her back. With a leer Leon fumbled at the hooks of her bra. The child was shaking violently, her pretty face contorted with tears.
"Oh no please ... , " she began to beg again when suddenly the cool breeze of evening slid up under her jutting breasts, whipped over her frightened pebbly nipples and engulfed her trembling boobs. Never had her precious cones known either evening breeze or day's warming sun. No eyes had ever feasted on them nor did her own hands ever touch them without reverence. They were holy, consecrated to God to be shared only with some future husband.
"Oh noooo," moaned Dolores in a low almost inhuman voice of torment. "Oh God, I am undone. I am shamed. I am humiliated." Then she fell silent.
The crowd too was quiet. There was not a man who laughed or sighed or joked. They stood there staring at the young child with bowed head and bared breasts. At last it was Juan who spoke.
"We did not realize, Senorita," he began respectfully, "that your mounds would be so beautiful, such perfect upright cones. Truly they are meant for some superior man. Nor did we realized that they would be so large on someone so small. Did it not hurt to crush them so flat against your body with that heavy bra?"
"Yes," she murmured humbly, eyes on the ground, "yes it hurt. Always. But it was my duty not to tempt the children of God."
"Ha," broke in Leon now, destroying the solemnity. "You would have been raped long before now had we known. But you have only postponed the moment. Who's first to fuck her, to take her cherry?"
"Let it be Antonio. She says he is her friend." The speaker was hidden by the darkness but he laughed loudly and his merriment infected the crowd. Again they were jesting and shouting, passing the wine from hand to hand.
"Gladly I'll perform the service," answered the young boy, looping his fingers about the top of her panties. Dolores twisted and squealed as she tried to avoid him but with Leon's help they pulled her last clothing to the ground and left her naked.
Grabbing her wrists again, Antonio forced her to walk through the crowd so all could see. The tiny girl stumbled and staggered as she was shoved about rudely. Tears streamed down her pretty face.
"Please, oh someone help me," she continued to moan piteously. "Please God. Someone. I am only fifteen. I am virgin. Please someone. Only fifteen. Only fifteen."
Anonymous arms reached from the darkness and found her breasts and twat. She felt sweaty calloused hands rub over her well shaped bottom, down her thighs, on her nipples. They squeezed, pinched and pulled them. Dolores was sick to her stomach. She felt strong fingers grab her pussy and squeeze hard.
"No don't," she cried, "this is not for you. My body is not for you."
"It is for all of us," countered a low voice from the crowd. "We have liberated your body for the people," added another.
"We will all have you, Dona Dolores," taunted someone nearby.
"Rape her, Antonio," called another, "Let the fucking begin."
In response her childhood friend shoved her to the ground and twisted her on her back. The torchbearers gathered around him so all could see. The petite brunette looked up at him with eyes filled with fear and disbelief. She breathed heavily through parted lips.
"Please, Antonio, my friend...," she begged once more in a timorous whisper.
With unnecessary force the boy spread her slender legs wide. Leering at her triumphantly he knelt between them and shoved his trousers to his knees. The girl's whole body shook violently in fright and humiliation.
"This ground is your bridal bed, Dolores," muttered Antonio hoarsely, "and this is your wedding procession. We are going to all marry you. From now on your pussy will serve all mankind."
The worker held her down with a strong hand against her shoulder. With the other he guided his wavering cock. She strained to look down at it, hideous red and white in the firelight. The teenager saw the fat bulb on the end approach and she felt a pressure against her most private opening.
"Noooo," she began to wail in openmouthed hysteria. "Nooo. Nooo. Nooo." Her voice filled the still night air. It echoed through the valleys of her father and pierced the ears of his workers. "Nooo. Nooo. Nooo," she screamed.
Antonio moved his fat knob slowly up and down the length of her gash. Dolores' slit was almost invisible, still so very thin without any bulge of pussy lips. He took his fingers and opened the petals so his cock could touch the warm coral.
"Nooo. You are not my husband," she cried. The girl felt the cool air touch the opening to her temple, felt the hot prod tease along her crack. Neither she nor any man or woman had ever spread open her quim. It had never been seen or touched by anyone.
"Oh God help me," she began to pray loudly. "I am ready to die. God save me. I am your child. I'm faithful and virgin. God save me. Take me while I am still whole and pure. God please hear me. Take my life while body and soul are pure."
Antonio paused for a moment and cocked his head as if listening. "I don't hear anything, Dona Delores. Your God has given you over to us." The crowd broke into mocking laughter.
Then decisively he placed both hands tight about her pelvis, holding her like a vise. The moment had come. He angled her up to his prick and shoved. The child's hymen was tough and her hole pencil small. He couldn't break through and again he shoved unsuccessfully. Frustrated he began to pound, twist and bore his stiff pecker between her thin immature lips.
"No, no. God what is he doing? Help me. Save me before it is too late. God save me."
With another gigantic thrust he felt something give, a slight tearing. There was a warm moistness of blood. But his prick head was not even nearly inside.
Under him Dolores screamed and twisted crazily. The mixture of pain, sin and humiliation had driven her mad. Her delicate shoulders rolled frantically on the grass, her head tossing wildly as she shrieked pathetically into the night. Her perfect boobs jumped, swung and pitched as they were violently propelled by her writhing body.
But the laborer did not stop. Rotating his hips he methodically bored his huge dick into the tiny entrance to her love cave. The youth was stimulated by her cries and pleas for help. Her weeping inspired him. His ruddy prod grew even thicker as he saw her toss and twist painfully beneath him.
He was succeeding. He was actually screwing Senor Arenillas' beautiful untouchable virgin. The workers would succeed. He knew it now. Together the comrades would fuck the patricians.
The hurt from the fifteen-year-old's ripped hymen had been only the beginning. It increased steadily as the fat knob pushed at her narrow opening. Her crotch was alive with fire. It was the entry of his fat bulb through the tiny hole, the stretching and tugging at the taut pink flesh that sent spasms of pain now through her body. Her only escape was prayer, but God did not answer.
"Aeee, ah, ahhhh," she called as she felt her quim being split agape. He would tear her legs apart with his abnormally huge cock. "I am an aristocrat," she screamed at him desperately. "I am not built to take a peasant's organ. My temple is to small for a peasant's thing."
"She is too good for us," shouted someone watching. "Fuck her hard, Antonio. Show her she is not too good. Make her pay."
Straining every muscle, legs, and back tensed to add strength to his probing dong he shoved with all his strength. Dolores screamed wildly and then it was in. The knob had passed the little entry way. Blood was everywhere, spraying out of her hole with his last push.
Antonio laughed triumphantly. He was overjoyed with his success. Dona Dolores was delirious with pain and fear beneath him. Never had he seen a woman so abjectly pathetic. Even the slaughter animals of the farm did not seem so dejected as she. How precious her virginity must have been.
The teenager was locked to his cock. Her whole body quaked as she looked up at him in shock and horror. But the pain was not quite so bad now though her cunt hole was stretched tight. It felt as if a huge orange lay inside her. She was nauseous.
But Dolores knew it had just begun. The tiny girl whimpered as he bent forward and placed his arms tightly about her, holding her. She felt his hairy chest press against her breasts, crushing them and causing her tingling nipples to ache.
Dolores felt as if his cock was permanently joined to her. Every movement of his body was transmitted through his pecker into herself. She grunted as slowly he began to rotate his hips again. He was screwing the spear deeper into her and once more he hurt her virgin twat.
The little five foot girl breathed heavily as he worked his peter in deeper, pulling and stretching the tender cunt flesh. She was numb from shock and it helped keep her from the pain. But her honor was lost forever, her future destroyed. No longer could she look her father or brothers in the eye. She could never marry.
Antonio felt her little light body trembling in his arms. She sniffed and whimpered but she did not now scream or protest. The boy was proud of what he had done. But it had only just begun and she had already quit struggling and pleading. He had a sudden urge to hurt her and make her suffer.
The lad paused for a moment. His pecker was no larger than average but he knew that to her tiny unused quim it felt monstrous. And it was not even halfway in. With one unexpected lunge he drove himself to his nuts in her unprotected twat.
"Aeeee, ha, ha, oh Gooood," screamed little Dolores. Suddenly all the thoughts of remorse and shame were driven from her mind. All that was real was the fiery pain jetting up from her cunt. He tightened his arms about her until she could hardly breathe.
Vigorously Antonio began to pound his prick full length into her. Under him she twisted, shook and shrieked inhumanly. She had never known such pain. Greedily the boy kept hammering rapidly into her, relishing her loud cries of misery.
"Ae, oh, oh, haaa, haa, haaaa," shouted the child, face contorted in agony. The crowd cheered and applauded as they watched. They were happy with Antonio. He was revenging them well.
The dull ache in Dolores' nipples had also turned to pain. The chafing of his rough body against the tender over-sensitive swollen tips made them burn like fury. Her whole body was on fire, lit by the flames in her tits and cunt.
She prayed to her Lord, helplessly begged Him for salvation. And perhaps this time He had heard her. It seemed that maybe her body had relaxed a little, was able to withstand the driving fucking tempo. The heat in her twat and jugs had diffused throughout both soul and body. Nor did the violent raping spear now hurt as much as it tore into her. She could feel that some creamy substance had formed on her pussy and lubricated her attacker's entrance. God in His infinite wisdom and mercy had sent an oil for her tortured cunt.
"Oh bless You," she moaned in thanksgiving. "Thank you." From a distance she heard God answer a welcome. She was having a mystical experience-talking directly to God Himself. "Thank You thank You God, thank You," she continued.
"You're welcome," repeated Antonio, plowing his spear violently into her furrow. He too was aware her whole body, twat and all, was now responding to him. It did not matter if she was no longer in pain. To bring her to an orgasm by his rape would be her final degradation.
Thank You, God, thank You," the child continued to chant, loudly enough for all to hear.
"You're welcome, Dolores, so welcome," responded Antonio increasing his tempo.
"I have loved You since I was a little child. I have been pure for You, my Lord. I have always loved You."
"And I have always wanted to fuck you. Fuck you even when we were kids."
"Yes love me. I want You to keep loving me," murmured the long-haired brunette. "Love me since we were kids." God had protected her after all. In this moment of pain and crisis He had spread a warm dark blanket over her. She felt good. Her whole body was alive and tingling. She could feel Him rocking her in His strong arms. "Oh love me!"
"FU fuck you. Fuck you and fuck you and fuck you."
"Oh yes, yes," responded the child, her mind swimming and confused by the enormity of God's love. "Fuck me," she answered Him, "fuck me and fuck me, Lord."
"Faster now," Antonio challenged, beginning to heave and twist his butt with dizzying speed. "Faster and harder," he said into her ear, pounding his prick furiously into her bleeding cunt. "Do you want it harder?"
"Yes, yes, Lord. Harder. Fuck me harder." Her twat arched up now to meet his balls, her ass twisting violently to match his screwing. Her slender legs locked around his holding him tight. She crushed her breasts to him till they were hard against his chest. "Yes, harder, God. Fuck me harder."
The crowd watched gleefully as the two fifteen-year-olds squirmed on the ground. Never had they seen a girl humped so vigorously and receive it so eagerly. They rejoiced to hear her virgin lips begging her God and Saviour to fuck her harder and harder.
"Oh yes, yeeeees," she screamed at last, throwing her arms tight about Antonio and digging her nails into his back. Her ass screwed and twisted insanely. Heedlessly she pounded her cunt up and down the length of his hard prick. The girl's body had exploded in orgasm.
"Yes God, fuck me. I'm in ecstasy. Ecstaseeee. God fuck meeee. I'm in heaven. Heaveeeeen."
But Antonio pulled himself to a complete stop though his balls were about to burst. He held himself still while Dolores continued to explode and impale her twat on his prod. Grabbing her by the long hair of her head he held it still and slapped her sharply three times across the face.
Dolores stared up at him in wide-eyed shock. Her whole body had come to a stiff standstill. She didn't even breathe. Comically, grotesquely she hung from his crotch, her weight supported on her shoulders and twat fully planted on his spear.
"But where is He?" she asked weakly in a little girl's voice. "Where did God go? He was here loving me."
"Fucking you," sneered the boy triumphantly. "You were begging God to fuck you. But it is me you were begging. I was fucking you!"
"Loving me?"
"Fucking you!"
The child looked at him in disbelief. Then turned her head to see the men watching them. They were laughing.
"You kept begging me to fuck you harder and harder. And I did," reported the laborer nastily.
"Oh noooo," she moaned loudly, breaking into uncontrollable sobs. "It was God I asked. Not you. You tricked me."
"It was me. You begged me and you fucked me back. You fucked me back hard Dona Dolores. You love fucking me. Senorita Dona Dolores Margarita Arenillas, you loved fucking me, begged for more and fucked me back."
"No, no, oh noooo," wailed the little brunette miserably. Her shame was complete. Both body and soul had been raped, defeated and degraded.
"And you're going to continue, Senorita," he chuckled maliciously. "And you are going to keep coming knowing it is me and begging me for it."
With that he heaved himself forward, burying the huge prod between the hot moist petals of her cunt. Frantically he humped her now, using every trick he knew to excite her body. His hands were all over her body and breasts, pulling, pinching and massaging them.
"No, no, nooo," Dolores moaned and whined under him, aware in every part of her body that she was being ravished. She tried to resist, but even the naive girl knew it was useless. The pure child recognized that he had made her come. It made no difference that she had deluded herself it was God. A stinking mere peasant had balled her and she had let him bring her to an orgasm.
And even worse she liked it. She had loved it then and even now in the midst of her humiliation she liked the feel of that fat sausage pounding into her quim. Something had changed in her twat. She enjoyed-needed that fat prod banging into it. And that beautiful tension was rising again rapidly, undeniably. But this time she knew it was not her Lord but the filthy drunken field hand Antonio that she was letting fuck her.
"Oh no, no Antonio," she murmured one last time, "don't make me do it again. Don't." But she knew it was too late even if he had stopped. Spontaneously her trim legs locked behind his raging bottom. She pressed her naked breasts tight against him. She kissed his neck.
Dolores knew she was deliberately jerking her twat up to meet him now, relished his huge mushroom inside her. She wanted those hairy balls slapping against her bared ass. She was shameless in her need.
"Oh fuck me," she whispered in his ear, sweat beginning to pour off her body as she eagerly screwed him back. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," said the girl, never before having used the word. "Fuck, fuck, fuck me hard. Hard, Antonio. Fuck me hard."
Then unexpectedly his wild heaving stopped. He held himself rigid, though she felt his whole body trembling. She could sense some wild primitive rhythm beginning to build up inside him and felt his huge prod seem to grow larger, stretching her torn cunt painfully.
She had no idea what was going to happen but instinctively she knew it would be wonderful. No one had ever told her a word about sex. Breathlessly now the child waited for the new revelation.
Then immediately she cried out loudly, jerking uncontrollably up to meet him. Her whole body exploded in orgasm. Her grotto was filled with a new heat, a flame of lust and love that was shooting from Antonio's blessed cock. It seared her, tormented her with its rhythmic splashing incessant fire and sent her again into ecstasy.
"I'm coming," gasped the boy, his voice strained from his violent exertion. "I'm coming. I'm coming."
So that was the word she needed. "Coming." That's what they were doing together. They were coming.
"Ae yesss, Antonio," she screamed, "me too. Me coming too. Fuck me, Antonio. Fuck me. Come in me. Keep me coming. Fuck me. Keep it coming in my temple."
Together they rolled on the ground as Dolores climaxed repeatedly. She could not stop. Nor would she be quiet. To the joy of her peasant audience the teenager cried out her ecstasy for all to hear. Their bodies tossed recklessly on the grass, dirty and stained, until at last their spasms ebbed and they came to a halt.
Dolores rested under him quietly, eyes closed and smiling with satisfaction. But then the tiny girl frowned and opened her lids. She looked first at Antonio and then at the crowd. A look of horror crossed her face.
"My God! What have I done?" she said in complete mortification. "My God what have I done?"
"You have just been fucking," laughed Antonio, pulling his cock out of her rudely and without any show of tenderness. "You've just been fucking me and climaxing yourself."
"But I did not mean to," she protested meekly.
"But you did, Senorita Prude. You did it and you loved it. And you were a good piece of tail, a real fine fuck. You did love it, didn't you, Dona Dolores Margarita? Be truthful."
"Yes," she whispered contritely, beginning to blush furiously. "I did love it. But I must go to Church immediately and make confession." The child started to get up to leave but she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. It was Leon. She looked up at him questioningly.
"Haven't you forgotten something, Senorita?" asked the drunken laborer with a sneer.
"But what?" she responded in genuine confusion. "What else do you want of me? You have already let Antonio spoil me and make me come."
"Yes, Antonio. But how about the rest? There are at least a dozen more of us."
A look of disbelief and horror crossed her face. She glanced at the crowd around her. All of them had their peters out and in their hands and some had even taken off their pants. Wide-eyed she looked back up at Leon.
"But surely you can't ask me to do it for everyone," she gasped.
"We are not asking you," he hissed maliciously. Meaningfully he pressed her down again flat upon the damp grass, hovering over with his cock in hand. Breathing heavily Dolores lay back without protest, stupefied, like some ritual lamb about to be slaughtered.
One after another they humped her. There was Leon, then Juan and then the rest. And then again there was Antonio, again Leon, again Juan. Towards dawn there was another round in which most took part.
Dolores was in shock. She was unaware of all the pain and degradation. Only vaguely she realized a sense of guilt before her God. Later she had only fleeting memories of all that occurred after Antonio's and Leon's first rapes. Her mind had buried most of it in her subconscious.
She did remember that in her hysteria it had seemed humorous to her that the dry ground under her had turned to mud from all the spent jism flowing from her cunt. As the stars faded two men had helped her walk to a nearby sewage ditch and as they did so she thought it comic that their come kept flooding out of her quim and running down her legs. She had laughed deliriously at that.
And it was hysterically funny that she could remember the number of times she'd been raped-thirty-three in allbut not remember the names of all the men who did it. And later she could clearly picture in her mind the men taking her to the sewage ditch and throwing her in, right on top of a pile of shit. And they had stood above her, cocks in hand and pissed on her. She had giggled like a little girl delighted as she felt the warm streams of urine stream over her.
Dolores had slept in the ditch until nearly noon. Painfully she had gotten up and returned to the place of her rape. Her clothes were torn, dirty and spoiled but she put them on. She could not walk about the countryside naked.
Legs stiff and her cunt burning like fire she resolutely headed for the little nearby town. It was closer than home and there was a Guardia Civil station. The Civil Guard would help her.
CHAPTER TWO
Colonel Hans von Schlecht puffed on his expensive cigarette. Disdainfully he let the smoke drift into the face of the young Civil Guard Captain beside him. The two were alone in the German Colonel's large tent.
Von Schlecht was bored. He and three others were there to help this young Spanish Captain. They were a part of the group of advisors Hitler had sent to gain experience and give professional aid to the Fascist Generals.
But how could professional advisors help in such an unprofessional war? Here they were in the middle of
Andalusia, setting up a refugee prison camp with nothing more than a few tents and a lot of barbed wire. The Guardia Civil Captain was supposedly in charge but he had only four of his own men. The rest of the troops consisted of vicious Moors recently arrived from Morocco.
At least their orders were clear. Try to find blankets and food for legitimate Fascist refugees. Execute on the spot all men, women and children who supported the Republican government. When in doubt, shoot them anyway.
They were interrupted by one of the Civil Guards who brought in a small Spanish looking young girl. Her pretty appearance was marred by her filthy condition and torn dress.
"We rounded her up with other peasants and Socialists. But she says her father is a wealthy landowner here and he is anti-Republican," stated the soldier perfunctorily.
"I recognize her," responded the captain curtly, dismissing the guard.
"And are you too a Fascist, young lady?" asked the colonel in perfect Spanish.
"Like my father I am a Carlist," she responded promptly though she had never thought of herself as having any political leanings.
"And should be shot," added the Civil Guard Captain bitterly. Seeing the surprised look on the German's face he explained quickly. "The Carlists support the Church and the King. As such they are anti-Republican but not necessarily pro-Fascist. We don't even know whether they will fight with us."
"I'm sure they will eventually, captain," counseled the German. "Certainly all anti-Republicans ought to unite for greatest strength. Our own advantage comes from the Republicans being split into so many parties-Communists, Socialists, Anarchists, Syndicalists and whatever. There is no reason to shoot this lovely young girl. Especially not such a fine example of Spain's beauty."
"She is filthy," retorted the captain nastily.
"It is not her fault," said the German thoughtfully, walking over to place his hand gently on her shoulder. Though twisted and tangled he could not help but admire the long black hair that hung down below the short girl's waist. "What happened to you my dear?"
Dolores blushed and turned her head aside. "I was raped," she whispered.
"Peasants?" von Schlecht asked softly.
"Yes."
"Often?"
"Yes."
"Where is your father?"
"He has gone to Pamplona. My mother and sister live a few miles from here."
"Her father had gone to join the Carlists," broke in the captain. "They are strong in the north."
"I think we should bathe her and find her something clean before we send her home. Perhaps my fellow Germans and I shall have a little party for her before she leaves. She needs time to recover from this blow."
"Do what you want with her," said the head of the Civil Guard, leaving the tent in disgust. "Personally, I'd shoot her."
A guard led the girl off to the public showers. And as von Schlecht had promised she was returned to him later. The other three German advisors were there and greeted her cordially. The man were already sipping wine and in the mood for a little party.
"But could they find nothing better for you to wear?" asked her host kindly.
Timidly the fifteen year old fingered the oversized trench coat she wore. Self-consciously she nodded her head. It was all the clothing they had given her and she was embarrassed by her nudity underneath.
Von Schlecht laughed again cordially and did not pursue the matter. Though hawknosed and angular his graying hair gave him a fatherly look. Dolores felt safe and comfortable with him.
"Well Dolores I have told my companions of your ... plight. They agreed we should have a little party to help you relax. See, we have cheeses and oranges and several bottles of Madeira. Will you take some wine?"
"Yes, please. I'd like some," she smiled at him, giving her face an angelic look. "I'm very nervous." Feeling more at ease she sat on the edge of one of the cots. The sweet Madeira made her feel warm and pleasant inside. Perhaps the world was not so horrible after all.
"Perhaps you should take off your coat," suggested a Captain Schneider after the five of them had conversed for awhile. "You would be more comfortable."
"Oh no," quickly responded the tiny brunette, her face turning hot red. "I'm quite all right."
"But you should make yourself comfortable," persisted the captain, "this is a party. It is so hot and damp in this tent."
"I ... I can't," she stuttered badly disconcerted. "You see I ... they didn't have anything for me to wear underneath."
"That's all right, Senorita," smiled the aggressive young German. "We are men of the world. We don't mind."
"Oh!" responded the young girl startled. She did not know what to say. Surely he didn't mean what he said. She'd be naked if she took off the trench coat. He must not have understood.
"Really," continued Schneider unabashed, "we are new to Spain. It would be such a shame not to enjoy as much of its beauty as we can. And certainly you are a most beautiful young senorita."
"Please," she stammered, "you don't understand. I have nothing else on."
"He understands," broke in Colonel von Schlecht with a chuckle, "and I agree with him. Especially after we have protected you from your own Civil Guard and have given you this party. You should not deny us the treat of seeing true Hispanic beauty."
"Yon must be joking," the teenager said in alarm.
"It is not much Schneider is asking," argued the officer. "Don't be so ungrateful."
"It is too much," declared the child in horror. She had thought these people her friends. In anger she hurried to the door. Once again she'd been betrayed. She stepped outside, wanting to run and hide.
About her was cruelty and confusion. The ruthless Moors were in charge. In a large area enclosed with barbed wire and guarded by soldiers huddled women and children, dirty, hungry and half naked. These were the lucky ones.
In a smaller fenced yard stood all the men and women known to be active Republican sympathizers. Regularly they were being led out in little groups of fours and fives to be shot.
There were four men and one young girl standing against the wall of an old house. The firing squad was in front of them aiming their ugly 1909 Lebels. There was a crash as the Moors let loose their volley and the five prisoners doubled over in pain. The soldiers had deliberately aimed for their stomachs and not their hearts.
The wounded Republicans were carried to a heap of others, many still alive and grasping their bleeding guts. The new ones were shoved onto the pile, left to share a slow and agonizing death. In the distance Dolores saw more soldiers hastily digging shallow graves.
The air was filled with the sickening sweet smell of blood and piteous groans and shrieks of the dying. Her eyes smarted from the whiffs of acrid gun smoke.
"There is no place to go," she said to herself aloud, looking around her in desperation. "There is no place to run."
"No, there is no place to go," said Colonel von Schlecht unexpectedly behind her.
Dolores jumped and whirled. He stood in the entrance holding the heavy canvas flap in one hand and smiling at her triumphantly. "The Civil Guard Captain will not let you leave here alive without us. Come back in. At least we will not kiss you."
"I won't," cried the desperate girl angrily.
The German Colonel only looked at her. Clearly she could hear the agonized moans of the wounded. But worst of all were the horrified whimpers of survivors watching their loved ones die. She glanced in dread over at the large compound.
A woman dressed in dirty red hugged three nearly naked children to her. They had just seen their father shot. For yards around, other children and parents wept and prayed in misery.
Suddenly Dolores was overwhelmed by the realization that she did not want to die. If not for herself, for her father and mother, sisters and loved ones. Pathetically she looked back into the eyes of her captor. He was her only salvation. As she watched he impudently unzipped his pants and with deliberate slowness pulled out his long white thin pale prick.
Delores closed her eyes. It would be no worse than last night, she tried to tell herself. And there was her family to think of. And she could not ignore her own selfish desires: the love of green fields and the smell of clover, the warm ground under her naked feet, a husband and children yet to come, a long healthy life still to be lived.
But more terrifying was the recognition that she'd die without hope of salvation. There was no priest here, no chance to confess. Last night she had been pure; today she was tarnished. They had raped her-no sin to her-but she had come. Time after time she had allowed the peasants to climax her. And this was dreadful, undeniable sin.
"Frafllein? Senorita?" murmured the Colonel seductively, stepping back and drawing the tent flap open for her welcome return. "We shall see that at least you leave here and can seek your family," he coaxed.
Dolores shut her eyes and took a deep breath. This would be the first time she'd ever deliberately sinned. But she did want to live. Was it worse for her to knowingly commit her flesh to lust or to die without salvation because she had been seduced into it last night? But Hell would last forever and this torment with the Germans only minutes. Silently she resolved to find a priest the moment she was released from the compound.
Defeated without a word she stepped inside. The lovely young brunette was greeted only with contemptuous smiles of triumph. She knew what they wanted, knew what to do. She could not look into their eyes. Staring down at her clumsy fingers she unsteadily began to unbutton her coat. She reached the tight buckled belt and searched to unhook it.
"Stop," broke in the colonel in a patronizing and cordial voice. "We cannot wait for at least a glimpse of the beauty to come." Confidently he stepped up to her and spread the lapels of her trench coat wide, baring her chest.
Schneider jumped to his feet and to the laughing crowd began to pose a toast to further embarrass the young virgin when suddenly the laughing ceased and they all stared engrossed at the lovely girl's breasts. They stood silent until at last Colonel von Schlecht cleared his throat and spoke.
"Pardon our consternation, Senorita," he commented reverently, "but we did not expect you would be quite so beautiful. Especially for one so small and slender."
Appreciatively the four stared at Dolores' boobs as she hung her head in shame. Her gorgeous white creamy mounds rose from the confines of the coat proudly and regally, flawless in their shape and color. They jutted forth as perfect geometric cones a firm and full seven inches until they ended in her delectable golden tips.
"Your nipples," stuttered one man unsure of himself, "I have never seen nipples that color. They're so large. And as reddish gold as a pure gold coin."
"And your breasts," continued Schneider, "are so firm. They stick out so straight from your body."
Dolores breathed heavily through parted lips, head still bowed. What next? she wondered. The pretty girl knew she was lovely, her father had always told her so. But for grown men to carry on like this was to her inexperienced mind ridiculous. "Do you wish me to continue?" she inquired at last with uncharacteristic boldness. She was resigned to what was going to happen. She wanted to get it over with.
"Yes, please," said a young blonde of maybe nineteen, staring at her with openmouthed awe. Of all of them she still had some liking for him. Somehow she sensed a human being buried beneath his stark gray uniform.
Staring down again at her military coat she began to unbutton it. She tried to imagine she was alone with the blonde boy. The idea of stripping herself naked-willingly-in front of him made her feel seductive, alive in her body. She found herself about to enjoy it. But it was sin and she shook off the image.
At last the unbuttoning was done. Mustering her courage she threw the cloak aside and stood naked before them.
Once more there was silence broken only by occasional sighs of admiration. She felt as if her flesh was being worshiped. Their eyes feasted on her short five foot body, with her full flaring hips and waspish thin waist. In spite of her height she was perfectly formed and every inch of her skin was pure unadulterated white. The sun had never seen her body. She looked like a china doll with its virgin colorlessness.
Pointedly the Germans stared at her crotch. Her cunt seemed so demure. They remarked how child-like it was, merely a thin short slit almost invisible, though her bush too was still tiny, sparse and immature. The blackness of her thick curls gave a sensuous contrast to her whiter than snow love mound.
At their request she turned so that they could clearly view her delightful firm round butt. It too was pure white and the crack of her ass receded with Castilian grace between her legs. They admired her long black glossy hair that hung down her back so far it almost concealed the beautiful rump. And in all ways her arms and legs were perfectly shaped.
"Truly beautiful," muttered one and took a long sip from his wine glass.
"Then we should not keep such beauty waiting," said Schneider, the most calloused of the four. "What do you propose for our party, Herr Colonel?"
"It seems a shame in anyway to damage such perfection," spoke the officer solemnly, "but I'm afraid it shall be necessary to teach this young senorita humility in front of the Fuhrer's soldiers. Schneider, take those cane poles from the corner. Bind her and we shall whip her."
Dolores' heart jumped when she heard his cruel words but she obeyed. She had decided not to fight. Schneider placed a heavy pole behind her shoulder blades and bound her arms out-stretched to it so that they stretched helplessly at right angles to her body. She looked as if she were being crucified.
Expertly the tormentor tied two more poles, less rigid than the first to one end of the larger pole. Then he stretched them in front of her, across her chest and tied them both to the other end of the larger pole. The little fifteen year old cried out as he pulled them tight, forcing the supple canes across her breasts so that her lovely mounds jutted painfully out between them. Carefully he narrowed the distance between the two long sticks until the base of her jugs were squeezed tight. The tortured boobs fell forward from the tight vise of poles, bloated and reddened with hot blood. Her golden pale nipples bulged out full, hard and erect from the swollen cones.
Dolores tried to bend forward, to relieve the pain in her chest but found it impossible. She barely kept herself from falling over. With her arms stretched so high and wide it was impossible to keep her balance.
"Oh please," she whimpered in desperation, the ache filling her chest, suffocating her. "Please. Why do you do this to me? The peasants were wrong in hating my father, revenging themselves on me. But you ... you have no reason. Please have mercy."
"We do not need a reason," said the jaded colonel. Contemptuously he lit a cigarette and let the smoke deliberately drift into her face. "We Germans have neither love nor hatred for anyone here-peasant, landlord, Republican or even Fascist. We are training for our Fuhrer. What we do here is for our pleasure. The people we kill are for pleasure. We rape women for pleasure. And what we do to you is for no other reason than our pure capricious pleasure."
She watched in wordless disbelief as the ranking officer picked up a short whip. Ominously he towered over her. Gingerly he tested it in his hand and then lashed out across her small belly. The child cried as she doubled up, stumbled forward and then threw her shoulders back to clumsily regain her balance. A right red streak remained across her tender pure white stomach.
"Please," whined the little girl, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks, "I have always been a good girl. I have never done anyone harm." She knew begging was futile but she did not know what else to do. All her life she had been virtuous and good. Father, mother, priest and nuns had always praised and rewarded her righteousness.
But then she remembered just last night she had sinned. When the peasants had raped her she had come, come and sinned. "Oh God forgive me," she moaned. She was carnal now, a slut, a woman of the world.
The whip struck again about her small waist, then up across her chest, a third just under her tortured breasts, once more across her belly and then again and again until shrieking she staggered and stumbled around the tent. From just above her small black pussy bush up to her imprisoned breasts she was covered with long red welts. Trickles of blood began to burst from some of the hardest hits.
Her frail legs would hardly hold her as she twisted and jerked in response to the lashes, trying to escape them. Ludicrously her shoulders rolled forward or back and from side to side as she worked to keep her balance. Incessantly she babbled out her pleas both to God and the Germans to end her torment and grant her mercy.
The colonel stopped and began to laugh uncontrollably, his white teeth shining brightly. Knees bent and slender legs trembling she stared at him openmouthed.
"But, my Freulein," von Schlecht said finally, still grinning at her. "We have just begun. I have hardly started." Patronizingly he placed a broad hand on her shaking shoulder.
"Is it not enough," she sobbed, "that I would let you rape me? Not even rape but ... willingly let you know me carnally. Must you beat me, hurt me, degrade me? I have agreed to let you debase my body. That is sin enough. Must you also ruin my soul?"
"It shall not be ruined my dear," chuckled the German tauntingly, "just educated as the peasants educated your cunt last night." Looking about his he again raised the whip. The others had found lashes too and all four began to beat her mercilessly.
Screaming in agony Dolores staggered about the room, driven from corner to corner by the angry beating. Her flesh was aflame from the leather strips. Hopelessly she tried to free her hands from the pole so she could defend herself. Yet no matter how freely they struck, the four Germans were careful never to touch her perfect face, her swollen throbbing jugs or her almost invisibly small cunt. These would be for later.
Gasping the child fell on her knees. Bowing her head until it touched the floor she helplessly wailed out a prayer for someone to help her. They stared down at her reddened and bloody body with glee as she shook in fear. Her arms were still spread out grotesquely from her body like eagle's wings, her lovely cones squeezed hideously between the tight bamboo canes.
For awhile they let her rest. Slowly the tiny brunette regained control, ceased her unheeded sobbing and breathed in long torturous breaths. Outside they heard a volley from the firing squad. Then there was another and in a little while a third. For fifteen minutes they let her kneel panting in front of them. Somehow she resolved that she must survive.
"Child," said the colonel at last, bending forward and taking her chin in his hand so that she was forced to look up at him. Her large brown eyes and long black lashes were wet from her tears. "Child, do you want to die?" he asked softly.
"No," she whimpered immediately, spontaneously. "I want to live. I am so young. Please, Senor. Do not kill me."
"If you prefer we will release you and turn you over to the captain of the Civil Guard."
"No," moaned the trembling girl, "he will shoot me."
"Then Senorita you must do as we wish and without protest. You must willingly subject yourself to our little games. You must at least try not to cry out."
"I will, Senor Colonel," she agreed abjectly. Outside there was another volley from the firing squad. A woman in the compound broke into hysterical screams, calling for her murdered husband. "I will do whatever you want if you will let me live," confirmed Dolores.
"Then you must renounce your God and replace Him with the four of us," hissed the German officer triumphantly. "If you wish to live."
"Oh no, I cannot," wailed the miserable child, bowing her face until her forehead pressed the ground. "I cannot." Her long black hair fell over her shoulders to the floor, partially veiling her cheeks. But even in the dim light of the tent her persecutors could see the terror on her face.
"You must renounce aloud your God and take us in His place," repeated the commanding officer. "You must renounce Him before us."
"Oh my Saviour," Dolores began to chant under her breath, unaware the others could hear her, "my only God forgive me what I am about to do. I beg that a priest be nearby that he might intercede. Forgive me what I am about to say. But I am so young and have so much life to live. And my family needs me. And oh Lord God I cannot die without a confession. Forgive me my sins. But mostly God I am afraid and I want to live."
The scared teenager finished, her body tense in expectation. So many times before after prayer she had felt a comforting warmth fill her, letting her know God had heard and loved her. Trembling she waited hoping for that warmth again that would flood throughout her body with vibrant living heat. Prayerfully she waited for this sign of forgiveness. But it did not come. Instead she shivered as an icy gust of wind crept under the tent flap and chilled her.
"Are you ready now, Senorita?" urged the officer softy. "You must do it now. Renounce your God and take us in His stead."
Inch by inch the child forced her face upward to look at them. Lips trembling she looked from one to another, hoping for some sign of salvation. There was none.
"I ... I renounce my God and my Saviour Jesus Christ," she stuttered in total defeat, "and I take the four of you instead as my true Gods." Her words were punctuated by a salvo from the firing squad outside.
"Then rise," responded the colonel, reaching under her arms and helping her stumble to her feet. She stood before them with arms still crucified, her long black hair falling over her shoulders to modestly cover her swollen bruised breasts and the long red welts that laced her body.
Head hung in shame, she watched through tear-blurred eyes as the four soldiers stripped naked. It would be all right, she kept telling herself. She would find a priest as soon as they let her go.
It was Schneider that stood before her this time, his huge prod pointing at her, thick, fat and ugly. Dizzily she focused her eyes on the moist tip, almost hypnotized as she watched it swing lazily back and forth. In his hand he again held a switch.
This time he did not spare her breasts or quim. Deliberately he drove it down across her swollen tits, her thigh and then sharply up between her legs. Dolores screamed in agony, staggering back. The soldier paused until she regained her footing.
"Give thanks for his disciplining you," ordered the colonel, "thank your new God for the favor he is showing you."
"Yes," gasped the child, "I'm sorry. Thank you, Senor Schneider. Thank you my God for beating me."
"And do you wish him to fuck you Freulein," urged the officer, "fuck him like your former God fucked the Virgin Mary?"
"Yes," she sobbed, hating herself. "Do it to me. Do to me what Go'd did to the Virgin."
"Say it!"
"Fuck me," she cried out, "fuck me like God fucked the Blessed Virgin."
Schneider laughed and walked up to her. He reached his hands down to her narrow waist and pulled her firmly to him. She felt his sweaty skin forced against her, pressing her smarting boobs painfully against her chest. Between her legs she felt something moist and hard prodding her.
One hand left her hips and in a moment the strange prod was now massaging slowly up and down the length of her tiny immature gash. Gradually he worked the thin cut open until his mushroom touched pink flesh. Dolores felt it there, intruding in her most private vestibule. But she had asked for it and in her cowardice wanted it more than death.
Under his touch her clit involuntarily began to tingle. Deliberately he was trying to awaken her still virgin desires-and was succeeding. His fingers joined the tip of his cock and she felt him stretch her tight lips even wider. He found the almost invisible clitoris and pinched it rudely.
"Oww. Oh, Oh please," she moaned, "please."
"Please what, Senorita?" whispered Schneider maliciously, "please fuck you? Is that what you meant Freulein?"
"Yes," she murmured in defeat. "Yes, Please fuck me."
Dolores' eyes were filled with his yellow teeth and cruel smile. In her secret garden she felt his intrusion as he pressed the cock meaningfully at the miniscule entrance to her temple. He was drawing it out deliberately. Then suddenly there was a fire in her pussy, her whole crotch was alive with the burning.
"Oh," she grunted, "oh, ohh." She tried to stagger back but the soldier held her firm. The knob of his fat pecker was piercing through the pencil tight hole, pulling at her tender flesh. Then with a gigantic shove he twisted the tip in.
"It hurts," she moaned in protest. "It hurts. Please I'm so tight." He must be a peasant, she thought fleetingly, his tool is so big. They must all be peasants.
Schneider laughed gleefully. Gratified at her discomfort he pushed harder, shoving and twisting until finally his hard mass was buried firmly to his balls inside her. He felt her shaking and trembling under his hands. Only his support held her up.
Dolores was sick to her stomach she was so full of him. Her belly ached from the length of his dork. Her pelvis felt as though it would break in two from the bulk penetrating her tiny crotch.
"How does it feel?" he asked sadistically.
"It hurts," she sighed piteously. "It hurts, Senor. It is too big for me."
Pressing himself tight against her flesh, his large body dominating her completely, he began to rotate his ships insistently, churning his dick mercilessly inside her. The screwing of his huge cock into the child filled her with pain and sickness. She could do nothing about it. With every pathetic complaint he ground even harder.
She seemed inhumanly aware of the fat spear inside her, feeling it shove and press against her womb and walls as clearly as if she could see it. Body covered with sweat, she closed her eyes and tried to ignore it. It wouldn't last forever, she told herself, it was only a physical act. She could stand it.
Then suddenly there was more pain-sharp flaming tearing misery in her side and then her other side. Immediately it was over her ass and down her back. Pulsing rhythmic waves of fire swept over her, shoving her harder against her rapist, driving her twat violently against his prod. It was the other Germans. They had again taken up their whips and were beating her.
"No, no," please," she cried out desperately, "please, Senores, don't beat me. Just fuck me, please just fuck me."
"We are your Gods, Senorita," challenged the colonel, "do you know who you are talking to?"
"Oh yes, yes my, Gods. Please, my Gods, I beg you. Don't beat me any ... oh, oh, oh, owwww," she bellowed as deliberately the four began to flail her harder. They did not miss an inch of her tender flesh as they worked up and down her body.
Begging, cringing, weeping Dolores stood helplessly in the middle of the tent. Still tied to her cross she swayed with each vicious thrust of Schneider, her ass arching backwards as if to escape. And each time it was met with burning leather of the Germans' whips.
Piteously she shook from the four-sided attack. There could be no escape. Madly Colonel von Schlecht whipped at her naked bottom, glowing with pleasure as he saw the smooth flesh grow apple red under his lash. That tiny perfect bottom twisted and jerked in front of him, tossing out of her control.
Furiously Schneider pumped into her, driving with his full length each giant jab. The child moaned under his force, sweat pouring from her smooth body. Her breasts ached from the tight vise of case, her pussy was in torment from its oversized load. Weak, she leaned against him helplessly, unable to support herself as his unsanted prick churned away inside.
Von Schlecht increased his rhythm, whipping her with an almost frantic tattoo. Sensing it Schneider pumped into her ever harder, making her squeal with each malicious hump. At her sides the other two soldiers also began to beat her as hard and unmercifully as they could.
Schneider let go her waist and began still fucking to walk around the tent. Staggering backwards, trying to support herself on his big body, Dolores struggled to keep her balance.
"Please," she gasped, almost unable to speak, "please don't. Just fuck me," she moaned, "just fuck me." The little teenager's head swam. All her energy was devoted to staying on her feet. Her eyes smarted and the whole room looked like a dungeon of Hell illuminated by the red lamp light. Red and black it was. Everything illuminated by the red flame which emanated from her burning body.
Schneider drove his cock ruthlessly forward in a fantastic jab, holding it there painfully against her womb. The child doubled with stomach cramps, her butt jutting out obscenely behind her. Slowly the soldier ground his rigid spear deliberately inside her, feeling her tremble and hearing her miserable groans.
Colonel von Schlecht quickly grabbed and spread her rotating ass cheeks. With a grin he shoved the thick end of the whip deep inside her rectum. The soldiers' ears immediately rang with the violence of her screams.
Outside the tent there was laughter. Several of the cruel Moorish soldiers had gathered when they had first heard the tiny woman's cries. Now they looked at each other and grinned. It was torture creditable even to a Moor. These German gentlemen were not such cowardly pusillanimous fellows after all. As the pleas and screeches of Dolores reached them, the respect of these hard veterans of desert warfare grew immeasurably for the four European soldiers inside.
Deftly and relentlessly the senior officer jabbed and screwed the thick leather pole into the girl's ass-hole. Steadily Schneider humped from the other side holding her helplessly in place. Heedless of her misery they crammed the two poles into her quaking body.
Dolores shrieked pathetically but she was no longer aware of where the pain came from. There was so much of it. She knew only that a huge firebomb had exploded somewhere inside her, that she was filled with the immense flames of Hades. She had forsaken her God and now suffered eternal torment.
But no, she had taken new Gods. Why did they not save her? She pressed herself forward and sensed rather than felt Schneider's own moist flesh. It felt good having a protector so close by her.
"Save me," she whispered. "My God, save me. Protect me from the fire."
"I'll save you with my cock, Dona Dolores," he murmured with satisfaction, experiencing her complete surrender. Her body pushed against him in need.
"Yes, with your cock," she answered dully.
"Can you feel it?"
Dolores paused and concentrated. Vaguely she became aware again of two foreign objects inside her. One was rigid and inhuman, driving unfeelingly into her. The other was warm, alive and moist-needing and enjoying her as it hurt her. It was his prick.
"Yes," she sighed, "yes. I can feel it."
"Concentrate on it," he barked as again he began to move it in and out, slowly and sensuously. The others stopped their beating to watch. Von Schlecht left his whip dangling out of her ass-hole like an aimless tail. The leather swung deliciously from her body as she swayed to Schneider's rhythm.
Her body and soul were united. With delight she welcomed the fat stinking prod into her consciousness, greeted it happily, kissed it in her mind. Her pussy pushed back now to meet his assaults, almost greedily riding the length of the well oiled dick.
"Yes," she grunted, still hardly able to breathe. "Yes, it's working. You're saving me." Distantly she imagined a huge enormous and beautiful prod of pink alabaster humping her, pumping life back into her. It was gorgeous as it sank in repeatedly, its huge blue veins standing out strong and proud like a warrior's. Oh how good it felt. The heat was still there but it was no longer an angry burning. Instead it was warm and moist and comforting.
Dolores envisaged her cunt. In her mind's eye she saw the tiny gash with its thin painfully white petals stretched to tearing around the wonderful pillar passing deep inside. She saw how lovely her black bush looked as it nestled welcomingly about the invading prod, setting off its gigantic redness. She noticed that little button-that she had never known existed until last night. It trembled excitedly as the pecker grazed and slid across it, feeling its own little ache of pleasure.
Endlessly the prick seemed to jab into her. Dolores imagined what she looked like as it entered her cunt and she found herself beautiful-found her cunt gorgeous. She loved her pussy now and loved herself more because of it. This was what it was to be a woman.
"Oh yes," she hissed as she felt the huge knob push against her insides, rearranging her red hot organs. Cunt honey was pouring now from her quim and running down his noble peter. "Oh yes, fuck me. Fuck me, my God," she repeated softly. "Fuck my cunt. I have saved it for my God. Fuck my cunt, fuck it, God."
Schneider looked into the child's sweat covered face. Her lips were parted, nose dilated and her chin hung in helpless weakness. The blood had left her pretty cheeks emphasizing the flawlessness of her skin. Her eyelids were opened wide but her eyes themselves rolled back into the sockets. She stared at him with the whites alone, as if she were some horrible ancient mystic. She was his now, in soul, mind and body wholly and totally his.
"May I enter too, Fraulein," broke in von Schlecht with mock politeness, seeing her abject state.
"Is there room?" she whispered immodestly. "You can fuck me if you want but my twat's so full of him. He's so big in me."
"There is room in your shit hole Dona Dolores."
"Oh no," she murmured dizzily, "is that possible? There? That's not where it goes."
"Don't worry yourself, my little girl," chuckled the older man, "we shall fit it in."
The tiny brunette felt the hard unpleasant whip handle removed from her body and then immediately there was a new pressure. It was a new human living loving prod like the first gradually struggling up her rectum. Again there was a sharp increase in pain but this time she didn't mind. The fire was now one of pleasure rather then anguish. Her Gods had changed misery into joy.
Once inside the two Germans began to thrust more vigorously, beating their dorks into her rapidly. They could feel the other's cock rub against their own as they synchronized their humping, filling the child's body to bursting. She could hardly breathe, but gratefully she met their pricks with her twat as mercilessly they humped her.
"Oh, oh, my God," she yelled as the fury increased. "Oh yes fuck me, fuck me." Dolores' frail frame was flung back and forth between their strong bodies, wholly under their control. She lurched from side to side, her crucified arms sweeping down and almost touching the ground. And all the time she grunted for more. "Fuck me, yes fuck my shit hole. Fuck me my Gods."
The teenager tossed, twisted and turned between them. Their hands grasped her slick sides to steady themselves as they fucked rapidly into the small girl's tiny holes. Their muscles knotted, the veins stood out handsomely as like Greek gods they screwed her madly. Their taut stomachs slapped noisily against her tight small frame.
"Yes fuck me, fuck, fuck me, fuck me," chanted Dolores anxiously in time to their frenzied rut. "Fuck me, my Gods. Fuck me."
Suddenly Schneider buried deep inside her. His body was stiff, his face corded from the strain. Between his legs his balls began to pulse.
"No Schneider, not yet," grunted the colonel, sensing what was about to happen. He wanted them to come together.
"Yes, yes, yes," protested Dolores, also knowing what had happened. "Fuck me, Schneider. Fuck me, God. Come, come, come, come in meee!"
Desperately the younger soldier held himself back, trying to wait. He breathed heavily through his opened mouth. His eyes bulged with the effort. It was torture.
He tried to distract himself, think of other things. His grandmother with the gray hair and fat thighs bringing him gingerbread. His little sister who liked to show off her little twat. His mother when she pulled his pants down to spank him. The apples on the trees and the harvest of the grapes.
Crazily von Schlecht was driving his prod into Dolores' shit hole now, trying to catch up. It wouldn't be long. He could feel his prod growing even greater with excitement.
Dolores loved it. She felt she was spinning about Schneider's huge stationary pole, spinning like the universe about the sun. And she was being driven by von Schlecht's gouging, pounding, screwing, jabbing frantic eternal prick. How she loved them.
"Ae yaaa," cried the colonel at last, letting loose a huge wad of come that ricocheted through the tiny child's bowels.
"Oh God at last," gasped Schneider as his fluid poured into her quim like a flood, splashing against the hot red walls and spraying her cave like a fine shower.
"Oh yes, yes, yes," screamed Dolores in immediate response, her whole body quaking violently as if possessed.
"Yes, yes come in me. Come. Come. Me too. You're bringing me.
"Oh, oh, oh hooo," grunted the colonel as violently his peter tore into her anus, flooding her bowels. He wedged the spurting prick into her bunghole until he felt his dangling hairy balls caress her perfect small round white ass cheeks. His best climax in years.
Schneider groaned and gasped as more and more of his jism literally streamed into her. The damn finally broken he feared it would never stop. Pain shot from the base of his nuts as his muscles cramped. It hurt like sex had never hurt before. He was scared but it was the most beautiful fuck he'd ever known.
"Ah, ah aeeee," screamed Dolores at the top of her voice, full orgasm on her at last. Head tilted back, body rocking from side she wailed out her indescribable joy. Outside even the raucous laughter of the Moors did not cover her cries as they echoed through the camp.
"Fuck meee," she bellowed, "fuck meee. I'm coooming. Coooming. My Gods fuck me. Fuck meee my Gods. Coooming. Come ... oh, oh, oh ... again. Oh screw my twat. My Gods I adore you. Screw me harder. Harder I beg you. Fuck me! Yes, oh my Gods."
The three of them writhed together in the center of the tent rocking in unison. They were like some wild primitive animal of lust. Viciously the soldiers tore and ripped ecstatically at the girl's white flesh as time after countless time she was swept with new waves of orgasm. The others watched in awe at what they saw. It seemed somehow inhuman, unearthly.
Twisting and stumbling the trio held together, the officers never ceasing to ride the virgin's ass. Between them she yelled deliriously, urging them on in word and body. Frantically all of them worked together, reinforcing the other's climax. Come spilled out of her two holes and greased their tangled legs.
The six legged animal twisted and stumbled about the tent, crashing recklessly into cots and supporting poles. Covered with sweat and jism they tossed about the room, crying out their satisfied lust.
It seemed it would never end and did not until at last the two soldiers abruptly collapsed from exhaustion, dragging Dolores down with them. Gasping, with blurred eyes the petite fifteen year old looked about her. She gazed insanely at the two men prone beside her. She raised her eyes to the other two soldiers that were watching.
"I loved it," she murmured to them. "I loved all of it, all of it, everything, every minute of it. I love you all. I love my Gods. I love my new Gods more than I ever loved my old one.
"Please," she panted sill looking at the couple that stood before her, "please. Won't you do it to me, too? Everything. like they did. Please. Won't you fuck me too?"
CHAPTER THREE
At least the Germans had been true to their word. When Dolores learned the next morning that her mother and sisters had fled their home to an unknown retreat her tormentors put her on a bus to Pamplona where she could seek her father. Mistakenly, they thought it would be a safe trip.
Still naked except for the trench coat she was hardly aware of what was happening around her. Absently the fifteen-year-old stared at the passing countryside through a dirt smeared window. But her thoughts were filled with horrible Germans, her submission to them, and most of all her need to see a priest.
Not until she heard a burst of machine gun fire and the unguarded bus jerked to a halt did she realize what was happening. Marauding Republicans had set up a surprise roadblock.
The Fascist passengers were pulled from the bus and lined up against the side. The Republican peasants faced them with armed rifles. Their leader was an exceedingly handsome young man. From the various conversations Dolores learned his name: Andres Eroles. And his good looking assistant was Carlos Suanzes.
The handsome Republican studied his captives for a few moments then finally gave the dreaded order. "Shoot the Fascists."
"No wait," cried Dolores with unexpected boldness. "I am not a Fascist. And I must see a priest."
"If you wish to see a priest you are not a Republican."
"Please," she whimpered, leaving the bus and walking up to him. "I am too young to be political. Back at the prison camp the Fascists raped me." She dared not mention the assault by the peasants.
Andres studied her for a moment with slightly squinted eyes. "But surely you are nobility," he asked.
"Yes, a little," she answered shyly. Behind her there was a sudden racket of rifle and machine gun fire. The girl whirled to see her fellow passengers slumping against the bus or writhing on the ground, huge bloody holes in their bodies. They had killed every on. Frightened the child turned to again face her captor.
"Please," she whispered.
But the young man did not answer. His eyes were glued to the show of creamy white flesh between the lapels of her coat. Without a word he reached forward and jerked them apart. Dolores' large perfect cones burst into view.
"Beautiful," Andres murmured appreciatively. "I could use another pet back at my place in Barcelona. We must return today. You will not like it-a prison camp itself for blue-shirts. We call it the Hotel Inf ierno. But you shall come with us."
"Well," broke in Andres' companion Carlos with a chuckle, "and Father Manuel is still imprisoned there. She may see a priest after all. But personally I say shoot her and be done with it."
"Oh, you Communists are so strict," chided Andres fondling one of Dolores' golden nipples. "You are too serious and ignore the little pleasures of life."
"As you want, Andres," answered Carlos. "You Socialists are never serious enough when the time comes."
At any moment Dolores expected to be raped once again. Yet on their trip to Barcelona the two captors acted like gentlemen. Still the child could not help but tremble when she thought of the hotel with the dread name of Infierno: Hades.
It had originally been called the March Hotel, a pleasant and regal place in the suburbs of Barcelona. But it had been converted to a camp for political captives and renamed Hotel Infierno. It looked awesome to the naive fifteen-year-old, surrounded by barbed wire and defended with guards and machine guns.
Dolores was given a room to share on the top floor. Since it had been made into a cell the furnishings were austere and uncomfortable. The window had been barred.
The frightened child sat on the top bunk for hours waiting for her captor Andres to return. She did not know what was in store for her but to her horror she had learned that every church in Barcelona had been destroyed except one. And her urgent requests to see a priest had been contemptuously denied.
At last the key rattled ominously in the door and once again she saw the handsome face of Andres Eroles. Even in the worst of times he always seemed to have a smile on his face, full of good health and jubilation.
"Don Andres," she began immediately.
"Do not," he interrupted firmly, "call me 'Don'. Nor 'Senor'. Those of us who fight on the Republican side are all Comrades. We are all equal in our struggle for freedom and our risk of death. We look up to no one nor do we look down." Perfectly at ease he settled himself on the sole chair and rested his elbow on the single table. Quietly he lit a cigarette and threw the match in the lone ashtray.
"Senor ... I mean Comrade Andres. I need to see a priest. Can you arrange...? "
"Perhaps. Later. You know we are anti-church. That they have been burned here in Barcelona."
"But even the Republicans...? Surely ... Comrade, I am just a young girl. I am not yet political."
"Perhaps," repeated the young man complacently. "But we destroy the churches that no one else will be corrupted by them. It will be part of your education to do without them. But in the meantime you have a much more important lesson to learn Dolores."
"Which is?"
"Humility. You and your father and all your kind have taught this virtue to all of us who have struggled for a living and faced starvation. But you have not learned it yourselves. You have taught us humility through humiliation. So shall you learn. There is a party tonight among my friends on the fourth floor. It is a place where many of us who pass in and out of Barcelona quarter. I will have a guard escort you down. Your education will begin there."
The guard opened the door for Dolores. She went in and it closed softly behind her. No one seemed to notice her for the moment. In luxurious overstuffed chairs the men sat about talking and smoking. In the center was her captor Andres Eroles and beside him his Communist friend Carlos. Four strangers sat listening intently. It was a large comfortable room and through the huge windows the young girl could see the famous fourteen century old buildings and behind then the beautiful hills and mountains in the distance.
Only two factors kept it from looking like a meeting of aristocratic country gentlemen. One was their workmen's clothing. The more startling was that at the feet of each of the four strange men sat a completely naked young lady.
"Well Comrades," said Andres at last, standing up to greet her, "this is they young girl I mentioned. On her father's palatial estate she is called Senorita Dona Dolores Margarita Arenillas. That shall soon change."
At his beckoning Dolores stepped into the center of the room. Unceremoniously Andres took her trench coat from her and she stood in nervous embarrassment trying to cover her naked breasts and pussy with her hands. As Andres introduced the four strangers, their smiles were sardonic and expectant.
"And the four ladies," continued Andres, "are personal pets of my comrades. They have assumed the responsibility of their pet's education. You will notice that each has assumed a pose or dress appropriate to them."
"My pet has been very successful," volunteered one very fat fellow with a satisfied smile. "Her husband was a high politician-a conservative. Unfortunately he was killed soon after the revolution began. His wife was conveniently caught here in Barcelona."
Dolores looked at the lady. She was the first she had noticed when the girl entered the room for from head to toe she was covered with tattoos.
"Bella," continued the man, "professed an alliance with our cause, with all of us: Republicans, Communists, Anarchists, and all liberals. But!" he smiled broadly with small teeth, "she would screw with none of us."
There was a general round of laughter among the men. The lady's degradation had obviously been a source of comedy for all the Republicans in Barcelona.
"She would not sleep with me because she was too demure, she said." quoted the fat peasant. "She was too timid for one and too bashful for another. With some she wished to be discreet and others were inconvenienced by her period. Even your own master Andres tried. But she was too modest. Yet just look at her now."
At his prodding Bella stood and stretched her arms above her head. She was quite tall and thin with lovely features. Immodestly now she strolled about the room, showing off her nudity.
The tattoo work with its intricate and colorful flower designs was expert. All of her hair had been shaven-head, eyebrows, pussy-to make room for the artist. But in conspicuous places words had been spelled out in large letters like childish scrawlings: screw me, fuck me here, shit hole available, and other lewd words.
"Nowadays," continued her owner as Bella folded herself gracefully again at his feet, "there is not a speck of modesty in the woman. She walks the streets of the city every day, just as you see her. And if she cannot prove she had balled at least ten men when she returns in the evening we beat her harshly."
"Mine too has been a success," spoke up a young boy, not more than nineteen. Proudly he patted his woman on the head. "Can you believe she was once my employer?"
"Meow," whimpered the woman like a cat, turning to look up at Dolores. The young girl started back at this unexpected utterance. "Meow," repeated the young woman. Though flat chested she was attractive. Her short hair was cut in a masculine style but it had not lately been attended to. And from head to foot her golden skin had been painted with black stripes. She was a perfect caricature of a tiger.
"She was the manager of a large factory. Very good for a woman in old fashioned Spain. She dressed in severe suits, acted tyrannically to all employees and associates, and in every way tried to act like a man. So we decided to make her into the most feminine of animals, the cat.
With a loud purring sound the woman got upon her hands and knees and began to steal about the room as if she were a lioness. A painfully tight band of leather about her middle made her severely wasp waisted. Another strap of leather in the form of a cutout halter cruelly forced her tiny boobs to bulge out of the openings.
Her long nails painted black. She wore false eyelashes that were exceptionally long. And from her ass-hole projected a short black whip so that as she crawled it swung behind her like a tail.
Finished circling the room she returned to her master. Without a word she reached up and unbuttoned his pants, withdrawing an enormous and erect pecker. With many meowing and purring sounds she licked obediently up and down its length.
"My God," murmured Dolores under her breath, but loud enough for the others to hear, "how can she bear to touch such a thing with her lips and tongue? It's disgusting. How could she ever kiss a man after that? Or even live with herself?"
Andres only smiled at what the fifteen-year-old said. He hurried on to finish his introductions.
"And mine here was once a courtesan," began a third man with satisfaction. "Just a well paid prostitute. But her cunt was only for the noble and wealthy, the famous and the powerful. She disdained to screw a working man.
"Of course we forced her to. Beat her and raped her. But her spirit remained unbroken. She would spit upon us when we fucked her.
"So for punishment-I was once a poor country doctor-we sew her pussy shut every time she is humped. Like a virgin it must be torn open for each new fucking, but it is much more than the pain of a virgin. She is in agony each time she is screwed."
Dolores could not keep from looking at the pretty woman's twat. It had been shaved clean and she could easily see the lips of her pussy. They were torn, scarred and ragged. And even now they were once again tightly sewn together.
"And we make certain," continued the doctor, "that she experiences many of these painful ballings. Each night we put her in a cell with one of our long-term prisoners. They are usually so horny they will do anything for a piece of tail. And they do not take time to be gentle about it either."
"The last pet," broke in Andres, pointing to another lady, "has not been so successful. She was ... is a nun. She was of course virgin when we brought her but we have repeatedly raped her. Yet steadfastly she refuses to cooperate, to relax and enjoy her fuckings."
Dolores stared at the girl in surprise. She was dismayed that even without her clothes she did not recognize her as a nun. The girl sat mumbling to herself, doubtlessly a prayer. Demurely she kept her naked pussy closely covered with her hands. Between her breasts hung a huge iron crucifix, heavy and powerful.
She was a girl not yet in her twenties, more beautiful than all the rest. Her face was like a movie star's. Her narrow waist set off the huge firm butt. And her breasts were mammoth, as large as any of the men in the room had ever seen. But most of all she was a natural blonde. A treasure in dark-haired Spain.
"In spite of all we have done for her," broke in her master sadly, "her spirit remains unbroken."
"And so should yours Senorita if you have either faith or courage," interrupted the nun unexpectedly. "My soul chooses with whom I make love-and I have given my sex to Jesus Christ."
"Tonight you shall pay for it too Sister," retorted Andres in angry indignation. "And you Dolores! First we shall initiate you in our group this evening. You of the aristocracy have for centuries treated us like dogs. You shall learn to be a dog yourself. Your training begins now. Bark for us!"
Dolores stood staring at him silently. Certainly he could not be serious.
"Then get on all fours and act like one," he growled roughly, grabbing her by her long hair and forcing her to her knees. Rudely he shoved her forward so that she rested on her outstretched hands.
From a table he took a flat metal plate, bent toward the end to form a seventy degree angle. From it hung leather straps. Placing the plate on her back he tied one of the straps tight about her waist like a belt. Taking two that hung from the bent end he secured them about her thighs. With the apparatus in place Dolores could no longer straighten up but was forced to remain on her hands and knees.
"Now then Senorita," he said with satisfaction, "you shall wear this training girdle until you learn to stay on all four paws like the bitch you are."
The teenager opened her mouth as if to speak but there was nothing she could say. Instead she began to whimper pathetically. In her protected childhood she had never realized so many men could be so cruel.
"What are you going to call her?" asked the Communist Carlos with passing amusement. "It is not fit to name a dog Senorita Dona Dolores Margarita."
"Call her Lola," said the young boy, his feline pet now sucking his prick vigorously.
"Yes," agreed the fat man. "Lola is short for Dolores and is suitable for a canine."
"Lola it is," agreed Andres, staring down at the confused and speechless teenager. "But her mane is too long. We must trim it." Handing a pair of scissors to both the tattooed lady and the courtesan he ordered, "Cut her hair."
"No," gasped Dolores in consternation as the two women obediently approached her. "No, not my hair. Please. It is ... it is beautiful. It is my father's pride. Please don't cut it."
"Quit whining Lola," laughed Andres, "such luxury is the sign of nobility. It must go."
"No, no, no," moaned the hapless child as she heard the scissors snipping behind her. She wept and pled as she saw the long glossy black strands fall from her shoulders to the rug. By the time they had finished she was nearly hysterical. Crouched on all fours in the center of the room, her lovely mane strewn about her, only an inch or less of hair left on her head, she sobbed and shook piteously.
The handsome Socialist picked up a whip and began to beat her over the part of her back and legs not hidden by the plate. "You must be quiet Lola," he snarled. "You must learn obedience-humility. Now bark for me. Bark!"
"No, no please," wailed the frightened child helplessly. "I am only fifteen. I have done nothing. I do not deserve punishment."
"Bark," responded Andres, still wielding the whip. "Bark like the dog you are. Bark like a bitch." Kneeling so that he could reach under her body he began to flail her large drooping boobs and open cunt with the stinging lash."
"Oh, oh, oh stop," she moaned at last, "I'll do it." Clearing her throat she prepared herself for the humiliating utterance.
"Stop," broke in the strong willed nun unexpectedly. "If you do what they say you will lose your soul. You will be theirs forever. You will never be the same again. You will never have self-respect again. Don't listen to them. Pain can be endured. The worst they can do is kill you. It is better than losing your soul."
Dolores turned clumsily about so that she could look at her. The little girl's eyes were wide, questioning and curious. She had to respect this woman's lone courage.
"Ignore her," purred the ex-factory manager, taking her head momentarily away from her master's pecker. "Do as they say. You'll lose in the end anyway. Obey them."
"Yes," assented the tattooed lady softly, "it will be better in the long run to go along with them."
"Don't," argued the nun vigorously, "don't do it Dona Dolores. You will be lost. You can."
"And tonight you will see what your resistance gets you," snorted the outraged Andres. "Just wait. But now Lola, my pet, is your turn. Bark for us!" Meaningfully he struck her with the lash across her dangling perfect cones.
Dolores closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was humiliating, dehumanizing, but she had been through much worse. And the pain in her breasts was fierce from the beatings.
From deep in her throat came a clearing, gurgling sound. Then a single soft almost inaudible "woof escaped from between her pretty lips.
"Don't do it," cried the nun urgently.
"Louder," commanded the Socialist, striking his whip hard against her leg.
"Woof, woof," barked Dolores, "woof, woof, woof."
"Much better, grinned Andres with satisfaction. "Much better Lola. You are a bitch already. Have been all your life. It is good to see you act like one. Now walk around the room wagging your tail and panting happily."
Dolores paused a moment and then began to crawl rapidly about on all fours. She wiggled her ass violently as she moved. With a big smile on her face she stuck her tongue out and began to gasp an exaggerated pant.
They all laughed at the ridiculous looking little fifteen-year-old with her beautiful body performing for them.
Forced into her crotch be the brace of steel and leather she waddled on all fours about the room.
"Now go over to our proud nun who has tried to mislead you and squat."
Dolores looked up at him questioningly.
"Go squat over her like a bitch dog and piss on her," ordered Andres smugly. He watched with pleasure as Lola did as she was told.
Backing up to the woman so that her cunt was poised only inches from hers, she paused. Dolores tried to look back at her but because of her brace could not do so.
"Go ahead, Lola, bitch dog," hissed the nun angrily. "It won't degrade me nearly as much as it does you."
"Yes," go ahead supported Andres, "go on, Lola, my new little pet." Still smiling he reached down and grabbed one of her white cones, beginning to twist it slowly. Steadily he increased the pressure.
"Ohh Senor," gasped the little girl in pain as relentlessly he squeezed and turned her precious boob. "I will do it." Obediently the teenager strained to urinate, the muscles in her twat pulled, but she was full of hurt from her breast. Instinctively her muscles tightened and prevented an easy flow. Grunting and groaning, her face red from the effort, Dolores continued to struggle until at last she felt a stream of hot yellow liquid squirt from her body.
Her master let go her tortured jug and with a gratified sigh Dolores freely emptied the contents of her bladder. It shot forth in a sparkling river into the nun's love mound and pussy. Dolores looked down between her arms where she could see the lady's naked legs and closed quim as itwas covered by the thin yellow flood.
"Very good, Lola," approved Andres stepping back from her triumphantly. "Now about sex. Are you ready to engage in sex according to your new station?"
The child said not a word. In patient dread she waited.
"I noticed the disgust you had for our little cat when she sucked her master's cock. Will you suck mine now Lola? Will you suck it?"
"Please don't," she groaned without looking at him, "it's horrible. Please don't make me do that."
"Then will you even fuck me? Do it willingly? Do you want to take my prick up your cunny, Lola? Be honest. Do you?"
"Please, no," she whimpered in a small voice, though she knew she would if forced to, if beaten. "No. I don't want to."
"Of course you don't, my little pet," the Socialist whispered in a surprisingly soothing voice. In an unanticipated gentle manner he knelt beside her, fondly ran his hand through the short fuzz on her head and stroked her back.
"Of course not," he continued, taking his forefinger and beginning to scratch her ear, "after all you're a dog. It would be unnatural for you to want to screw a human. You want another dog, don't you my Lola? Don't you my pet?"
Dolores said nothing. She tried to ignore his words. Surely he did not actually mean she should mate with a dog.
"Don't you, Lola?" continued the handsome young man affectionately, "don't you want another dog like yourself to fuck with?"
"But that's impossible," muttered the girl apprehensively. The naive fifteen-year-old knew nothing of sex but she did know God. She was aware implicitly of His infinite wisdom and sense of order. He had made the enormous universe by His own hand and endowed it with a perfect harmony so that beautifully all things were balanced by their opposite and every entity of creation held its particular proper place.
Men mated with women and bore children, as did dogs, birds and fish. This was good and praiseworthy. In His wisdom God undoubtedly had made things with their own particular proper organs of reproduction so that fish could not mate with birds, birds with dogs or dogs with humans.
She had already seen evidence of this in the oversized painful ugly pricks of peasants, obviously not built for the more refined and genteel vaginas of the nobility.
"It is not possible," repeated Dolores with assurance. "It cannot be done."
"But we have a delightful surprise for you Lola my pet," whispered Andres fondly, stroking her flanks with the tips of his fingers, "and you will see it can be done."
Nodding toward a closed door he motioned the fat man to get up and open it. In a moment the obese senor returned with a male dog, as ugly as it was large. An amalgamation of many breeds it seemed to tower over the crouched Lola as it approached her, its unkempt short gray hair stinking noxiously. The dog eyed her without curiosity then lapped at her face with its long red tongue.
"Take one of your forepaws, Lola," instructed Andres genially, "and stroke between its hind legs. You will see that it is indeed possible for you to mate with him-to carry out your desires for a canine husband."
"Oh, God no," moaned the terror stricken child, shaking her dizzy head, "you cannot mean it. You can't. Surely such a thing is not possible. God would not allow...."
"You are right Lola. God would only allow dogs to fuck dogs," smirked the soldier. "And he shall fuck you. Now do as I said. Stroke his prick and bring it out."
"No," whined the little girl, shaking her head, "no, no, no."
Knowingly Andres stood again and picked up the short whip. Dolores shivered in dread and anticipation. It took only a few expert lashes this time to bend the stubborn girl to his will. Gingerly with shaking fingers she reached between the animal's back legs and stroked the hairy pocket.
They could hear her short gasps of fear as immediately she found herself petting something hot, moist and resilient. She knew what it was without looking. The thought sickened her.
The odor of it was stronger than the canine's breath and added to her nausea. Yet intimidated by two more sharp whips of the cruel leather she dared not stop her fondling. In a moment it stretched out huge and long in her palm. It oc-cured to her that she had been right, that it was not like a human's with its thick middle and slender point. But what impressed her most was that it was enough like a man's to do the work, to penetrate her.
"Please," she whispered softly once more, not daring to look up at her captors, "please don't do it to me."
"Why we'll let you do it to yourself, Lola," laughed Andres callously. Reaching under her he shoved her on her back. With the steel brace on her the girl could not right herself and rolled about helplessly like an upset turtle.
The experienced dog did not wait a second. In growing horror she saw and felt his long thin snout nuzzle her quim, his tongue begin to lick eagerly up the tiny thin gash. In a moment his forepaws were on her flat white belly as he pulled his distended cock into position.
Dolores stared at it wide-eyed. There was no use protesting to the animal that could not understand. Between her arched spread legs she could see the oily prick approach, a ghastly bright red that throbbed and trembled with lust. It was uglier than the peasants' and seemed even longer.
The dog pressed up inside her thighs and she could feel the matted stinking hair. At last it began to arch itself forward in quick choppy jerks. She felt the hard point jab at her love mound and ass as repeatedly his prick missed her tiny opening. Even those nervous punches hurt and frightened her.
"Oh why," she moaned, again looking up at Andres tearfully, "why must you do this? You humiliate me and take no pleasure for yourself. This is worse than rape. Why?"
"Your humiliation is our pleasure," broke in Carlos smugly. "You shall learn as your peasants learned from your father. The aristocracy has looked up on us as dogs, called us that. But all men are equal. So you too much learn to be a dog."
"Oh please," she gasped looking hopefully around at the others, "please don't let ... ohhhh," she squealed frightfully as at last the canine found its mark. "Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh," groaned the child as she felt the unnatural pecker being pounded rapidly through the hole in her tight pussy. It jerked and pulled at the tight skin painfully and it was inhumanly disgusting. The thought of what was happening to her was worse than the act.
"Oh, oh no, God save me. Someone save me," she wept. Gradually the animal worked its hard prick deeper into her dark cave. She tried to squirm away but awkwardly only forced it in deeper. She sensed the doggy lust as the tip pressed against her womb. At last it was firmly locked in and the animal began to tread its hind legs feverishly.
It was too late to stop it now. It could not be prevented. She was fucking a dog. The beautiful proud daughter of her noble father and heiress of everything good in Spain was fucking a mere dog.
Inside her, the thin dog cock was whipping wildy against her tender cave. The furious jerking and tossing of his huge body caused her to twist as if in pleasure under him. It hurt and it was degrading. Over her, the dog strained its neck and head, panting heavily, great gobs of drool falling from its mouth on her virgin white flesh.
"Oh, ho, ho I don't deserve this," cried the child in misery as she felt the prick pounding primitively inside her. "I don't, I don't. I'm a good girl," she wailed. "It hurts. It hurts me. Please, it hurts." Tears steamed over her contorted flushed face.
Savagely the dog screwed her, humping away with inhuman vitality. This was what fucking was really all about the child realized. No love or care of pleasure. Her cunt was just a hot moist place for man or beast to get its rocks off.
That was why her father and the preist had never told her about it, never talked to her of sex. They didn't want her to know how hideous it was. Even her future husband would someday to the same.
"Uh, uhh, ohhhh," she groaned as the canine increased the fury of his attack, forcing her to roll and twist about uncontrollably. Helplessly bound she was scooted about the floor by his strong onslaught. Her now bleeding quim, torn and chafed, sent waves of pain through her back and legs. Even her untouched boobs seemed to burn from it.
Twisting, Dolores strained to look at the nun, hoping for consolation. The pretty young girl said nothing but only smiled at her patiently. The nun knew that the Republicans did much worse things to their captives, knew that Lola's training had only just begun. Her curious eyes moved to the fifteen-year-old's twat where she saw the greasy red shaft plunging relentlessly between the almost invisibly small tight pussy lips.
The teenager closed her eyes and tried to forget it, to pretend it wasn't happening. Somehow it had to be endured. But the incessant pain could not be ignored, nor the strong smell of the dog's rut. She felt her ass being tossed from side to side, up and down and around, grinding itself against the inhuman peter. The thin pole touched every crevice of her grotto, leaving her no virgin spot.
Andres knelt beside her and grabbed her two large jutting cones, feeling their resilience, then squeezing and twisting them cruelly. Dolores cried out at the new pain. Under his fingers the pure white mounds became red and bruised. The nipples bulged out grotesquely and leaning over he bit into them recklessly with his craggy sharp teeth.
"Oh dooon't," moaned the girl hopelessly, "please dooon't. It hurts." Tears flooded from her pretty brown eyes. Pain filled her now from head to toe, sharp vicious throbbing pain that came from her cunt and boobs. It was endless, unendurable. She thought she would faint.
Grasping her jugs like handles Andres began to rock her back and forth in a steady tempo. Dolores grit her teeth in anguish. She knew what he was doing. He was making her body fuck the dog back. He was going to try to make her climax too.
"No," she whimpered pathetically, "no, I mustn't. I mustn't. Don't make me. Please don't make me." But even as she pleaded she knew it was no use. It was like the other times with the men. The itch in her cunt was becoming an insatiable fire of desire. She wanted more of it, more of the itch and the flame and the dog's hard peter. She was going to lose control just as she had with the peasants and the Germans. But this time with an animal.
"No, I won't, I won't come, I won't come," she repeated over and over to herself, trying to gain control of her body with her mind. She held her body rigid. She would not invite the dog's juices. She had to triumph, her willpower had to prevail. "I won't come, I won't come, I mustn't, I mustn't."
Unexpectedly the dog stiffened, his claws digging into her flat belly. He shook and whined as he strained and Dolores could feel his prick growing even greater inside her. The hard knot locked them irretrievably together. It was going to climax.
Dolores held herself stiff, unyielding. She couldn't relax her will a moment. Desperately she struggled with her body, fought her vile base desires. "I won't come, I won't come, I won't come," she mouthed wordlessly.
It was there. The first string of jism had shot down the dog's long prod and deep into her cunt. It felt like a thin hot hand clutching her womb. Simultaneously Andres crushed her breasts even harder, bit deeper into her swollen nipples.
"I won't come. I won't come," gagged the child. She was afraid to breathe, afraid to let her heart beat. With every ounce of will she held the muscles in her body still and tight, frightened even the least relaxation would trigger a spontaneous explosion.
The second load of juice was just as hot, bathing her temple in its inglorious fire. The stuff seemed to be filling her, drowning her cave. And still she dared not breathe. A third squirted viciously into her, long and sustained it filled her cave. She felt it bubbling out her tight quim. Some of it splattered up to touch her hard clit, making it tingle and itch harder.
Her clitoris was trembling now, beginning to get out of hand. She strained against it, tried to ignore it. But the little pink button was reaching out greedily for every hot splash of jism. Suddenly her hips jerked spontaneously, shoving the tiny clit along the coarse throbbing peter.
Dolores gasped, took a deep breath and held tight. Teeth, hands, toes clenched as she waited. She could feel the fourth come already building in the dog's spear, beginning to shoot down its length. She had to overcome it. She was a human, not a dog. She couldn't come.
"Ah ha, ha ah nooo," she screamed suddenly at the top of her voice. Her hips jerked forward, began to pound against the hairy balls. "Nooooo," she wailed, "noooo," as her legs automatically tried to lock behind the monster to hold it in. Her twat was arching up and down, twisting about the great spurting length. In less than a moment the child's whole body erupted into violent spastic orgasm. She had failed. She was lost.
"Oh nooooo, noo ... oh, oh, oh yeeeessss," she shrieked. "Yesss, I love it. I want it. Do want it. Fuck me. Fuck me dog. Dog fuck my cunt. Dog fuck meeeee!"
Only the straps of her brace kept Dolores from throwing her legs and arms so tight about the animal that she would crush him in her embrace. Passionately she weaved and jerked on the floor, the huge mongrel pushing endless floods of jism into her. She loved it, the heat and the odor and the rough painful prod. Insanely she jabbed and thrust to meet his comes.
"Fuck me, oh fuck me, fuck me," she pleaded, afraid it would stop. It was no different whether human or canine, she loved to be fucked. Her cunt ached for it, thrived on it. Never had she known such joy. The pain and love and lust filled her.
Exhausted the animal at last tried to pull to a halt but Dolores wouldn't stop. Greedily she jammed her cunt up and down the length of his tool, screwed at his crotch. She wanted more. Still locked to her by his swollen knob the dog could not escape, his body pulled along by her rhythmic explosions.
The dog whined now himself in pain and fear as the wild she animal beneath him squeezed and yanked his long pecker. He wanted to run but couldn't. Frightened he looked at the humans around him. Gleefully they stared back, watching the girl's willing self-debasement.
At last Dolores let her hips grind slowly to a halt. Andres released her bruised boobs and bleeding nipples. She panted in exhaustion and looked at the men with glazed wide eyes. The dog finally pulled himself loose with a whimper and ran off.
"Do you like it, Lola?" the Socialist smiled at her patronizingly.
"I loved it," she managed to gasp. "I loved it."
"And now do you think of yourself as a dog too?"
"Yes," she whispered, and meant it. Never afterwards did she call herself Dolores, but used the name Lola. She had no Christian soul, no God given will. She was a horny bitch dog in heat with a big red ass that loved to be fucked by anything. And she was completely the property of her master Andres Eroles.
"I told you that you would lose your soul," whispered the nun in mixed disgust and sympathy.
"We have had enough of you now, Sister," retorted Andres shortly. Brutally he grabbed her by the shoulders and jerked her to her feet. Through still-dazed eyes Dolores watched as they strapped the nun down to a table letting her naked twat droop over the edge.
"More rapes," spat the indignant nun, "haven't you learned that God protects my soul from such savagery?"
"A little more than rape this time," responded the country doctor. From his bag he took a razor and began to shave off the girl's big thick beautiful blonde pussy bush. In a moment her twat was as smooth and pink as a baby's.
"And now," smiled Andres, examining the nun's bald quim with satisfaction, "now for that heavy iron cross you always wear. A family heirloom of great sentimental value, you told us."
"I had hoped never to be parted from it," sighed the young religious, "but it is not worth my soul. Take it from me if you must but I will not submit to your sexual abuse."
"Do not worry," chuckled the young man, "we shall see that it will be with you always." From the next room the fat man brought a large brazier filled with coals and wood. In a moment it was blazing brightly. With a pair of tongs Andres held the metal crucifix in the fire.
"What are you going to do?" whispered the nun hesitantly as she watched her iron cross turn to red and then white hot.
Andres said nothing but instead turned to the woman, cross in his hands. Dolores could see that the nun was trembling with fear in spite of herself. Surprisingly the young fifteen year old, normally compassionate and loving, was filled only with curiosity and a feeling that perhaps the obstinate nun deserved the punishment she was about to receive.
Without a word the Socialist pressed the white hot iron firmly between the woman's huge breasts. Violently the nun screamed her body jerked wildly on the table and her legs kicked the air. Distinctly Dolores could smell the odor of the sister's burning flesh.
At last Andres pulled away the iron. The nun lay beneath him sobbing hysterically, the crucifix permanently branded now between her breasts. Again the handsome man placed the cross in the fire until it was white hot.
Dolores forgot her own problems as she watched intently as Andres branded the young woman on her breasts, arms, her belly and on her thighs. The teenager found herself enjoying the torture. It excited her to see the ugly crucifixes burned over the woman's body, to hear her helpless cries and pathetic weeping.
Andres placed the brand in a bucket of cold water. When cooled he placed it meaningfully on the nun's crotch. The cross itself was centered on her lovely pubes where her thick cunt hair had been. And the base of the crucifix pressed directly against the poor woman's clitoris.
"This is where I shall burn you next," he commented unemotionally.
"No, oh no please," begged the shaken sister, pleading for herself for the first time. "Please don't. The pain."
"Will you let us fuck you? Voluntarily ask us to?" smiled the Republican knowingly.
The young sister hesitated only a moment. "It is not worth my soul. God will help me endure. He is my salvation."
"So be it," responded Andres still smiling. Again he placed the iron cross in the fire and waited patiently as it changed color with rising heat.
"Please," the nun continued to beg. "Please don't. The pain is so great. I can hardly stand it. What do you want from me? I have not harmed any of you."
Ignoring her the man again placed the branding iron close to her flesh. She choked as she felt the heat so near to her defenseless snatch. Then there was a sharp sizzling sound and immediately the room was filled with the nun's loud screams. Steadily Andres held it there until the sign of the cross was burned deep into the woman's cunt.
"Oh God. Oh God. Oh God help me," gasped the woman when the white iron was finally removed. She shook visibly in fear and pain. Again Andres placed the iron in the water to cool.
"This time," he said at last, "we will fuck you with your hot crucifix. like this," he demonstrated, placing the base of the cross at the hole of her dark cave. Slowly and methodically he moved the cooled relic in and out of her sweating trembling cunt.
"Nooo," whimpered the young woman helplessly. Tears streamed from her eyes.
"Yes," countered her captor, "just like this. We shall fuck you with the burning cross."
"Please no," she moaned, over and over. "Please don't."
Andres paid no attention to her words as once more he heated the cruel branding iron. With wide anxious eyes she watched as her cross turned to red and then white. Sweat poured from her face as he took it from the fire. Again she could feel the heat approach her naked twat.
"Nooo," she suddenly bellowed. Her mad screams were deafening. "Noo, noo. I'll fuck you. I'll fuck all of you. Don't do it to me."
With a laugh of triumph the Socialist stuck the cross back into the water. They could hear it hiss as it cooled.
"You will fuck us, Sister?" asked Andres calmly, standing meaningfully between her legs. "You will fuck all of us whenever we want? And you will do it willingly, eagerly?"
"Yes," wept the nun hysterically, "yes, I'll fuck you. All the time. Anywhere. You can screw my ass. I'll suck your cocks. Anything you want. Just don't do this to me again. Please promise."
Breathlessly Dolores listened and watched. Never had she heard such abject defeat and desperation in a woman's voice.
They unstrapped her from the table and led her without protest to a couch.
Dolores saw her take them, each man in turn, between her widespread legs. And the fifteen-year-old felt satisfied as she watched for the nun hugged each one to her enthusiastically, begged for them to cram their cocks into her gaping cunt, and fucked them back violently.
CHAPTER FOUR
Still in the steel brace, Dolores had finally been returned to her room. After every man had fucked the nun they were allowed their fun with her. They called her room a kennel and would not let her sleep on her bunk but threw some dirty rags in a corner for her. Dutifully she slept nightly in the filth. After a few weeks they took the brace off but she was not again allowed to walk upright. Her status as a dog continued.
The pretty girl had been delighted to find that the woman who shared her cell was another nun named Maria. Dolores had introduced herself as Lola and doubted now whether she was capable of salvation. But she still desperately wanted to see a priest. She would make confession though God might justly refuse to hear her prayer.
Yet though the pretty young nun and Dolores quickly became friends there was something strangely reticent about the attractive religious. It wasn't until after nearly a month that Dolores learned from Maria that there was indeed a priest in this very building, a fellow prisoner, and that he and other faithful were not only housed but allowed to hold regular services for themselves.
Andres had never told Dolores this but she was not angry. She was too well trained by now to question the word or ways of her master. The girl remained affectionately devoted and obedient to her Socialist owner. But her desire to see the father was too strong for her not to at least try.
As was usually the case after she had finished lapping her meager breakfast from a tin on the floor and drinking from her dirty water bowl, Andres came to take her for a morning walk. As always he beat her thoroughly with a supple switch until red welts appeared and she cringed beneath him. This was to insure her continued obedience. Then attaching a leash to the tight collar about her neck he proudly led his new bitch Lola out onto the streets of Barcelona's suburb.
Merrily Dolores pranced along behind him on all fours, wagging her bare twat and boobs happily for all to see. It had taken a long time to get over her modesty at appearing in public nude and acting like a dog. But the cruel whip had won. She was the perfect pet. She would smile and pant contentedly whenever he would stop to speak to a friend, letting them scratch her ears and feel her body fondly. They were all particularly fond of her lovely seven inch breast cones. If she needed to piss or shit she would patiently wait until she could find a convenient gutter or vacant lot.
No one took exceptional notice of this sight which elsewhere would have drawn startled attention. The people around the Hotel Infierno were well aware of its special occupants. And Andres was always careful to stay in the vicinity so he would not meet possible criticism or trouble from strangers.
"Andres," Dolores broached as they waited on a street corner to cross, "Maria tells me there is a priest on the fifth floor. Will you let me see him?"
"You still wish to make confession after all I've taught you?" frowned the young man without even looking down.
"Well ... yes," she answered hesitantly, realizing she was being ungrateful to her new master. "I don't mean to be disloyal but ... but, yes, I do want to confess." In shame she hung her head.
"Well perhaps," he muttered thoughtfully, pulling on her leash so that she would hurry after him across the street, "but only when I'm sure you will no longer be hurt or fooled by those charlatans. We'll see."
Together they continued their walk, the proud master and his happy obedient dog. Then abruptly Andres came to a stop.
"Now there's a sight," he mused as he stared in the large window of a building. It was a passenger waiting for busses going in and out of Barcelona.
"What is it?" asked the teenager curiously, sitting up on her hind legs and peering inside. There were only two passengers, a gray bent old man dressed in black and confined to a wheelchair, and beside him a pretty young girl of maybe nine or ten. Dolores could not help feel a pang of jealousy when she saw the child's long dark hair, reminding her painfully of her own before it had been shorn.
"That, my dear pet," answered Andres, scratching her head thoughtfully, "is Don Francisco Randolfo Ortega y Pemartin. And the little girl is his granddaughter Nita. She is his pride and joy, and now his only living relative."
"Oh," sighed Dolores appreciatively. All of Spain had heard of Senor Ortega y Pemartin. Some said he was the wealthiest man in the country.
"He is a complete scoundrel, a thoroughgoing Fascist," continued the handsome man quietly, "but he was caught here at the beginning of the revolt. To save his skin he acclaimed the Republicans and denounced his conservative associates. The government let him get away with it because he contributed a great deal of money and equipment to our cause."
"But do they let him come and go now as he pleases?" asked the credulous child staring in at him.
"As long as he keeps his property here in Barcelona they don't feel he'll go far. If he does, they'll have a legal right to confiscate it. But they'd rather have him here for only he knows where all his capital is stashed.
Dolores nodded as she looked at the old aristocrat and his grandchild. Somehow they reminded her of her father and herself.
"Shall we go in and tease him a bit?" unexpectedly asked Andres, changing the tone of his voice radically.
"You just want to bait him?" enquired Dolores curiously.
"More than that. Don't you think his granddaughter is pretty. They say she is virgin. I'd like to figure out a way to fuck her without Don Francisco getting me in trouble with the government."
"Oh you can't, Andres," broke in Dolores with compassion, remembering her own cruel rape and tortures. "Please don't. And so young. She can't be more than nine."
"Are you being disobedient?" broke in Andres sharply, staring at her with arched brows.
"I'm sorry," she said penitently, looking down embarrassed at her paws.
"I have an idea. Let's go inside and you make all over the old man. Paw him, kiss him. Let him feel your cunt and boobs if he wants to. Then when he's so hot he can't stand it, I'll offer a trade. You in exchange for his granddaughter."
"Oh master no," gasped Dolores, looking up at him with wide dark eyes. "Please don't. She is so pure. So innocent."
"And she reminds you of yourself, eh Lola?" snickered the Republican contemptuously. "All right, then. But you need more training when we get back. Go in and make over him anyway. At least that'll give me a chance to talk to her."
"Yes sir," responded Dolores humbly. She didn't want to do it but she would not disagree with her master. Andres opened the door for her and she trotted inside, heading immediately for the wheelchair.
"What in blazes is going on here," growled Don Francisco the moment he saw her. Dolores ignored his words and came up to him, dragging her leash behind her. Putting her paws on his knees she began halfheartedly to lick and kiss his hands. "Get this she animal out of here," gasped the old man in disgust, jerking his arms away, "get this thing out of the sight of my young granddaughter."
"Oh so sorry, Senor," grumbled Andres, rushing over to Dolores and grabbing her behind the collar. He realized that without the girl's eager help his plan was not going to work. Better to make a quick retreat.
"Let her stay, granddaddy," said little Nita quickly. Laughing she ran over to where Dolores crouched. "I haven't seen anything so funny in my life. I want to play with her."
"I'd like to play with you too," responded Dolores with delight. She thought about her carefree days back on her father's estate. "You remeind me of one of my yonger sisters."
"I remind you of one of your sisters?" gasped the nine year old nastily, curling her lips into an ugly frown. "Please mind your place. I am nobility. I am the granddaughter of Don Francisco." With disdain the little girl looked down on Andres' pet.
"But I ... " began Dolores, staring to protest. Then she remembered she was no longer aristocracy but only a dog. And not only that, but she looked and smelled like one.
"I want to play with you, not you with me," giggled the selfish little girl impudently. "See," she concluded, shooting out her slender hand and grabbing Dolores by the ear. Painfully she twisted and pulled it until the older girl screamed and her face was forced to the dirty floor. Nita laughed happily. Though her grandfather frowned he did nothing to stop her-he never interfered with the whims and pleasures of his cherished little granddaughter.
"You're funny," squealed the nine-year-old, deliberately kicking the crouching girl hard in the butt. Then unexpectedly she reached out her small hand and jabbed three stiff fingers deep into Dolores' unprotected cunt. The fifteen-year-old cried out and then winced in pain as the child began to tug on her short hair.
"Oh don't, Nita," she protested, struggling to escape, "you don't understand. You might be in my place someday. Don't be cruel."
"Never," gasped the child nastily, "I'd never allow myself to look like you. To act like this. I am an aristocrat."
With a painful jerk, Dolores finally pulled loose and ran on all fours over to Andres. The young man of action was uncertain what to do. Though he hated him the Republicans needed Don Francisco and the guns his money could buy. He dared not interfere.
"Let's go, Lola," he whispered when the girl reached his legs.
"No," she mumbled back and the young Socialist was surprised to hear real hatred for the first time in the little girl's voice. "Let's follow your original plan. I'll entice Don Francisco. You make the trade. And when you rape Nita, do it hard. Hurt her!"
With that the teenager turned and trotted back. Neatly avoiding the grasp of the younger child she leaped into the old man's lap. When the granddaughter ran over to reclaim her prize, Andres' big hands quietly restrained her.
"Get off me, get off me," protested the frail old man, his thin hands trying to push her from the wheelchair. But Dolores ignored him. She squirmed her plump bottom against his crotch as she covered his wrinkled face with moist warm kisses. Irresistibly her hand stroked over his small bent frame.
"Don't," grunted the old man as he still tried to shove her off. "Don't, you bitch." But as he pushed he became aware of the soft sensuous flesh he was pressing. His knurled rheumatic fingers squeezed against a flat firm belly and lush thighs. Trying to look as if it were accidental he let his hands push against her hard jutting cones. Though filled with rheumatic aches he could feel against his spread palms the steel sharp aroused nipples.
Unexpectedly he was aware of the odor of fresh young sensuous flesh. It filled his nostrils and mouth. He could almost taste her healthy sexuality. Not in years-not in decades now had he been surrounded with such overpowering beauty.
Dolores traced her small pink tongue inside his ear and felt the frail figure tremble in her arms. He was beyond resisting. "Don't," he moaned softly in weak protest, "don't, Senorita. You don't know what this is doing to me."
To his own amazement Don Francisco had felt a forgotten stirring between his legs. Was it possible he could be aroused after so many years? As a young man he had been virile and active but so many years had past. Thirty years ago he had become ugly and old. The girls had no longer sought his company and only desperate prostitutes had been his partners. With a conscious effort he had turned his thoughts from the delights of a moist pussy and concentrated on amassing even more millions to add to his fortune.
But now the memories flooded back. Dolores had aroused them. The delicious pleasure of lingering with the young girl in bed until noon. The dalliance and teasing of the seduction. And most of all the glory-the unforgettable moment of entry, the warmth about his hard pole and the exhilaration of a lovely sweating body pressed against his as together they would begin to screw toward orgasmic oblivion and joy.
It had been so long. Could it be possible once again? Could he even get a hard on, a real one big enough to fuck with? He'd give half his fortune for it. What good were riches to an old and dying man?
Then breathlessly he waited. His pants were being unbuttoned. Holding himself expectantly stiff and breathing heavily he watched. Then something touched his wizened old prod, stroked and tugged at it. It was the girl's fingers. Dolores' hand gently wrapped about the half-hard wrinkled prod, petting and caressing it.
He looked uncomprehendingly into her large dark eyes and she smiled back. He knew it was not large but she had brought him to an erection. He was filled with a desperate insane long forgotten need. He had to have her at any cost.
"Fuck me, Senorita," he panted, trembling under her caress.
"I want to suck it," she murmured back with a broad deliberately obscene grin, opening her mouth and running the tip of her tongue along her lips. "I want to suck your come out of your lovely old aristocratic pecker."
"Yes," he gasped, shaking violently with aged rut, "yes child, suck my cock." It was true, he thought. One last time. It was actually going to happen.
"Lola," broke in Andres now, having waited patiently as he and Nita watched attentively, "you are being rude. It is time to go, Lola. The old man is not interested in you."
"Wait," gasped Don Francisco, "don't take her away. I want her."
"But Senor," grinned the Socialist complacently, "she is my dog-my pet. It would be bad for her training to let her seduce perfect strangers."
"Please," gasped the old tyrant, shaken by this unexpected occurrence, "please. I'll pay you. I have money."
"Granddaddy," gasped little Nita in horror, "you can't mean you'd do such a thing. And not with that." The young aristocrat could not believe her upright and proper ancestor would stoop to such a thing. Especially not before her and with a peasant.
"I am sorry, Don Francisco," broke in Andres, irritated by the girl's interruption. "I cannot allow such a thing."
"I must have her," gasped the old man as if his life depended on it. After so many years to be offered such a choice piece of ass and then cruelly to have it denied him was more than he could stand. His frail body would collapse in unsatisfied rut. His heart would fail him. "I must have her. Just let her suck me. Just once. I'll pay you well."
"But I don't need your money," responded Andres self-confidently, "perhaps a trade."
"Anything you want,'" he acquiesced readily, clutching the naked Dolores close to him now in hope.
"I want your granddaughter," said Andres triumphantly, "I will fuck her." Insistently he let his hands settle more firmly on the unsuspecting child's shoulders.
"Oh God no," Nita cried, unsuccessfully trying to squirm away. "Call the police, granddaddy. That's disgusting. Have him whipped. Have him hung."
"But it is a fair trade," explained the handsome Andres calmly, "a trade in kind. He wants to fuck my pet Lola and so in exchange I will hump you."
The old man stared at them for a moment, an asthmatic wheeze escaping from between his thin parted lips. Then at last he nodded his head. "Yes," he murmured with conviction. "Yes. It is a bargain. You may have Nita."
"Granddaddy!" squealed the little nine year old in alarm but he ignored her. Instead the old patron turned his attention to the naked animal in his arms. Almost reverently he began to run his withered hands over her pure smooth body. Dolores shifted so he could easily stroke the treasured spot between her legs and feel her gorgeous cunt.
Unexpectedly the haughty cruel Nita began to sob, unable to escape Andres' strong grasp. Horrified by her grandfather's unanticipated treachery she felt like a little girl again, realizing how small and defenseless she was. Gone was her aristocratic arrogance.
"Please, Senor," she began to plead with her captor, feeling him holding her firmly in place, "it is not right. He does not know what he has done. I am not even a woman yet. I cannot . ... "
"Don't worry child," broke in the handsome leader, influenced by pity for the child. Then quickly he remembered Dolores' wish that he should make the girl suffer, remembered how cruelly she had treated his little pet herself. And most of all, he remembered how badly all the aristocracy had treated the workers and peasants.
"Don't worry," he repeated, but this time without sympathy. "The pain will not last long." Then angrily he began to force her to her knees, settling down beside her on the floor. Without hesitation he reached to the front of her expensive dress and tore open her bodice. Speechless the child bowed beside him as in prayer, frozen by fear as she felt her pretty clothes torn off her. Roughly he ripped at the fragile cloth until at last she sat nude beside him.
She looked even more helpless and pathetic naked. like Dolores she was short for her age. Huddled under his hands, a bare ball of pink flesh, she was no longer aristocratic looking. Her nudity made her a child like any other.
Patiently he put his hand under her arms and made her stand before him as he still knelt. With obvious lust and contempt he stared at the hidden crevices of her body. He wanted to be as indecent as possible in his manner, to humiliate her. With obvious relish he leered at her cunt.
It was bald with not even a curl of hair. The white flesh formed a narrow sweaty delta between legs still straight as sticks. Her bottom too was boyish and undeveloped. The cunt hole was dark and deep without the beauty yet of fat pretty petals and pink swirls.
Lewdly he ran his hands up her hairless torso, over her thick waist and up to her flat breasts and immature pink nipples. Making certain she was watching he unbuttoned his trousers and pulled out his cock. It was already huge, red and slimy with the fat knob grown to bursting.
"Oh," gasped the child wide-eyed as she stared at it.
"Have you seen one of these before Nita?" chuckled the man venomously. "Have you see a fuck pole before?"
"No Senor," groaned the little nine year old. "My little brother's, but ... no Senor."
"Oh no please," she squealed, looking desperately over at her ancestor. "Granddaddy. Please save me. Don't sell me off to him. Don't trade me."
But the old man was too involved to answer. His quivering mouth was filled with Dolores' pretty pink tongue. In her young hand his long unused prick had grown to a good five inches and was hard enough to fuck with.
The abandoned child stared terrified as she saw Lola jerk, tweek, rub and caress the little white prick that emerged from her grandfather's crotch. She looked back at Andres and found no hope. His eyes were not the dumb subservient eyes of the peasants she was used to. They were bright and alive, and burning with hate-hate for her.
"No," she whimpered as with slow deliberateness Andres stripped out of his clothes, "no, no, no." Then suddenly she turned and tried to run. With a bound the young Socialist grabbed her arm, throwing her on her back. She stared up at him in terror as he jumped on top of her.
With one hand he held her thin shoulders pinned as with the other he tried to spread open her legs. The nine year old fought hard, was slippery and agile, and continually squirmed her twat away from his grasp. Then seeing her opportunity and sensing they were vulnerable she kicked him hard in the balls.
Even the strong Andres winced at this unexpected blow and grabbed spontaneously at his aching genitals. Finding herself momentarily free the child slipped out from under him, jumped to her feet and darted toward the door.
Having heard the first sounds of struggle Dolores had turned to watch. Still stroking the wizened prick she watched with delight the attempted rape. It was her revenge on Nita, not only for being treated as a dog but for all her misery.
If the nobility had not treated the peasants with such impudent cruelty just as Nita had treated her then nothing would have happened. There would have been no civil war, she would not have been raped by the peasants, driven to hell by the Germans or dehumanized by Andres. It was Nita's fault and all the aristocrats like her.
So Dolores enjoyed the attack on the nine-year-old and when the child escaped she moved. Leaping from the wheelchair she intercepted Nita, grabbed her wrist and twisting it more than necessary made her shriek in pain.
Together the two small naked girls struggled back across the room. His face red with fury Andres grabbed Nita angrily. He clutched at her shoulders until she howled in agony. But it was obvious that even a strong man could not both hold the child captive and rape her. He needed help.
"Don Francisco," said Dolores commandingly, "if Andres does not fuck Nita there is no bargain. I shall not suck you."
"No, but what can I do?" groaned the ancient senor. "He can hump her if he wants. I give my permission. Don't stop, Lola," he begged, "please suck me, Senorita. Continue. It has been so long. I am so old and have so few pleasures. Suck my prick Dona Dolores."
The fifteen year old almost laughed at the forlorn aged gentleman in the wheelchair. Rich and powerful beyond calculation, how many poor simple workingmen had been the victims of his greed over the years. Yet now he sat humped and drawn by arthritis, his legs too crippled to walk.
He sat in his chair pathetically begging a girl seventy years younger to suck his withered small prick. He was ridiculous. And Dolores was aware she made him look ridiculous, whimpering like a baby for its favorite toy. The girl loved it, loved humiliating this wrinkled senor who was an aristocrat like herself.
Andres said nothing as he still wrestled with the struggling child. With admiration and pleasure he watched Dolores bait the old man.
"But you can help, Don Francisco," answered Dolores. "You can help hold her while my master screws her. I will help too."
"Oh but you ask too much Lola," protested the weak patron, "to actually aid in the molesting of my own grandchild. It is enough that . ... "
He stopped as seductively Dolores walked over to him, displaying her prominent boobs and fine cunt with calculated prudence. Without a word she bent over toward his small but aroused prick, once again took it in her hand and moved her puckered mouth toward it.
The old man trembled in expectation as he watched her face approaching his throbbing cock. Breathlessly he saw her lovely red lips slip over the end of the engorged knob, felt the moist warmth engulf his being.
"Oh yes," he moaned with unqualified gratification as tenderly her small tongue washed repeatedly over and around the bulbous head. He could see the indentation of her cheeks as she sucked at it.
"Oh yes, yes, yes," he murmured, "oh yes, child it's so good. Soo good. It's been so long. Oh, it's good."
Dolores gave it one long hard suck then let it pop obscenely from her pretty little mouth. Standing up she smiled at him. In frustrated desperation he pled for her to continue.
"I will continue, Don Francisco," she promised, "but only if you help Andres ravish Nita. Do you want me to eat your pecker? Do you want me suck until the come fills my mouth and spills out my lips?"
"Oh please, Lola," he gasped desperately, "I want it more than anything."
"You will help us fuck your granddaughter?"
"Anything," the ancient man replied quickly, anxiously. "Anything you want."
"No, granddaddy, no," wailed the child hearing what he said, knowing she was lost. Roughly Andres shoved her forward toward the wheelchair.
"It won't take long little treasure," he responded weakly, taking her by the wrists as Dolores told him. "It won't be a minute. And it's very important to granddaddy."
"Just so she'll suck your dirty old cock," she wailed accusingly as the three struggled with her. In a moment the old man and Dolores had her shoulders back and pinned against his lap, her head tilted so that she was forced to look down at her naked crotch.
"Just so she'll eat your filthy rotten stinking prick," Nita continued her screams as hopelessly she fought them. Clumsily her spread bent legs supported her torso as triumphantly Andres stepped between them.
Taking her small boyish hips in his strong hands he began to tease his huge swollen dick about her twat. He was in no hurry now. With satisfaction he toyed with her, letting the tension and horror grow.
In terror the little girl gazed between her legs as his fantastic snake grazed over her hairless pubes. It slid slowly up over her love mound, cautiously withdrew to stroke threateningly along her ass crack and then played up over her babyish slit.
Again he let it slide up over her mound until she felt his hairy balls press against her cunt. The long prod seemed enormous compared to her petite nine-year-old quim. It was longer than her box and bowels combined, extending up over her stomach past belly button and waist.
If he stuck the whole thing in, it would tear her apart, rip open her womb. It would ruin her, maybe kill her. The ugly fat knob was much bigger than her hole. Even its entry would be torture. It was obvious to all she'd be permanently damaged.
"Granddaddy," stuttered the little girl, almost too frightened to talk, "don't let him do it. He'll hurt me, destroy me."
"It won't take long, dearest," soothed the old man. "It won't hurt much and it'll be over quickly. Then after it's all over and Lola has finished I'll buy you a new doll."
"But granddaddy," wailed the girl in desperation, "it's my virginity. And he'll damage me." Tears began to flow from her eyes until Andres laughed with delight.
With great care the handsome leader took his hard prick in one hand and positioned the knob squarely against the tiny cunt opening. The huge prick dwarfed the immature pussy. Nita shook visibly as she waited, praying for a miracle. But she could not be saved.
Ruthlessly Andres shoved, driving against her sacred temple. Their ears rang with her screams as with determination he punched and ground the fat ball into her. The slit stretched wide but it could not take the heavy knob. Nita jerked and rolled helplessly as she was shoved about. The old man and Dolores held her firmly in place.
Andres grabbed the insides of her legs and shoved them apart until she was split wide. But still the monstrous mushroom would not go inside. He laughed at his own frustration.
"This is going to hurt you much worse than I thought," he smirked, taking her again by her firm boyish hips. Bending forward and straining he lunged with a loud grunt. Nita screamed louder than ever.
Dolores looked down. From the child's perfectly smooth hairless twat the fat prick projected, scarcely half of the knob buried into her. Yet there was plenty of blood streaming out of her tiny gash and around the formidable knob. The cherry at least was gone and the little senorita writhed in misery in their clutches.
"Oh no, stop, stop," the child wailed as Andres drove the knob deeper into her. At last her cunt bulged with the thick knob fully engulfed. But incessantly he shoved in the shaft.
"Help me, help me," squealed Nita her head rolling from side to side, looking first at Dolores and then her grandfather. "Make him stop. It hurts."
The girl's short body glistened with sweat, shook in pain as with heavy grunts Andres pounded his fat dick further into her cave. There was more blood now. Something more than her cherry had torn.
Inside at last, the Socialist paused to look at his victim. Shrieking in agony, her young body tossed, jerked and shuddered as she tried to escape his fiery brand. Her bowels must have been bunched inside her from the long prod.
"Oh save me Senorita Lola," moaned the hapless infant, "you must know how I feel."
"I do," smiled Dolores with satisfaction. "I know exactly."
Rested, Andres began to pound his prick now rhythmically in and out of the red tight hole. With each hammering thrust Nita squealed in pain, gasped with relief at each withdrawal. Steadily he worked as Dolores admired his technique. He was taking his time, avoiding his own orgasm and trying to bring the girl with him.
Curiously Dolores reached down and worked her finger between his slithering prick and the girl's fleshy gate. It was too tight to stick it in far, but from Nita's sudden jerk she knew she'd found the immature clitoris. Deliberately she began to scratch it with her fingernail as the piteous young woman choked and gasped in misery. Her raw twat burned with living fire.
"Don't, oh stop, stop," she begged, her tear filled eyes looking imploringly at Dolores. "Don't do this to me, don't ... oh, oh, oh," moaned the girl jerkily as Andres increased the rhythmic tattoo of his prick into her quim. Her body was an extension of his own. Cemented to his lusty prod her torso heaved and turned mightily in response to his humping.
The fifteen year old watched the increasing speed of Andres' cock with delight. It would not be long before he came and he'd bring the child with him. There'd be humiliation as well as pain. And Dolores wanted to increase the child's degradation.
"Oh, ohhhh, uhh, uhh, uhh," continued the girl to call out as she was balled. But it was clear now that the pain for all its enormity was being overtaken by that inevitable warmth in her crotch, the natural itch and lust to be fucked. Dolores withdrew her nail from Nita's hole so that the clit could receive again the natural warming friction of Andres' peter.
"You are enjoying it now, aren't you little one?" laughed Dolores cruelly, not wanting to let her ignore the growing pleasure, "You like being fucked, don't you? Your cunt loves a fat sausage pounding in it?"
"Oh no," gasped the girl not yet willing to give up. "I hate it. Make him stop. It's humiliating. And it hurts. Please make him stop."
"You are lying to me," smirked the little brunette, "But I'll help you anyway. If you do what I say I will see it is over with soon."
"Anything, oh anything," moaned the nine year old, her breath short from the hugeness crammed inside her body.
"Then suck your grandfather's cock while Andres screws you," ordered the teenager maliciously.
"Oh noo," wailed the astonished child, "not that."
"He wants it. You'll like it. And soon your fucking will be over with. Suck the old man's prick."
"No, uh, uh," grunted the girl, "no I won't."
"Yes, do it, Nita," unexpectedly broke in the ancestor himself, "do it, my precious." The man had been overcome by the sight of his granddaughter's rape. Proudly the old prick stood up straight from his crotch. His eyes bulged and drool escaped from the corners of his skinny mouth. His gray skin had reddened with excitement.
"Yes, suck me, dearest Nita," he continued, "I want it. I've got to have your lips about it. Suck me. I'll buy you a doll. Two new dolls. I order you now, suck my prick."
"Oh God no, noo, noo, noo," she bellowed in abandoned misery. "Uh, oh, oh, oh," she gasped in pain at Andres' more insistent jabs.
"You'll do it," responded Dolores confidently, reaching down to grab the belt off of Andres' pants. Having been taught by the lash herself the fifteen year old applied it now to the infant with skill and vigor. In seconds the nine year old was wailing and writhing from the new source of misery. Pain enveloped her short body. It was inescapable. She was dizzy with it.
"Suck his cock, suck his cock," repeated Dolores with each lash until she drilled it into Nita's head. "Suck him. Suck him."
Out of the dizzy confusion Nita heard the orders. She could no longer resist. The fiery pain had overcome her, she had begun to like it, to want more of it. Strangely it seemed natural. "Suck him, suck him, suck your grandfather," kept ringing in her ears, filled her soul.
Twisting about the child saw the hard white wrinkled old prod jutting up just inches from her face. She opened her mouth and stretched it forward, pursed her lips and sucked in the tiny head. It was so much smaller than Andres', but she licked at it now eagerly.
Dolores gave a whoop of triumph as the semi-hard prod disappeared into the tiny mouth. She'd won. Nita was only half-conscious of what she was doing. When she remembered later she'd be ashamed, humiliated, degraded. She'd hate herself and her grandfather even more than she detested Andres. Things would never again be the same.
Wherever she'd go and whatever she'd do she'd remember. Whenever she was haughty and regal the picture of her mouth fucking her own grandfather's cock while she was being reamed by a handsome Republican would flash into her mind. She'd lost the purity of her cunt already. Now she was losing her virginity as nobility. She'd never again in her heart qualify for the upper class, never again be fit to rule and dominate others. In her soul she'd always remember.
Gleefully Dolores beat the girl even harder, the hard slapping of leather on soft flesh resounding throughout the room. Nita looked ridiculous, her short stocky trunk suspended between Andres' rampaging prod and her protector's quivering stick.
But she loved it. She was rocking now easily in rhythm to Andres' thrusts, and the loud slurping sounds she made on Don Francisco's tool were in time to the other man's lusts. Nita was fucking Andres back and bringing her grandfather on toward ecstasy. They'd all come together.
It was the old man who came first. So old and so long deprived he had been easily aroused and could not hold it back. Though his prick was still not huge it was hard and full, and he shuddered each time the child's tongue caressed over his spongy knob. "Oh God be praised for sending me such a child," he croaked, running his feeble hands over her small head and shoulders. "Oh God be praised, oh, oh, oh, ohhhhhhh."
Don Francisco's crotch arched forward. White froth suddenly spread around Nita's pursed lips. It drooled out, down his prick and over her chin.
"Uh, oh uhhhh, uhhh, uhhh," she gasped as she tasted it. Her ass suddenly exploded into action. Deliriously she began to pound her twat onto Andres' fat spear. Then all three of them were locked together in an indescribable climax.
"Ae, ae, aeeeee," screamed the young Socialist loudly, his jism erupting violently into the bleeding cunt. He shook all over with the fury of his orgasm. And Don Francisco was calling out his passion as unbelievably he sent load after load into his granddaughter's tasty mouth. But Nita herself was the center of attraction.
Insanely her body jerked, muscles twitching and thrashing as jism flooded her from every direction. "Oh, oh fuck meee, come, come. I'm cooooming," she continued to gurgle, half choking on the old man's spend. But in spite of her screams she hardly let a drop escape, swallowing it greedily. Eagerly she sucked his cock, fucked at Andres' pecker as her frame tossed insanely in ecstatic abandon.
Outside the window, Republicans stopped to gawk and laugh as they watched the squirming trio inside the bus station. But no one thought to interfere. They all recognized proud Don Francisco and his precious arrogant daughter. Instead they just looked on and enjoyed.
At last the grandfather's prick was dried up. Nita released it from her mouth but continued to moan and coo in exhausted pleasure as Andres humped into her. "Dick me, Andres," she gasped as her own climax ended. "Dick me, Andres as hard as you want."
It was Andres who had finished last. Legs weak from the strain he finally drew back his still thick pecker, pulling it from her blood soaked twat with a pop. The handsome
Republican leader looked over at Dolores and smiled faintly but contentedly. He was pleased with his pet.
Nita slipped to the floor and for several moments lay limp. At last she looked up to her grandfather and to Andres. Blood was still flowing out of her tiny cunt hole.
"I've got to have a doctor," she gasped open-mouthed. "I'm still bleeding. It hurts and I'm sick. Something's been torn. I'm ruptured. I'll bleed to death. Please help me. I need a doctor."
Andres only grinned at her contemptuously. There would be no help from him. Nita shuddered when she realized it. Quickly she turned to her guardian.
"Granddaddy," she began but quickly stopped. Old Don Francisco sat there, face gray and panting in short labored breaths. His hands clutched at his heart. There was pain and fear in his eyes. He could help no one.
Smirking Andres grabbed Dolores' leash again. Obediently the child immediately dropped to all fours. "Come my pet, come, Lola," he commanded. Over his shoulder he called, "I shall send a doctor if I happen to run into one."
Outside there was praise and handshakes for Andres from the crowd. There were even a couple of appreciative pats on the butt for Lola. Proudly and happily Dolores pranced down the street after her master.
"Lola, my pet," he said with a smile. "You did very well today. I think perhaps tomorrow I will let you go to the fifth floor. Let you see the priest Manuel Fuentes."
"Oh Andres," gasped the fifteen-year-old in heavenly delight, "oh Andres you're a wonderful master. Thank you." Overcome she threw her arms about one of his legs and licked his dangling hand affectionately.
"Today I think you've proved that at least some of your training has taken hold. I hope you will be able to meet the father without forgetting what we have taught you."
CHAPTER FIVE
Dolores could hardly wait to tell her friend and roommate Sister Maria the good news when she was put back in her cell. Finnally after these many months she would say confession. Her roommate listened to her with sympathetic pleasure but not enthusiasm.
Expectantly the fifteen-year-old waited on hands and knees for approval. Even alone in her room, Dolores did not forget her place as Andres' dog, remaining on her paws and sleeping on the filthy rags. Now she wished she had a real tail to wag to show Maria just how joyous she felt. But to her chagrin the nun did little but smile and murmur a weak approval.
"Why don't you come with me, Maria," she urged suddenly, trying to share her good fortune. "I know you don't go often but you can visit whenever you want, can't you?"
"Oh yes. I have a pass to visit the fifth floor whenever I like," Maria assured the young teenager. But strangely she did not accept Dolores' offer to accompany her.
"But then doesn't Father Manuel want you to come?" queried the girl, confused by the pretty nun's lack of interest.
"They could not very well refuse if they did," said the woman with a surprising trace of bitterness. "I saved their lives. It was I who saved every one of them."
"They?" asked Dolores curiously. "I have only heard of Father Manuel Fuentes. How many are there? And how did you save them?"
"As to how I rescued their skinny necks, perhaps they'll tell you tomorrow. There were eleven others of us in the town where we worked-eleven besides myself in the service of the Church. Father Manuel, two young men studying for the priesthood, and eight nuns. If it had not been for me the would have died like the rest when the churches were burned."
"Then they must by very fond of you. Why won't you come with me?"
Mysteriously the nun remained silent, her head bowed. A bitter smile had crossed her lips.
"Please do come," urged Dolores again. "I'm frightened now. What is it you're not telling me? Please come with me."
Maria sighed deeply after another moments reflection. "All right, my friend Lola," she said with resignation, reaching down to pat the girl on her burr head. "I'll go with you."
It was Carlos Suanzes who escorted the two girls down on the elevator. Dolores had cleaned herself as best she could for the occasion, putting on a new bright collar Andres had recently bought her. Maria as always was quiet in her full dark habit.
"You may stand for today, Lola," said Carlos to the squatting teenager, "if you want. Andres said it would be all right."
Dolores was surprised at his words. It had been so long since she had thought of herself as fully human that it did not occur to her it would be unseemly to appear in front of the priest on all fours. How very thoughtful of her master. She felt very affectionate toward Andres. With a groan she stood and assumed the now unnatural position.
Carlos did not come with them. Instead Maria led the way. The room was huge and dark, the windows draped. All the partitions had been knocked out so that the entire floor was bare. As far as Dolores could tell there were neither chairs not tables nor furnishings of any sort.
But near one corner there was a huge hole in the wall. Fifteen feet across its edges were still ragged with broken concrete and twisted pipe. A beautiful view of Barcelona could be seen through the opening but from its edge the distant street below seemed perilously close. From it came the only light. There was no electricity. And behind the heavy drapes the windows had been painted black.
"The hole you see," came a thin voice from behind Dolores, causing her to jump with fright, "came at a time when the Fascists barricaded themselves on this floor and futilely tried to defend themselves from the Republicans. Not only did high explosives blow out that wall but the entire floor was gutted by fire. It was too expensive to put back in order so the victors just swept the remnants of furniture and partitions out the hole and left it this way."
Her senses recovered Dolores peered into the gloom to make out the speaker. Though he was only a yard away she had to strain to see his face. She judged that he was very young and thin. One of the students that had been with Father Manuel, she guessed.
"I suppose," continued the young man, "that is the reason they have left us alone here, not murdered us to make room for more important prisoners. It would take too much time, be too expensive to make it a safe jail."
"I have to come to see Father Manuel," said Dolores anxiously, in her eagerness forgetting to thank the boy for his explanation. "I have come to make confession."
"You have come to the right place," smiled the youth. "In fact the only place. Manuel Fuentes is perhaps the only priest left alive in the whole city. Follow me."
As the young cleric led the way toward a distant corner Dolores tried to peer into the blackness to make out what was ahead. It was useless and the vast darkness frightened her. She was comforted to hear Maria's footsteps close behind.
"You must be, Lola," came a deep voice out of the gloom. "Andres Eroles told us you were coming. I am Manuel Fuentes."
Dolores still could see nothing. The shadowed voice seemed to roll at her from all sides, deep, melodious and hypnotic.
"Where are you, Father?" she gasped, straining her head forward in an attempt to find him.
"Your eyes will adjust soon, child," boomed forth the steady bass. "Do not worry. It is never light here but soon you will be able to make out one from the other. And we here enjoy the gloom. We have come to shun the light."
"Can I make confession?" asked the perplexed girl, still afraid she'd lose the opportunity. It had been so long.
"If you like," came the distant response without passion or concern. "You may confess to me. And also we have prepared a special service for you-having learned of your desire to join us."
"Thank you, Father," whispered the teenager.
"And you too, Sister Maria, we welcome you too." These last words seemed somehow ominous and the word 'too' echoed slowly through the hall. Suddenly there was a glare of light, blinding in the intense darkness. Some one had lit a candle. They set it on the floor and Dolores found it gave little illumination after all.
But now at least she could see and was surprised to find she was surrounded by shadowy hosts. In their hoods and cassocks they looked like ghosts in a graveyard. She was frightened and reached back to find Maria's comforting warm hand.
One of them emerged from the mass and stood before her. It was Father Manuel and she was surprised to see that he was quite young, not old and gray as she had hoped and pictured. But in spite of his youth he looked unhealthy, fat and flushed, with deep set dark eyes. He did not look like a man of God.
"What is it you wish to confess, child?" he asked softly.
In confusion Dolores glanced around her. Surely he did not mean to hear her confession like this, where he and all of them could see her and hear. She looked back over her shoulder at Maria who only nodded.
"It is not a desirable place or circumstance," began Fuentes, seeing her consternation. "But we have no place for privacy here and a word uttered in one part of this vast cavern can be heard in any other. We have only the darkness to conceal ourselves from one another, to hide the secrets of our conscience. You may as well speak your confession here Lola, for all of these are religious and would listen to what you said no matter where we sat."
Dolores sighed deeply. She longed for the privacy of a little booth as she had known as a child. She wished to share her thoughts only with God and for Him only to forgive her. But these were difficult times and so bravely she began.
"I have sinned father. It began when I was raped . ... " In a sweet soft virginal voice Dolores told him all her troubles, transgressions and misery. About her the priest, clerics and nuns heeded her unburdening, some of them smiling under cover of the shadows at her childish guilts. Though she had a lot to tell it seemed to the girl she was finished as soon as she had begun. Devotedly she said a prayer and asked for forgiveness.
The ritual over Father Manuel smiled at her complacently. "I'm sure God had heard you, child," he said simply in his bass voice. "But have you also listened to Andres Eroles' advice?"
"Why? What?" uttered the surprised child. She could not imagine why the hole man was referring to the atheist.
"The lesson of humility, I mean," instructed the priest. "Outside these walls people are killing and dying, suffering mutilation, living in sin and without hope of salvation. And you are concerned only with a thin piece of skin between the lips of your cunt."
Dolores gasped and stepped back, staring at the priest in wide-eyed astonishment. Had the righteous father really used the word 'cunt'? Could a religious say such a thing? For a moment she doubted he was really ordained.
"Don't be so shocked and naive in these hard times, Lola," he continued sternly.
"My name is not Lola. It is Dolores."
"It has been Lola ever since you entered the Hotel Infierno," snickered the obese holy man. "And you will have to learn a lesson of humility. Pride is a sin too, Lola. While men struggle and die outside you are selfishly worried about a tiny part of your body-your cunt. You are concerned about insignificant things that have happened to your insignificant body-and you yourself are an insignificant person. God will punish you for your pride Lola. He will banish you to Hell."
"Nooo," shrieked the girl, clamping her hands over her ears so that she could not hear. What was he doing? Accusing her because she had been pure, had felt guilty by her loss of virginity and the degradation of her soul? This was not a man of God. Everything was upside down.
"You're not a priest," cried the unfortunate, "you can't be."
"But I am," he smiled. "Ask your friend, Sister Maria."
"He was," confirmed the attractive young nun, "but not much of one before his capture. And even less of one now."
"Quiet," snarled the fat priest, stepping forward and striking the woman sharply with his hand, knocking her to the floor.
"How can you," squealed Dolores in amazement, "after she saved your lives? All of you."
"Did she tell you how she saved us, Lola?" smirked the priest. "Did she tell you how she spread her legs for the local Captain of the Civil Guard to save her skin, and then later screwed the leaders of the Republican soldiers-Communists, Socialists, Anarchists, atheists, all of them. And they did not harm our little religious community as long as she continued to please them with her pussy.
"It can't be true," squealed Dolores in alarm. "I know her. She is good and beautiful and kind. Shi is a nun. Tell them it is a lie Sister Maria."
"So it is a lie," said the woman still sprawled on the floor. Her voice was soft yet distinct and firm. She was not cowed by the violence of the priest of his position. "It is a lie but it is also true that I have done all these things."
"Maria?" gasped the fifteen-year-old in amazed doubt.
"Yes I did all those things and more," she continued, rising to her feet. "In order to save them. In our town I did those things as they slaughtered the other priests and nuns, flailed them and burned them alive in their own churches.
"And I do it still today, whenever they want me to go downstairs in the officers' quarters. I screw whomever they want me to. I have done it in every hole of my body-repeatedly. I've fucked with soldiers and cripples, dogs and ponies, and even fat pigs."
"In order to save them?" squeaked the girl in a little confused girlish voice.
"From the first I made a bargain with them. I'd do anything they asked as long as my friends were left alone and unharmed." The young lady turned to look directly in Dolores' eyes. In her smiling face was eternally deep resignation and sorrow. The single candle flickered as in the dim red light she looked like an image of the Blessed Virgin herself.
"You have no idea, beloved Lola," she continued, "just how much delight these men against God take in humiliating a nun. Secretly even our own flock dreams about debasing and raping a Sister. How much more so the avowed athiests. God gave me a beautiful body. Always I wear my full habit when they call on me and I desecrate it by my lewd gestures, obscene words and the lascivious display of my breasts and crotch. For this they pay me by letting my companions live."
"You are not pure?" nodded Dolores in painful dismay. Maria was her last link with the ideal beauty of her childhood and the Church. Unquestioningly she had assumed the nun's blessedness. This was the greatest disappointment of all. Nothing could have shook her more.
"You are not virgin?" mumbled the child again. "You have deliberately degraded our religion? Are you not ashamed? Do you not fear eternal punishment?"
"Knowingly I gave my body to the atheists and abandoned my soul to evil. Loving God and denying Him. When Father Manuel and my sister nuns cowered in our church, more afraid of man than God yet unwilling to help themselves, I saved them. And I did it willingly with my virgin cunt."
"You're despicable," spat Dolores at her, overwhelmed by her disappointment in her friend and idol. "It would have been better had you all died. You should have all been martyred. Even if you've saved their souls you've lost yours and flaunted yourself before God."
The wide-eyed child stepped back from her former friend. Unconsciously she pressed against the reassuring warmth of Father Manuel who willingly placed his fat hands about her firm naked body.
"You are an abomination," hissed Dolores at Maria. "No wonder you did not wish to come here with me. You betrayed God and now blame it on your friends."
"It is no surprise that she does not visit us often, is it, Lola?" confirmed the priest, his hands wandering appreciatively over the downy hair on the girl's thighs and tummy.
"You have a right, Lola, to despise me as I do myself," continued the nun undismayed. "But do not trust them either. Downstairs, the officers still think that these pious people lead lives of quiet devotion. That they spend their time in prayer and worship.
"But I have seen them. It is no accident they shun the light, hide even from one another in the gloom. The horrors and orgies they perform together are worse even than the soldiers'. I sold my soul to the devil to save these hypocrites who now willingly desecrate their offices solely for their sensual gratification."
"I don't believe you," retorted the fifteen-year-old spitefully. "You try to excuse yourself by blaming them."
"It is well you don't believe her, Lola," snickered the obese priest smugly, "she would drag you down with her. These are desperate times and we will be your friends. We will help you-if you trust and have faith."
"Oh I do, I do trust you," groaned the girl suddenly bursting into tears. She turned and pressed herself against the flabby chest of the young Father, felt him arms tighten about her with comforting warmth. She forgot her nakedness in his loving embrace as gently his broad hands caressed over her body.
"Then join us. We have had to modify our rituals but you may worship with us all the same."
Together the twelve of them knelt about the sole small candle. Maria stood quietly aside, watching them. In the flickering light the hooded figures looked ancient, even timeless. Dolores' heart pounded. Never before had she experienced such a deep sense of mystery.
The father's face no longer seemed fat but rather abundant and full of life. Nor did the faces of the nuns continue haggard, drawn, worn and old. They did not become pretty but rather translucent as if their flesh only hid a being deep inside. Even the two young clerics looked primordially wise.
All was quietly solemn and fearfully reverent. Dolores glanced down at her nakedness and suddenly felt ashamed.
"Father," she whispered, the empty walls magnifying the soft utterance, "perhaps I should have something to wear. Just a blanket . ... "
"Shhhhh," cautioned the leader, "it does not matter. It is we who should feel shamed for clothing our bodies, from hiding our flesh instead of rejoicing in it."
Taking a long large bowled pipe he turned the chimney toward the candle flame. In a moment a small glow appeared and he took the mouthpiece to his lips. Reverently he puffed in long deep breaths. The room was filled with an acrid odor.
Ritualistically he handed the pipe to the nun on the left. In a stately manner she accepted, puffed upon it and passed it to her neighbor. The air was thick with the pungent fumes and Dolores choked as she tried to keep from coughing. Her stomach was nauseated.
As the pipe traversed the circle the priest lit a second. Reverently the two tools were passed around. Dolores took the first hesitantly when it was handed to her.
"What is it Father?" she asked uncertainly.
"Smoke!" It was a command but very soft. And when he spoke his voice had a hollow resonance that seemed to come not from his lips but somewhere deep inside his bulky frame.
The fifteen year old did as she was told, quickly learning not to cough as it filled and burned her lungs. Again and again she smoked as the pipes circled the group, constantly refilled and relit by the attentive priest. The acrid haze that filled her lungs and the room seemed to unite her to the circle. All of them were pervaded and immersed by the lingering coils of smoke.
Dolores was no longer afraid. It was good. She had been right to follow the father. The girl was conscious now of her own heartbeat and was curious to find how relaxed, cool and steady it was. There was no music in the room but somehow something filled her ears. It must have been drifting in from the distant city. It was a lewd and seductive melody that became religious in its harmony as it entered the holy premises.
"It is time for our ceremony," spoke the priest at last. Together they rose. "You, Lola, shall be the very altar for our worship."
"An altar?" she asked, her voice sluggish and slow but without fear. "How?"
"Come," he answered in his stately bass and led her to where many ropes hung from the ceiling and walls. Acting in unison the eleven raised her from the ground and tied each ankle and wrist to a distant cord, stretching her so that she lay almost flat, suspended in air three feet above the ground.
"No don't," cried Maria unexpectedly, throwing herself in the midst of the twelve. "Don't do this to her!" Anxiously she began to pull at one of the ropes around Dolores' ankle, trying to untie her.
The teenager saw all this but remained passive and calm. "How silly you are," she murmured to her friend. "This is good. Try it. They will not harm me."
"Stop her," broke in Father Manuel and two clerics restrained the struggling nun. Dolores was surprised to hear anger in his voice. "She is interrupting our ceremony. Hang her from the ceiling."
Men and nuns working together they wrestled Maria to the floor, bound her ankles together by one of the ceiling ropes and then hauled on the other end until it pulled her upward. At last she hung suspended by her feet, swaying from the ceiling. They pulled her up until she was swinging two yards above the floor.
Comically her black gown fell down to her arm pits and cascaded over her head and shoulders. One of the nuns took a knife and cut away Maria's underclothes until she was naked.
Dolores giggled at the incongruous sight of her friend's naked white body dangling like a plucked chicken and ending in her drooping head and arms hidden by the falls of the black dress. The child judged and admired the young woman's lovely shapely legs.
And she was impressed by the abundance of cunt hair. The thick brown curls seemed to be everywhere-all over her twat, between her legs and through her ass crack. How different from Dolores' own thin black bush.
Though the nun's mouth was muffled by the thick black robe Dolores could hear her screaming. Oddly she did not beg for herself, but for Dolores. The drugged girl thought that amusing and giggled again.
"And now, Lola," began the priest smiling but reverent, "Let us commence. We have no altar so we shall use your naked body-if you agree."
"Oh yes, holy Father," the fifteen-year-old assented without hesitation. She felt honoured.
"Then we must have more light." The nuns and clerics busied themselves getting new candles. As they did so they continued to smoke the noxious pipes, offering them frequently to Dolores who gratefully accepted. There was strange beauty and new knowledge contained in that rare tobacco.
One of the nuns let a fresh candle drip onto one of the child's high jutting breasts, covering it with molten wax until she could fix it firmly on the liquid base. Then another was placed on the other breast and then in a line down her chest and stomach until they stopped just at the top of her cunt slit.
Dolores was soon alive with the many burning votives, their red light shining on the reverend faces about her. The child had felt the molten liquid as it touched and covered the many parts of her flesh, felt it now as the wax continued to drip onto her. Dispassionately she had gauged its searing heat and knew she would be burned but somehow she did not mind. The pain seemed so distant and she felt to honoured. Under their tutelage she was learning a new lesson.
Her nose filled with the sweet odor of her roasting skin. Yet she was not afraid and that took the sting out of the fire. She could not keep her body from jerking away from the torches as it tried to avoid damage, but the girl's soul was at peace. Under the influence of the drugged pipe Dolores felt she was having a mystical experience.
Fire and pain were no different than anything else that affected the body. It was only because of being taught to avoid it that she had been hurt by pain. Certainly it could transform and even destroy her body but it was her soul that was important.
It was the purpose behind the pain that determined whether it was to be shunned or welcomed. And these were ritual fires. At the hands of the priest she was undergoing a new baptism in flames. She did not feel hurt or fear but instead the intense searing heat of God's love. God had chosen to forgive her sins after all.
Dolores looked at the eleven faces around her. In the flickering light of her body they seemed to go through different appearances of immortality. They stood huge and stiff first like ancient church statues to be worshipped. Underneath their hoods and hats their chalky faces lived and moved only by the flickering glow of the candles. The hoods and robes of all centuries have emphasized the soul and not the body they covered.
They became like immobile beautiful noble chess pieces, moved through life by the hand of a wisdom greater than their own. Their eyes and mouths were huge gaping caverns. Only the thin transient flesh that clothed their skeletons could be seen. Bodies were nothing but passing dust, a fragile shell for God's eternal spirit.
One of the nuns began a singsong chant, not one that Dolores recognized. They began to shuffle about her in some pious dance. Gently Dolores swayed from the four ropes in the breezeless room. She was proud to participate in this holy ritual.
A cleric opened wine and on Dolores' body a nun laid out twelve goblets. Stretching up her head the girl allowed herself to be served some of the newly poured intoxicant. Combined with the pipe smoke it made her dizzy. Dreamily the people about her seemed ethereal and insubstantial.
Vigorously the ten disciples of the priest began to dance, drinking liberally and smoking the narcotic with abandon. They chanted and stamped their feet without restraint as hand in hand they circled the suspended child. Father Manuel stood beside her, calmly stroking her smooth body.
One of the nuns turned to a cleric and lifted her black dress. She was naked underneath. In her sixties, with blue veined legs and skinny except for her fat belly, she continued to dance in front of him. Her smile was toothless in the dim light, her wrinkled face ugly. With deliberate lasciviousness she ground and jerked her bared pussy obscenely at the holy student.
Dolores gasped at this and stared wide-eyed. Till now all had seemed deeply religious and shrouded in mystery. Even her own nudity seemed holy and revered. But this wanton display of the woman's genitals surprised her.
Yet the young man for whom the nun danced did not shrink away. Instead his feet matched her rhythm of the dance. Audaciously he jerked up his own cassock, displayed his own naked cock. In breathless fascination the fifteen year old watched as the huge long fat stiff pole swung and rolled back and forth, the hairy balls bouncing and dangling far below his crotch. The man was skinny and his huge pecker and nuts seemed to be all there was to him.
"Father," gasped Dolores at last, averting her eyes and looking up into the wise face of the holy man, "do you see them? Can you...? "
"Be quiet my child," he beamed down at her knowingly. "Tonight you shall learn many things, many secrets. Sex is the base of all religious feelings, of all holy rites."
"But not Christianity! Not...."
"Shhh. Watch and listen, Lola. Watch and learn. A lesson will come that even many priests never understand. Tonight you are an initiate. Through these rites many secrets will be unveiled."
Dolores stared at him in hypnotic fascination. His deep beautiful voice lulled her mind and quieted her fears. She felt as she were in a transcendent waking dream.
"Learn tonight our initiate," he continued melodically. "You shall enter the sacred temple tonight. Our Lord's sacred temple. The symbol of that temple on earth is a woman's cunt, its portals her vaginal lips. Sex is the basis of all religion. Look and you shall learn.
Dolores glanced about her at the ten excited dancing figures. She saw that they had all bared their sex to each other and she was no longer afraid. It all seemed so basic and natural.
One of the clerics jumped upon a nun, an ugly one, and still dancing he fucked wildly. Two women locked themselves together as they followed the music around the room. Their hands entered, pinched and pulled the other's quim, jerking at their clits and distorting their petals. They danced in ecstatic pain as violently each ravaged the other's red twat.
Chanting together they circled the altar which was Dolores' living body. From partner to partner they danced without distinction of sex. Men clutched men and women women. The clerics' cocks would spurt streams of jism and then they would cram the still hard prods into any eager waiting nun. Fucking, singing, drinking, dancing they spun with increasing frenzy about the altar.
Then it stopped. Everything. As if on cue the music ceased, the dancing figures halted. Disengaging hands, pricks and cunts they walked together to Dolores' body.
"Are you ready, initiate Lola," intoned the priest in a hollow base that promised eternity. "Are you ready to learn the sacred secrets."
"Yes," she whispered, mesmerized by the drunken narcotic rhythm of the evening. "I am ready."
Trustingly she looked up into his dark eyes, barely visible in the flickering candles on her breasts. His eyes were paternal and kind, then became passionate and loving, then cold, deep and eternal. Then suddenly they were cruel and insane. They burned with an unearthly outrageous passion, deep from below the universe. They glimmered now not from the light of the tapers but from inside, ghostly and inhuman.
"You are the devil," she gasped, her heartbeat suspended in alarm.
"Noooo," he whispered deeply as a howling wind. "You shall learn. Your Christian God and your Christian Devil are creatures of mankind's desires. I am both man epitomized and man primordial. You shall learn."
The room was quiet as the disciples watched in awe. With the ceremonial grace of an ancient priest Father Manuel raised his habit to display his naked genitals. Quietly he turned so that the girl could view him better.
Dolores sighed deeply as she looked at his cock and balls. They were huge beyond belief. Her soft eyes traveled over them with reverent admiration and without fear. His pecker was fully erect, jutting out straight from his crotch. The knob was the size of an orange, the shaft over a foot long and as thick as a giant cucumber. The wrinkled hairy sacks hung a good eight inches with rock-hard nuts already discernible. It was bigger than any man or beast the child had ever dreamed of.
Astonishingly Dolores was not surprised. Instead she only studied the massive penis admiringly. Father Manuel had claimed to be more basic than mankind itself. If the nobility such as Dolores and Don Francisco had small cunts and pricks, and the peasants were equipped with much larger ones, then it followed the priest's peter would be gigantic. And it was.
"Are you afraid of it, Lola, my child?" he asked.
"No," she responded innocently.
"It is your initiation that I shall fuck you with it."
"I know. I welcome it," answered the girl calmly, still swaying gently from the four ropes. She realized she was just the right height from the floor for him to easily penetrate her.
The candles on her body started to burn low and flicker. One of the nuns began to sing in a high voice, a slow chant without melody. Carefully, majestically she sang until another joined in harmony. Gradually a third and fourth voice entered until at last the ten of them were singing perfectly together as the priest moved round to stand between the girl's thighs.
Dolores spread her legs wide to accommodate him. It would be hard for him to fit it in. She listened to the music. It was a lethargic ancient hymn that seemed to be ever moving toward an unobtainable conclusion. Voice followed voice in developing its intricate counterpoint and yet it was still a simple chant.
It seemed like the primitive hymns of American Indians, the old basic songs of the Church and the rude dances of the African Negro. Its barbaric elements were common to all those savages close to nature, complex in its simplicity and beautiful in its expressive ugliness. She felt the fat priest's hands laid firmly on her thighs and expectantly she waited as the music crescendoed in her ears.
Dolores breathed heavily. The crowd in pleasure watched the steady rise and fall of her lovely flat stomach and gorgeous perfect cones. She trembled with excitement as she felt the fat knob nudge tentatively against her sweet cunt.
"You have as small a pussy as I've ever seen," he whispered hoarsely, looking down at her extremely narrow slit and his huge prod resting on top of it.
"Stretch it for me, Father," she urged, "stretch it for me and make me hurt with your cock so I'll know you're fucking me."
"I shall, child," he answered dreamily, his hands firmly on her hips and his prick squarely on her cunt. With a steady force he pushed until he saw the gash begin to part and the coral moist pinkness show through.
"Oh, ohh, ohhhh . ... " moaned Dolores from the very first. It was going to hurt like fury. Gently she swayed back and forth from the ropes, unsupported in the darkness, sensing the slow penetration. Then a lightning bolt jetted through her body, white fire danced on her tight skin. His huge fat knob was in, splitting her open. His shaft began mercilessly to drill in deeper.
"Oh Father, oh, oh Christ!" she shrieked with the sudden pain. Her cunt seemed ripped open. There was blood. But bravely the child fought to keep her legs wide spread, to not resist his entry.
"I am your altar," she murmured repeatedly, crazed with pain. "I am your altar. Fuck my temple, Father. Fuck me."
Diligently the obese religious burrowed the mammoth spear into her opened cave. Excited by her squeals of pain and the tortured jerking of her limbs he crowded the prod deeper into her wet but tiny grotto. His hand gripped her hips securely as he tried to pull the rubbery flesh over his quivering hard penis.
Dolores shrieked and squealed in pain, her head tossing violently from side to side in mid-air. The child's gaping mouth pulled the muscles tight on her agonized face and joined with the taut cords in her twisted neck.
But she did not protest. This was her initiation. The father would save her soul. She already knew pain led to orgasm. The peasants first had taught her that. And her confessor through her orgasm would teach her the secrets, the mysteries. His was a blessed and holy prick.
"Aeeee God . ... " the fifteen-year-old screamed, "aeeee my God it hurts." The fire in her twat seemed unbearable. Yet still she did not protest. As best she could she arched her cunt to welcome the onslaught. Her cheeks were red. From her face her bloodshot eyes bulged grotesquely.
And with her swimming vision she watched the ten around her. Now they danced as they sang. Hand in hand they chanted as they moved about her, gesturing obscenely, deliberately lewd and lascivious.
She felt Father Manuel's massive dick screw even deeper, knew its terrific pressure against her womb. Again the girl bellowed in pain and yet she loved it. The hurt made her alive. Every molecule in her body was vibrant. She was special, superior, a goddess in her own right.
Dolores twisted and screwed her ass in mid-air, wanting to feel every inch of the gigantic intrusion. Deeper the fat shaft sank into her slim furrow and she blessed the priest in her agony. Diligently, insanely, she balled her twat about the wondrous prick.
She knew it was a black mass, but she cherished it. It was her initiation. She would learn. They had chosen her and already she felt like a goddess, a sacred priestess. Frantically she fucked the devine cock with her holy cunt.
At last it was in to the very hilt. She felt the heavy hairy balls slapping now noisily against her ass cheeks. Dolores squealed in delighted torment. Floating in air her body stiffened, shuddered as a low rumble began to grow from her quim, them exploded into wild, shrieking, violent flailing orgasm.
This was the first truth. The first mystery. It was pain that brought orgasm. It was the searing hot unbearable exploding agony that jerked her into climax. It was the basis of all sex, all pleasure and joy. She worshipped her own pussy and the huge rod inside it. Vigorously she pumped her cunt up and down the slimy shaft.
"Ae, ae God, fuck me, fuck meee," she shouted in ecstasy. "Fuck my cunt." Furiously her legs and arms kicked out of control. No longer did she need the ropes to support her. She dangled from his huge cock alone.
Around her she saw the singing, dancing brothers and sisters. Her bulging eyes focused on their jiggling, dangling naked lewd cocks and quims. Old, young, beautiful, ugly, healthy or diseased they were all gorgeous, a physical hymn of joy to their Creator.
Never ceasing to screw back at the precious dick inside her she stared at the many cunts and pricks. Slimy and oily from fucking they dripped with come. And she felt beautiful, good, a queen on Mount Olympus. She was superhuman.
That was the second truth: pain mixed joy made you god-like, transcendent, nonhuman. She was immortal now, superior to mere men. It was their sex that did it. And especially his, Father Manuel's holy, blessed consecrated prick.
One of the clerics picked a wine glass and dipped his peter into the goblet. It came out glistening and dripping red. Quickly he offered the juicy snake to Dolores and immediately she darted out her head and grasped it with her mouth. Jealously she sucked and licked at the hard spear, tasting the wine and the stench of semen.
A nun stood poised before her. It was a divine wafer she held in her hand. The body of Christ. Deliberately she shoved the morsel deep inside her junk filled cunt.
Dolores did not hesitate. In seconds her tiny pink tongue was sunk between the sister's fat pussy lips. Eagerly she sucked and probed for the tiny wafer until at last she found it. In a passing thought she remembered once it would have sickened her, this sucking and eating at another girl's quim. But this was beyond sex. It was the holy sacrament.
"T have it," she cried at last to the waiting audience, "I have eaten of the body from her cunt and drunk the blood of Christ. I have taken communion. I have sucked His cock and eaten the cunt of the very Blessed Virgin."
The room exploded into hectic noise. The hymn was sung loudly by the revelers dancing around her cock to cunt, pussy to pussy. Inside her Dolores felt the quickened rhythm as Father Manuel balled her. It was fast, too fast to keep up with. His speed was superhuman. Desperately she jerked, tossed and screwed her twat at him.
Then suddenly he stopped. The hot dry burning in her snatch grew greater, unendurable. She thought she'd faint. Then suddenly it turned liquid. The hot fire spread through her like a boiling wave. She could smell the stink as it belched from her cunt and rolled over her slimy body.
"Aeeee, ah haaa," screamed the child in delirium. "I am saved. I am saved." The huge prod and balls kept pumping pints of jism into her as Dolores squealed out her ecstasy.
"I'm coming. I am consecrated. I am con ... oh, oh, ... secrated. I'm saaaaved." The teenager yelled out her happiness, unrestrained and pure. "Fuck me. Fuck my holy cunt."
Around her the crowd whirled and cried merrily. Then suddenly they crowded about her, panting, drooling, snorting, pushing their flesh against her naked body. A cleric shoved his cock between her open lips. She loved it with her tongue. Hands were pulling, squeezing, pinching nipples and breasts, tummy and cunt hair and engorged pussy lips.
They were all one together. Manuel was still coming inside her. Everyone was coming. Reckless orgasm was everywhere. Reaching out with her hands she tried to unite herself to them. She grasped at two open dripping cunts. She dug her fingers into the heaving caves, marveling at how big, hot and sweaty they were.
like a huge centipede they struggled about Dolores' body as she swung from the ceiling. Jism was everywhere, spewing from cocks and cunts alike. It filled her mouth, drained over her chin. Junk flooded out her cunt and ran over her thighs, down her ass crack, into her shit hole. Come was all over her. It glistened on her ivory belly, matted her black hair, soaked her heaving breasts.
This was her baptism. Those who quit coming started pissing on her. She welcomed it, loved it. Urine ran in rivers over her white virgin skin. They were together, all of them united as again and again they climaxed.
This was the third truth. The most important and basic to all men. They were all united, all brothers. No longer was there a "thee" and "me." I fucking all distinctions blurred and all men were made as one. All men were the same, born of a single brutal lustful animal. And it was their pricks and cunts that fused them back together.
And it would end in death. Fucking would eventuate in the demise of the earthly body, the return of the soul to dark warm moist nothingness. This was the highest of the ancient mysteries. In orgasm men were physically united just as their souls were eternally united before and after life.
Dolores rocked back and forth in the darkness, the molten wax from the flickering candles covering her white skin. Gobs of jism and piss flooded over her body, into her mouth and cunt. Everyone was in ecstasy and she was their goddess.
Slowly the floods of orgasm subsided, the tides of climax ceased. Dolores rocked back and forth gently in mid-air, her love filled eyes and contented smile focused on Father Manuel. He had done it: she was a priestess in the oldest religion of man. Never before had she felt such fulfillment and wisdom.
"A blood sacrifice," cried one of the clerics. "Let us end it with a sacrifice."
"But not her," cried one of the sisters, placing her hands protectingly on Dolores' body, "not our initiate."
"No, not her," seconded another. The small girl had already become a favorite of the religionists.
Father Manuel glanced around him for inspiration, then remembered the helpless nun Maria. "Then her," he commanded, his fat finger pointing to the girl where she hung upside down from the ceiling. "Sacrifice her."
There were excited cries of agreement as the clerics and nuns rushed to her, untied her and drug her to the floor. In moments she stood between Dolores' wide spread legs, her black habit still shoved up to her shoulders.
Dolores gazed at her pretty friend. How queerly beautiful she seemed in her huge white nun's cap and heavy black robe, and with her lovely body exposed naked to their lustful eyes. They shoved the panting, struggling nun onto Dolores' body.
"Don't let them do this to me, Lola," gasped Maria as their eyes met. "Don't let them. They love you now. They'll listen to you. Please stop them."
"Don't worry, Maria," Dolores comforted her friend quickly. "It's really wonderful. It's beautiful. Everything will be all right."
"No," urged Maria in panic, "they'll kill me, Dolores. Don't let them." In terror she lay, naked belly to naked belly, pleading with her friend.
About her the others had gathered, bunches of supple olive branches in their hands. Unexpectedly they set them afire, the shadowy room lighted eerily by the flames. Then together they beat Maria, the burning whips stretching over legs, back and bottom.
Maria screamed and squealed in pain and agony as her flesh was scarred by the strange lashes. Desperately she hugged her arms about Dolores' nude body to keep from rolling off.
"Please," begged the sister to her friend, "please, please. I can't stand the pain. You can stop them. They're going to kill me."
"It's all right. It's all right. Death is the final truth, Maria," argued Dolores urgently, trying to make her understand. "It's ecstasy. It's holy union with others. It's salvation. Death is the natural end. It's only right."
"No Dolores, no," shouted Maria desperately. "Ah, ah, aeeee owww," she shrieked in fresh pain.
Father Manuel stood between Maria's legs, his cock again gigantic and hard. In one swift stroke he had brutally shoved the organ into her unprepared quim. He felt her body jerk under him in agony, saw her white flesh convulse hysterically-
The sister screamed and bellowed her misery, her body squirming and twisting as the burning whips ruined her body, as the priest pounded his unrelenting prick into her torn cunt. The woman's body was alive with fire and agony.
"No don't. Please Dolores," she cried, "you don't understand. It's not Christian. Stop them. These are devils. Understand!"
"I do Maria, I do. It's wonderful. You can't know until you've been there. It's better than anything else. You'll learn. It's all right."
"No please. You don't understand. You don't know. Don't do this to me, Dolores. Don't let them."
About them some of the men and women were coming again. Dolores smiled happily at their continuing orgasms. She only wished her friend would understand, would not resist.
Dolores felt Maria's body begin to be shoved and pushed heavily. Father Manuel was grunting, his face red with exertion. All but Maria seemed to be coming at once in communal ecstasy.
"Sacrifice, sacrifice," cried one of the nuns, still quivering from climax.
"Yes, sacrifice," exclaimed another.
In mass they grabbed the frightened trembling sister and hauled her off Dolores' body. Spontaneously they carried Maria toward the gaping hole in the wall. Someone released Dolores and she hurried after them excitedly.
"No, please," cried Maria in panic, "don't kill me Father," she begged, turning to the priest, "please at least let me make confession. Please hear me, Father. I have sinned, Father, I have sinned."
Ignoring her the mob lifted her above their heads. Five stories below them people in the street looked up in surprise to see the holy group with their sacrifice lifted high into the air.
"I have sinned," shrieked the hapless nun, "please. Let me confess. Let me confess."
In unison the clerics and nuns shoved the girl out into the blinding sunlight. Dolores shielded her eyes to watch her friend fall.
Arms and legs outstretched like a human cross she spiraled through the air. Her habit billowed about her shoulders, the black dress still giving queer beauty to the snowy whiteness of her naked flesh.
"Father, forgive me. Forgive me, Father. I have sinned. I have sinned," continued to shriek Sister Maria until she struck the hard concrete below.
Dolores awoke the next morning feeling better than she had in months. Though the haze of wine, narcotics and orgasm was gone she was aware that something important had happened. It was no longer clear to her what being a priestess among that small clam meant but she was proud of if.
The increasng guilt that had plagued her since her rape by the peasants had gone. No longer did she have the urgent need of the Church and a priest. Not that she had lost her humility. Dolores did not question her role as Andres' pet bitch. But she had discovered a new self-confidence and self-esteem.
Thoughtfully she gazed out her small barred window at the cloud flecked sky. Without realizing what she was doing her delicate hands stroked over her body, squeezed the firm flesh of her breasts, caressed her flat tummy, and teased the thin puckered cunt lips.
The door opened and it was Andres Eroles. Immediately she went down on all fours and crawled to him, her pretty round bottom twitching playfully.
"I'm afraid your priest and his friends went too far yesterday," he said with a cynical smile.
"Why? What do you mean?"
"I'll show you," he answered, taking her by the shoulder and pulling her to her feet. They went to the window and he unlocked the set of bars with his key.
"Whatever they did to you I don't know. I hope you were happy to finally see a priest. But they killed their own reason for living."
"You mean Maria?" asked the girl timidly. Even now she felt no horror in her friend's murder.
"Yes. In her role as dishonored nun she was very entertaining to our soldiers and visiting dignitaries. It was all the more exciting because she obviously hated what she was doing, deliberately sinning in the face of her God. But we had a bargain with her that we would not harm Father Manuel and his friends as long as she performed at our orgies. And the fools killed her. Look outside."
Dolores poked her head through the small open window. Below her she could see the gaping hole on the fifth floor. From it down the side of the building hung Manuel Fuentes, the clerics and nuns. They were upside down, suspended by ropes tied to their feet and totally naked. They squirmed and twisted in discomfort. Obviously they had been there for hours.
"Will you let them die that way?" asked the teenager curiously, but strangely without regret.
"Yes."
"Water," Dolores thought she heard Father Manuel groan. "Won't someone give me water."
CHAPTER SIX
Dolores lay in the corner screaming, crying, beating her fists on the hard floor. The tiny cell that was her kennel was filled with her tearful moans. Helplessly Carlos Suanzes stood and watched. For one of the few times in his life, the hardened Communist didn't know what to do.
"They captured him. Those fucking Fascists took Andres," she bawled, tears flooding down her cheeks. "How could you let it happen, Carlos? How could you let them capture my master?"
"It's a chance we all take, Lola," he whispered uncertainly.
For the first time in years the young revolutionary felt tenderness and compassion in his heart. Not just love for a cause but a person. Quietly he knelt beside her and fondly took the naked child in his arms. Spontaneously he caressed one of her large dangling boobs and was pleased to feel how firm and warm it was.
"Lola, get hold of yourself," he urged sympathetically. "Andres was sent behind the lines as a spy and was captured. It happens. There was nothing we could do. Our people there are trying to get him out, to rescue him."
"Will they, Carlos? Will they?"
"Well . ... "sighed the young man heavily. "Lola, you must be brave. I doubt they'll succeed."
"Then let me go," the child moaned, looking into his face. Suddenly the tears had stopped and her deep brown eyes were all earnestness. "Let me go behind the lines and try to save him."
"But,. . . " hemmed the Communist. He was startled by her proposal. The little girl had matured in the last year with them. Now sixteen she'd seen and experienced a great deal. Yet slowly he recalled that as fond as everyone was of her, Andre's beautiful little bitch, she was still a prisoner.
"Please, Carlos," Dolores continued to beg until the toughened revolutionary gave his consent to let her go. The teenager was overjoyed and they made the arrangements for her to leave that evening. She would go by the bus to the lines, be taken by a guide to Burgos where they thought Andres was being held. She was given the name of their underground contact and she would work with him. Not once did it occur to her she'd be near Pamplona and that her father might still be there.
The trip was difficult and dangerous, but Dolores never thought of it. Her mind was only on finding Andres. In Burgos she was taken to the home of Fernando Fernandez, their chief agent there, where she rested at last.
Senor Fernandez was a man trusted by the Republicans, who had often in the past displayed his bravery and dedication. But it had been over a year since the Civil War had begun. The north had been secured by the Fascists and they were gaining everywhere. Many staunch Republicans in the occupied regions had seen the handwriting on the wall and done what they could to make their own position secure. Fernandez was one of them.
Not more than an hour after her guide had left there was a knock on Senor Fernandez' door. Four Fascist soldiers entered and Dolores again found herself a captive.
"You betrayed me, Fernando," she screamed bitterly at her false host as she was being dragged away. "You betrayed me. You said you would help me find Andres."
"And so I have, Lola," smiled the treacherous man confidently. "He is being held at the castle of the Grand Inquisitor-the chief interrogationist for the Fascists. You are being taken there also."
The little girl was too upset by her capture to notice the rough and often lewd handling she received from the soldiers. And more than that she was distressed by the thought that now she would not be able to rescue Andres. She had failed. She hardly noticed the huge old castle into which she was taken. Though long abandoned the large fort had been made serviceable for temporary use.
The guards had to drag her down the long wide stone corridor where they shoved her through a tall doorway and closed the heavy oak door behind her. Except for the light of an open fire the room was dark. She could barely make out the figure of a man seated behind a large old-fashioned table.
"Are you the so-called Grand Inquisitor?" asked Dolores curtly. Angered by her betrayal and failure she found herself abnormally bold. "You have no right to bring me here. It is you who have started the revolution. You who have betrayed the Republic and Spain."
"Yes, I am the Inquisitor," responded a deep voice softly.
Dolores opened her mouth to lash out with more verbal abuse when suddenly she stopped. That voice-she knew it. Futilely she strained her eyes to peer through the darkness.
"Daddy?" she whispered at last in a timid child's voice.
"Yes, Dolores. It has been a long time."
"Oh, daddy," she cried almost hysterically, "oh, daddy, what they've done to me." Tears in her eyes she ran toward the dark figure behind the table and threw herself into his lap. Burying her face in his shoulder as she had often done as a child she wept without restraint.
"So they call you, Lola now?" her father said after awhile. "And you have changed." Meaningfully he stroked her hair and touched the coarse brown shirt and trousers in which she was dressed.
"I'm so glad I've found you," she moaned, her face still pressed against his chest. In tearful desperation she related what had happened to her since they had last met, told of Andres and his friends, explained that he was not her master and that she loved him. Sobbing she related her mission now in detail.
"Oh daddy, I'm so glad you're here. You can help me find Andres."
"I know already where Andres is my child. He is in my custody. He had valuable information Franco wishes him to divulge."
"Wonderful," wept the girl happily. "You can help me daddy. Help me get him out of here."
Soner Arenillas laughed and then remained silent. Dolores was startled at his lack of response.
"You will help me, daddy, won't you? I am your daughter."
"You disgust me," the big man suddenly said, almost roaring into her ear. "Get off of me. You are no daughter of mine." With that he pushed the girl with both hands, shoving her onto the floor. Ominously he stood above her.
"My daughter," he continued imperiously, "was a virgin. You are a filthy slut. Where is the hymen I trusted you with? My child stood for God, King and Country. You are a rebela Republican or even worse. You have renounced God for the Devil.
"Where is your purity? You have given it up for the love of a peasant, a common factory worker. I renounce you. Do not call me father."
"But, daddy," she wept, "that's unfair. I was raped and . ... "
"And liked it so much you let yourself be fucked by any rabble that came along. Well I shall give you your wish. You shall see Senor Eroles in the torture chamber. I have a special gift for you and your lover."
Ruthlessly the man grabbed the girl by her shoulder and hauled her out of the room. Callously he ignored her tears and pleas. Together they descended a long chain of dark stone stairs.
"Daddy, daddy," she begged, "please. I love you too. Daddy, please don't...."
The man stopped and struck her cruelly across the face. Dolores fell against the stone wall and stared up at him helplessly.
"Do not call me, daddy," he hissed down at her. "I do not wish anyone to know we are related. I deny that you are my daughter. They know you here as Lola and that's how they will continue to know you. You are no Arenillas. If you reveal your identity I shall kill you."
Dolores tried to hold her tears to herself as he pulled her down a long dark hallway. The stones were damp and slick. She struggled to keep her balance as his hand dug into her arm like a steel vise.
Don Adolfo shoved her through a doorway and left her standing in the middle of a huge room. High vaulted and rank, the girl recognized it at once as an old dungeon. A few small windows near the ceiling let in a little fresh air. The light was supplied as in olden days by torches. It was a place of horror and death.
Around her in the dim illumination she made out all the old instruments of persuasion. Some she had never heard of and most she had never seen. On them were the twisted mutilated bodies of men and women, young and old alike. A scream came from the corner and she gasped. Even in pain his voice was identifiable.
"Andres," she called, "Andres!" Quickly she turned and ran to him. He was stretched out naked upon an old rack. The teenager forgot her own woes as her eyes filled with tears of compassion for him.
Mercilessly a squat man in black was turning the wheel, gradually drawing the two ends of the rack apart. And to each end Andres' arms and legs were securely bound. Gradually, with painful slowness he was being torn apart.
"Talk," said the executioner at the wheel, "talk or I shall continue."
"No," gasped the young Socialist bravely, but his voice was weak and brittle.
"Stop the wheel," broke in Dolores' father brusquely. "We have another means perhaps of making him talk. His pet from Barcelona. His mistress."
Dolores went over to stand beside her master. He looked up at her with feverish eyes. "Lola," he gasped in recognition but without comprehension. "Lola. I'm glad to see you. Have you come to save me?"
"Yes. I mean, if I can," she murmured, bending down to stroke the sweat from his brow. "Oh Andres. I love you. But I've been captured too."
"I love you too, Lola," he mumbled almost inaudibly. "My favorite pet."
"You'll have a chance to prove your love," snickered Don Adolfo menacingly. "Let the prisoner rest and give him water," he instructed the torturer. "And you, Lola, come again with me."
In a small dark chamber off the dungeon the Grand Inquisitor made her stand before him. "Strip!" he ordered.
"Daddy!" she gasped. Nothing could have startled her more. "In front of you? You want me to undress in front of you?"
The big man erupted with vicious laughter. Then his face broke into a snarl as he repeated his command, "strip! You've spread your cunt wide for field hands, factory laborers, Nazis, priests, dogs and by your admission climaxed. Why be bashful in front of me?"
Head bowed the child did as she was told. Her father had changed so-or had he always been like this? Perhaps the peasants were right. Maybe the aristocracy did need to be taught a lesson.
At last she stood naked before him, modestly hiding her pussy with her hands. She felt his big fingers touch her breasts warmly then pull her arms apart so he could gaze on her bare cunt. Dolores had thought by now she was beyond embarrassment but once again she found herself blushing in shame.
Without a word the Inquisitor shoved her back upon a table. From a drawer he took a hollow metal tube, five inches long, with two clamps on one end. Without ceremony he shoved the steel shaft painfully into Dolores' cunt. She grimaced with discomfort.
This my dear Dolores-or I should say Lola-is a new device of torture," he explained, loosely fastening the clamps, one each, to the lips of her pussy. "It is of my own design. It will be appropriate for you and your lover."
With a pair of pliers he crimped one clamp so that it bit deep into the girl's tender petal. She screamed and squirmed in pain for a second, and then again as her father fixed the other clamp into her flesh.
"Now it is secure my little bitch," he said hoarsely, looking down at his weeping daughter. "The tube appears hollow but you will find that as Senor Eroles' prick moves up and down inside it that it will tighten. The insides will grow smaller. Gradually it will squeeze, crush and eventually castrate his filthy dick. And you shall have the pleasure of doing it to him.
"No father," she whimpered helplessly, "please, daddy. Don't make me. I love him."
"Then make love to him. Just as you have before and with other men besides. All you have to do is fuck him. Come!" Without compassion he grabbed her by the arm and drug her back into the torture chamber.
Andres still lay on the rack but his arms had been untied. He looked better for his few minutes rest. Without a word Don Adolfo shoved his naked daughter onto the Socialist's body. Spontaneously he hugged her to him.
"Don't fuck me, Andres. Don't put your cock in me," she managed to whisper before her father interrupted.
"How can he resist such a beautiful piece of ass like you, Senorita?" laughed the inquisitor cruelly. "Resist if you can, Andres Eroles." Taking the youth's limp but still handsome cock in his hand the man began to tease the knob up and down the length of Dolores' crack.
"What's he doing?" whispered Andres in rising anxiety.
"He's trying to get you hard so you'll screw me. He's put something in my pussy to torture you. Don't yield."
Their captor only laughed at her warning. Patiently he massaged the flaccid white snake into his daughter's moist warm pinkness. Valiantly the little girl tried to keep from moving her twat to help arouse him and Andres too tried to resist. But it was useless. He could feel the heat of her quim on his tortured cock, feel her fantastic breasts press firm against his chest, and with his hands he stroked her tempting flesh. In spite of himself he could feel his prod rising and growing hard.
"Very good Senor," said Don Adolfo at last, victoriously holding the fattened prick in his hands. "Very good for fucking. Let me help guide it in."
"No don't, please," cried Dolores, "please don't do it to him."
"It's all right Lola," comforted the young man as he felt more of his proud peter engulfed by his pet's quim. "Don't blame yourself. I can take it."
"No, Andres. It will castrate you. Don't move. Let your prick lie still. I won't move."
"Don't promise him too much, Lola," cautioned the inquisitor with a smile, having slipped the man's prick now full length into the teenager's cunt. "Don't promise him what you cannot control.
Meaningfully he picked up a soldering iron and showed it to his captives. Plugging it into an extension cord the end quickly became red with heat. Don Adolfo lightly caressed his daughter's bottom with his soft hand. "You have a very noble ass, child," he said. "What a shame you chose to debase it with such peasants as these."
Carefully he placed the steaming iron at the base of one of Dolores' hips. The sixteen year old squealed and jerked her ass away spontaneously. Inside her she felt the tip of her lover's prick screw against her cunt walls.
"Oh Andres, I'm sorry," she immediately whined in rising fear. "I didn't mean to."
"It felt good," he murmured truthfully.
"But it won't continue to," she whispered. "Try ... oh, owww," she cried, again jerking her twat away from the electric prod. Under her Andres moaned with pleasure as her pussy ground about his engorged prick.
Again and again Don Adolfo applied the soldering iron to his daughter's plump tender bottom. Bravely she tried to resist but irresistibly her body would pull away from the painful heat, screwing her lover even more vigorously. Her eyes were full of tears not because of her pain but because of what she was doing to Andres.
So far it felt good to the young man. He knew that inside her cunt his shaft was encased in steel but as yet there was no pressure and he could feel Dolores' moisture and heat. It was exciting and he would shove his peter deeper into her with each of her painful twists.
The Grand Inquisitor paused for a moment. Until now he had been cautious and playful with his electric poker, letting them gradually become aware of what was happening. He looked at the purple splotches all over his daughter's light pink ass. Andres would be feeling the pressure from the steel cylinder soon.
"Will you talk now, Senor Eroles?" he asked, knowing he would refuse. "You realize what will happen if you don't."
"I will not talk," responded the Socialist resolutely, hugging his pet tighter to him to give her comfort.
"Please talk, Andres," urged Dolores tearfully. "Before it's too late."
"You know I cannot, Lola. Others would die because of it."
Without further comment Don Adolfo shoved the red hot iron between his daughter's ass cheeks. With a scream she lurched forward, grinding her twat about Andres' trapped prick. Her father gave her no respite now, pressing the soldering iron against her quickly time after time until she screwed herself recklessly on top of her lover. She could not keep from fucking him. She bawled and sobbed and pled hysterically. Under her Andres began to groan with pain. The steel was tightening on his engorged cock.
"Ae ohh God," grunted the man, gritting his teeth against the pain. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he felt his peter being gradually crushed.
"I'm sorry, master," wept Dolores pitifully. "I can't help myself."
They wrapped each other in their arms as against their will they screwed and ground the genitals together. In spite of the pain Andres felt the pleasure of fucking, the beauty of his pet's cunt slamming up and down the length of his prod. They began to writhe and shove their hips together in rhythm, fucking madly and with abandon.
Dolores felt her hardened clit yearning, stretching for more. Frothy juice was pouring from her cavern. In spite of the pain she loved it. And she felt her master responding vigorously.
The girl didn't notice when her father ceased using the hot prod. The couple twisted and humped, oblivious of what was happening around them. Andres' tortured groans were mixed with pleasure as he felt Dolores' cunt pounding madly at his body.
"Oh dick me, Andres, dick me, my master," moaned the sixteen-year-old through parted lips. "Fuck my cunt off. Fuck me."
"Yes, Lola. It's so good. So tight," grunted the man back at her, arching his hips to cram his prod hard into her. "What a delicious tight cunt."
Then unexpectedly Don Adolfo reached forward and grabbed both their twisting asses. With all his strength he brought their grinding to a halt. Helplessly they lay panting in the other's arms.
"You children are getting out of hand," laughed Don Adolfo with mock kindness. "But I've never seen such a lovely display before of abandoned lust and rut. All of us here enjoyed it," he added, nodding to a group of executioners and torturers that had gathered around to watch.
"Please don't humiliate us too," whimpered Dolores abjectly. She found herself blushing again in front of her father. "We love each other. And you're making us do it in front of you."
"It is not important. We like to watch you hump. What is important, Senor Eroles, is whether you can feel the vise in your Lola's cunt gripping your prick yet? Does it hurt?"
Andres had to think for a moment. He twitched his cock and felt it throb painfully. It was crushing him, but only a few moments ago he had found joy in the tightness of Lola's quim. He had mistaken the hurt for the pleasure.
"Yes," he answered cautiously. "I feel it. It hurts."
"Then will you talk? Give us the information we need?"
The young man looked deep into his pet's eyes, looking for an answer. "You have come from Barcelona to save me. Risked this and your life because you love me. Will you forgive yourself if I do not talk? It will not be your fault that you castrate me. I will try to endure the pain if you will forgive yourself."
"Oh Andres," she wept unashamedly, "I love you. And I don't want you to lose your beautiful prick."
"Then I should tell them?"
Dolores sighed deeply and thought. "No, Andres. Do what you must as a man. Your courage is more important than a prick and I'll love you anyway. Besides, my fath ... the Grand Inquisitor is a cruel man. He'd probably do it to us anyway."
"That is your answer then, you filthy Fascist," spoke the Socialist firmly, looking steadily into the eyes of Don Adolfo.
"Very well, then lose your prick," snickered the aristocrat disdainfully. "I will not stop you again." With determination the man unsnapped his belt and pulled down his own trousers. Though surprised Dolores strained her head to see. Was her father's own noble prick small as she expected or ... no, it was a large as Andres' and just as hard.
"I think there is only room enough for one in me Don Adolfo," she snarled contemptuously, "if you're planning to rape me with that."
"There is room in your ass-hole little one," he responded with equal disdain. "Have they screwed you there before?"
"My shit hole is not virgin. Take it. But remember I'm not giving it to you willingly. You're raping me."
"I'll remember," laughed the older man as he stripped out of his clothes.
"Andres," said Dolores, turning her face to her lover. Again her eyes were soft and warm. "This will be our last time. Love me." Spontaneously she pressed her lips to his and slithered her small pink tongue into his mouth. Eagerly they sucked and kissed at each other, tongue moving from mouth to mouth and licking each other in the open. Their flesh pressed together hotly and their hands stroked their bodies. Everyone including the inquisitor stopped to watch the passionate display of affection. For quarter of an hour the lips of the two lovers were glued together.
"Well now we are ready," said Don Adolfo when at last the kiss ended. Deliberately he climbed upon the rack above his daughter and positioned his cock by her rump. Her once beautiful hips were now scarred, burned and blistered. They'd never again be the same. Callously he spread her ass cheeks apart with his fingers.
Below him he saw the tiny coveted little pucker, a pinkish brown rosette at the depths of her white ass crack. Only four or five tough curly black hairs protected it.
"This is going to hurt you child," he threatened, drawing out his pleasure. "It is fit if Andres is in pain that you suffer also."
Dolores could not help but tremble slightly as she felt the tip of her father's prick tickle her brown porthole. Andres held her to him a little tighter and whispered in her ear, "I'll help you. Just try to relax."
"He's my father," she murmured in his ear, careful that the others couldn't hear.
"I know. I've known for a long time who the Grand Inquisitor was. I didn't tell you. I knew you'd be hurt."
Delicately Dolores kissed him on the cheek. He had been a strict disciplinarian for her, but she had known for months now that he loved her as much as she did him.
"Ahh," gasped the child suddenly, her body stiffening. "Oh, ohhh, ohhh," she moaned as the huge knob began to intrude into her ass-hole. Her body tensed, arching up from where her bottom was locked to her master's. Her perfect breasts quivered as they dangled seven inches down, nipples barely grazing across Andres' hairy chest.
Then with a scream she lurched forward. Her father had driven his pecker ruthlessly with one shove into her tender bowels. Shaking with pain she dug her fingers into Andres' strong back. Sweat broke out on her forehead. She was still too small to be corn-holed.
"Steady," whispered Andres, "it'll be all right."
"You're so kind," she grunted under her breath. "You're the one who'll be hurt."
"Don't worry about me."
"Ae, ae, ae, ahhh," she called openmouthed as Don Adolfo began to cram his prod rhythmically back and forth into her shit hole. His tempo was fast and heavy, causing the child to jerk back and forth with the movements of the wedge. And in doing so her twat again began to fuck Andres' captured prod.
"Uhhh," breathed the Socialist as the pain suddenly became sharper.
"Oh my darling," she grunted, her body rocking from her father's heavy thrusts, "what I'm going to do to you." Then finally she recalled the lesson she had learned over the last few months, culminating at the mass with Father Manuel. Pain and joy mixed brought orgasm and orgasm brought salvation from earthly miseries.
"It'll be all right," she urged her master. "I know. Let's fuck like we never fucked before. It'll be our salvation. You'll see."
To emphasize her words she gathered her courage and began to shove her ass back at her father's invading prick. In spite of the pain she pushed her bowels repeatedly down the length of the slimy spear and then ground back to screw Andres deliriously. Between the two cocks she worked her twat in a frenzy, taking the control out of their hands. The tempo increased wildly as she jerked around and down, back and forth. She grit her teeth as the pain in her bleeding ass-hole shot repeatedly through her body.
"Our salvation," she mumbled in pants to her lover, "our salvation Andres. Fuck me, fuck me good."
The young man had no choice. His cock was caught inescapably now in the vise in Dolores' pussy. Prick and balls were jerked about wildly with each thrust of the girl's twat. His whole body was alive with fire from his genitals. It was useless to try to conceal the pain.
"Hold on dearest, uh, ohhh," she grunted as Don Adolfo's prick ground into her bowels, "hold on Andres. Think of the fucking. Uh, forget the pain. Think of fucking me. Thing of my hot young cunt. Think of my throbbing pink clit. Concentrate ... oh, oh, ohhh ... concentrate on my fucking twat. Oh, uhh."
Back and forth the three rocked insanely, passionately pounding their genitals against the other. Dolores ignored the agony in her ass to screw Andres furiously, pulling him toward the brink of orgasm.
Andres' reddened face was knotted in pain. His prick was being squeezed off his body. Boiling fire pervaded his consciousness. But he listened to his pet, tried to do as Lola said. He thought of the little teenager's beautiful magnificently small cunt, her slender pussy lips. Harder he twisted and screwed his tortured prod though it felt like it would be torn from him.
In desperation he grabbed at her swinging jugs, crushed them in his strong hands. Mercilessly he twisted and jerked at the hanging udders, felt the nipples grow stone hard against his palms and tore at them with his fingernails.
Dolores bit her lips at the pain. Blood trickled down her chin. She was dizzy from the agony in both her knockers and her shit hole but she wouldn't give up. Only orgasm could save Andres.
"Yes, Andres," she managed to gurgle. "Yes, my breasts. Squeeze them, Andres. Bite them. Bite them." Under her, the Socialist was groaning in open pain. There was a new sensation inside her pussy. Inside the five inch steel pole his prick shaft had been squeezed to the size of a cigar. Now from the open end the malleable flesh had been forced out, ballooning the size of an orange and pressing against her womb.
"Bite my boobs," she urged again. "Bite my boobies and dick me hard. Hard!" She hoped to help him relieve his pain.
But Andres was already beyond the distinctions of pain and joy. His cock was full of the inescapable intensity. It was a fire of love and agony. He couldn't stand it. Dizzily the room spun about him. He heard her words and viciously shoved the end of a tit in his mouth.
"Aeee, ae, ahhh," screamed Dolores open mouthed as she felt her lover's teeth bit mercilessly into her creamy flesh. He was chewing at the abundant cone, tearing at it and ripping the skin. The pain was unendurable.
Behind her their captor continued to cram his cock up her ass at breakneck speed. He was feverish with desire. It was his best fuck ever. "Up my daughter's shit hole," he kept mumbling, "up my daughter's shit hole."
Andres' body began to twist and jerk violently, his arms flailing the air like a madman's. His prick was pencil thin now, the end of his cock swollen to the size of a grapefruit. He couldn't endure more. But salvation was near. He could feel the primitive throbbing begin to build in the base of his nuts.
"Ae, ae, ohhh, ohhh, Lola fuck mee," he gasped, then bit again ruthlessly into her perfect large breast. His distorted peter was filling Dolores so that she could hardly breathe, the entrapped shaft crushed to nothing.
"I'm going to come," he mumbled with his mouth still full of teenage tit. "I'm coming."
Then Andres exploded inside her. Literally the juice had somehow poured through the tiny opening left in the shaft, filled the ballooning end and burst. Come, blood and prick flesh spewed everywhere inside her. Dolores felt every hot drop of it as it covered her sweating cave, heard his muffled tormented screams. His shredded prick lined the insides of her cunt.
Feeling Andres' explosion Don Adolfo pressed harder, ramming home his oily peter until his jism mixed with her shit. He gave a final violent shove and Dolores felt herself forced forward, torn with a sickening rip from Andres' crotch. She'd castrated him. What was left of his cock was inside her.
Dizzy from the pain in her bowels and her breast she glanced for an instnat in horror between her legs. There was blood all over her lover's crotch and not a trace of his penis. His balls dangled there uselessly. She hadn't even left him a stump. Her eyes glanced at her throbbing breast and saw blood there where his teeth dug violently into her flesh. Then suddenly everything was spinning crazily and her body began to pulse in rhythmic abandon. She was climaxing too.
"Ah, ahhh, ohhh," she cried so all could hear. "I'm coooming. Coooming." Desperately she churned her ass back to meet her father's prod, slammed her twat back down on Andres' crotch and screwed madly.
"It's all right now," she wailed, "it's all gooood. Coooming." And everything was all right. They were united now, beyond pain and selfishness and cruelty. The three of them for an instant shared the ungodly love. "Cooooming," she shouted, "coooming, Saved. The best fuck."
The castle doctor had watched the three in amazement.
Even when Andres had been castrated and Dolores was in agonized orgasm he could not keep his eyes off the sensuous abandonment. But the sight of blood finally aroused him. Even before the girl had finished her climax he was at their side. Immediately he attended to Andres' amputated prick. He had orders not to let him die yet.
With a sucking sound Don Adolfo pulled his prick out of his daughter's bloodied bottom. Sitting back on his haunches he watched, arms hanging limply at his sides, exhausted.
As soon as he had finished with Andres the doctor turned to Dolores' tortured boob. He stared at the bloodied end where her nipple used to be. In his frenzy her lover had bitten a full two inches off the end of her perfect breast.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dolores sat quietly in Andres' damp cold underground cell. In her arms she cradled her master and lover. It had been three days since she had castrated him and he was still weak and confused. Tenderly she stroked his naked body with her small white hands.
"I'm glad they let you see me," he murmured absently, "I was afraid they wouldn't. Or that you wouldn't want to."
"Of course I wanted to. But it wasn't until I tricked daddy into thinking it would be worse for you if we did see each other that he decided to let me come."
"Worse for me?"
"Because ... because you can't do it any more. Fuck me, I mean. And he knows the instincts and desires are still there. He thought seeing me would be mental torture. And also that you might hate me because of what I did to you."
"I'm glad you're here. I need your love and comfort. I haven't adjusted to being a gelding yet-never will-but I want you to visit when you can." Fondly he reached over and kissed her remaining golden nipple. "I'm sorry about what I did to your breast."
"That's all right. It eases my guilt about what I did to you. Besides, what good are perfect breasts and nipples to me. You're my only love and master. We're both mutilated now. We belong together."
"You haven't told me yet what's happened to you. Does your father keep you in a cell?"
"The bastard," mused Dolores. "No, daddy had put a bed up for me in the room next to his. I'm his personal maid now-or rather personal prostitute. He fucks me whenever he wants, goes out of his way to humiliate me as often as possible, and beats me every morning.
"You beat me every morning too, Andres," she continued, placing a tender kiss on his forehead. "But soon I didn't mind. I loved it and I loved you for doing it to me. But after what daddy did to you, I hate him. I want revenge."
"You'll never get it here. Better to do as he wants."
"Maybe," she answered thoughtfully. "Andres? What are our chances of escaping? Of getting out of here alive?"
"Zero for me," he responded casually. "I hope they're better for you."
"I won't live without you, Andres. But I'm afraid that they'll just continue torturing you until you talk or they kill you."
"And if I talk then they'll kill me," smiled the young man with resignation.
"Then we might as well both die."
"Suicide?" he asked, looking quizzically into her eyes. "But you're so young."
"Yes suicide. Double. I told you I won't live without you Andres. But first I want revenge. And it has to be soon, before they resume torturing you. I have a plan. They let me have the run of the place pretty much upstaris. I've gotten to know the chemist-a stupid fat old fellow but he knows his job. He has a sepcial pill filled with a chemical. I'll tell you about it later. But in exchange for a piece of ass he'll give me one."
Without notice Andres was brought to the private suite of the Grand Inquisitor. Pompously Don Adolfo strutted in front of him, jeering at his castrated pelvis and his useless balls. Dolores sat quietly in a corner, naked like the others.
"Your Lola told me," began their captor, "that she was happy you weren't here to watch me hump her since you were now incapable. It pleased her but not me. So for the further discomfort of you both, you are to be our guest this evening. To watch."
"You're a prick," said Andres without emotion.
"And you are a Republican pig," spat the inquisitor, stopping to slap the young man sharply across the face. Andres barely winced.
"Come here," continued Don Adolfo to his daughter, "come say hello to your master-your lover."
Without comment the pretty sixteen-year-old did as she was told. Artfully she had draped a scarf over her shoulder, letting it fall so that it concealed her mutilated boob. She still looked beautiful and virgin to both men.
"I am sorry Andres," she whispered, placing her slender arms gently about him and hugging him to her, "I am sorry he brought you here. I didn't know what I was saying when I told him it would hurt you to see us fucking. I should have been still." Fondly, lovingly she ran her hands over his strong back and explored his hairy chest. She gave him a warm moist kiss on his lips, forcing her tongue into his mouth.
"Enough," broke in their tormentor callously. "I am horny."
"Just a moment please, daddy," responded Dolores, affectionately stroking her breasts against her lover's chest. Again she pressed his body and felt the security of his strong arms about her small frame.
"In my ass-hole," she whispered to him as she kissed him, "up my anus there's a capsule. Put your finger in there and pull it out."
Andres did as he was told, fondly caressing her still firm ass as he did so. The tip of his nail touched the large pill and secretively pulled it into his hand.
"So," jeered the father from where he watched, "my fine Republican friend. Unable to fuck in the cunt with a prick you resort to sticking your finger up her shit hole." Deliberately the Fascist gave way to ridiculing laughter. "What kind of a man are you now, Senor Don Andres?"
The young Socialist ignored him. Stepping back from his pet bitch he slipped the capsule into her hand. She rolled it for a moment between her fingers, half the length of a cigarette and twice as round. She smiled at him con-spiratorially as she shoved the hard pill deep inside her pussy.
"It dissolves in semen," she began to explain in a low whisper. "When he comes it will . ... "
"Come and fuck me Lola," demanded her father again.
"Now!"
"As always your obedient daughter," she replied with a sigh, walking to him and letting her pure flesh brush against him. But unexpectedly she stepped back and looked at him with unaccustomed coldness in her dark eyes.
"Father, Don Adolfo Alberto Arenillas, my mother bore me from your seed. I am your daughter. I give you one last chance. Please, I beg you because once I loved you-do not fuck me. It is incest and sin. You will be punished. When I was a child I did not realize you were a cruel man. If you rape me now in front of my lover I shall not forgive you. I doubt even God can. One last chance. Do not hump me."
"Ah well," snorted Don Adolfo contemptuously, "so my child has finally recovered her sense of propriety which she should have always had. You were a virgin flower of Spain, an archetype of Hispanic beauty. And you defiled yourself. Once I was proud of you as a pure daughter to be held up for praise. But with your virginity went my love. Do not fight me. Lie down on the couch."
The small girl did as she was told, giving a last significant glance to Andres. She had tried to save her father. Wantonly she spread her legs, letting her still slender tight cunt gape open. Though aging, Don Adolfo's prick could still respond to the display of such juicy young cunt. In seconds he had jabbed his huge organ up her slender quim.
Dolores winced in obvious discomfort, her ass wriggling as if to escape. Unlubricated by her own juices she still had trouble taking the prod up her tiny hole.
With an evil grin on his face their inquisitor hunched his hips rapidly back and forth, driving into her with full force. His hands found her tender breasts and crushed them mercilessly. She could not help but squeal and cry out. Furiously the man screwed his daughter, letting the engorged spear ride in and out full length, twisting it about inside her. The small girl rocked back and forth violently under the force of his attack.
Though she could not resist him she tried not to give him pleasure. The grunts and moans that issued from her parted lips were of pain and repugnance, not joy. She hated him. Insistently the tempo increased as he fucked eagerly into her young quim.
At last she felt his prick harden more. His body grew stiff as orgasm came on him. At last. Soon it would be over. The pill would dissolve and . ...
But he didn't come. Instead he held himself rigid, the head of his dick just buried inside her moist cave. He was holding back. He didn't want to come yet.
"Bastard," she whispered under her breath.
The cruel nobleman only laughed. With a malicious wink he looked into her eyes.
"Don't think I shall let you off this easily, my darling daughter," he snickered, holding himself still until the tension in his prick and balls again diminished. "What pleasure is it going to be for me and what torment to Andres if you lie there unresponsive like a sack of potatoes? When I come you will come. You will beg me to fuck you."
Proudly he got off her and stood by the couch, looking down menacingly at the still beautiful small sixteen year old. Anxiously she watched him. Laughing he glanced toward Andres.
"And you Senor Eroles, do not try to interfere. Just enjoy watching what I do. There are armed guards immediately outside the door. If you interrupt me, it will go badly for you both."
Don Adolfo went to a corner table and withdrew a long sharp pointed dagger. Impishly he strutted in front of them with it in his hands, feeling its razor edge. At last he stopped over his spread legged daughter.
"They tell me," he began quietly, "that if a girl's clitoris is removed she does not lose her excitement in sex. Just the opposite in fact. After its extraction she continues to feel it as if it were constantly erect, always hot. Whatever she does and wherever she goes she stays excited, aroused. For the rest of her life she remains horny, never able to get enough.
"Perhaps it is only a peasant's tale. Perhaps not. I've always wanted to know. We will find out. And how amusing it will be, Lola, to have you constantly in need of a man's fat prick and for you to have a lover that cannot satisfy you. And only me available to you."
Unhurriedly he sat down between his daughter's legs. Casually he pried open the petals of her quim and studied the pretty pink gash. With his thumb he gently rubbed the little button until it became hardened and red.
Exasperated Andres made a sudden move toward him. If it meant his life he could not allow Don Adolfo to circumcise the little girl. But it was Dolores who stopped him.
"Don't, Andres," she called, motioning him back with her delicate hand. "I can take it. He'd just kill you. Remember, Andres. Remember."
The young Socialist hesitated Then he did remember: that pill she had slipped up her cunt. He didn't know its purpose but he'd have to trust his pet's judgment. With obvious dissatisfaction he sat down to watch.
"Wise. Very wise," mumbled the Grand Inquisitor as he continued to thumb the little girl's clit. "My daughter not only has a beautiful twat but common sense also. And your best interests at heart, Senor Eroles."
Casually he lifted the knife and let just the point slip along his daughter's one still perfect boob. At first there was only a slight welt and then blood appeared, a thin line of bright red against her creamy white. The knife was exquisitely sharp.
Dolores felt it first as only a slight pressure, then a tickling. After a moment it began to burn slightly but quickly the heat increased. Soon it was like intensely hot fire. She felt him lightly prick the end of her nipple, again there was a tickling and then a rapidly growing burning pain. The damage was so small it could easily be withstood but for their size the cuts were amazingly irritable.
With the detached air of an experienced surgeon he lifted his daughter's leg and stroked the knife lightly across the base of one of her ass globes. Then two more strokes, an X across the chubby pink bottom itself.
Again the teenager felt the burning pain but so small she tried to ignore it. Yet when she again let her hips fall to the couch she yelped in immediate agony and shoved her ass up to escape the torment. She could not put her weight on it. Though small and localized the cuts were exceedingly painful.
Don Adolfo laughed as he watched her squirm. Twisted so that she lay on her other hip she looked up at him apprehensively. The young girl could hardly believe the cruelty of her own father.
For a moment their captor paused to relish his success. Dolores waited fearfully as he took time to light a cigarette. Then again he took her in his arms, raised her from the couch by her shoulders and traced the knife all over her tender back. In moments she was a mass of scars.
When he let her go she found she was unable now to lie on her back. The pain was too intense. He lifted her by the other leg and cunt her untouched ass cheek, and then up and down the backs of both legs. There was no way for the girl to rest now. She supported her arched body on her elbows and the heels of her feet.
"Please, daddy," she begged softly as she held her body uncomfortably above the crouch, "you loved me once." But he did not answer and she had not expected that he would.
Leisurely he began to play the sharp edge again over her breasts, along her slender arms, across her unprotected belly. The blade lightly bit into her shapely thighs and left a small burning fury wherever it went.
"Daddy," she moaned, "oh daddy." Her discomfort was acute. Distinctly she could feel each separate small burning area. All over her she was covered with a thousand little pricks of intense fire. She was alive with the tiny hurts. Again he paused and she trembled in fear as she looked up at him.
"It is amazing," he began as unemotionally as if he were giving a lecture, "how much the little irritants can hurt. One or two would hardly he noticed. And none of them are deep enough to leave even a trace. But when covered with them they burn miserably. And I know how to increase the pain even more."
Dolores continued to stare at him in speechless horror, her body still resting uncomfortably on her elbows and heels. Quietly he took a box from the table and opened it. It was common ordinary table salt. The little teenager shuddered. She'd heard about rubbing salt into wounds but she'd never experienced it.
He reached his hands under her shoulder blades and began to massage her bleeding body. For a moment it felt good, his strong smooth fingers relaxing the taut muscles. Then suddenly the burning increased ferociously.
"Daddy, oh, no, no, no," squealed the little girl, wondering if she could stand the pain. Sweat began to pour from her face, her teeth grit tight to try to endure. "Oh daddy please," she moaned as gradually he worked the salt into the wounds on her back.
The room spun around her as he now massaged her naked bottom. Dolores thought she would faint. It felt like molten lava burning her tender flesh. Her muscles began to twitch and jerk spastically, hopelessly trying to avoid the salt fed wounds. Pathetically she twisted and squirmed precariously above the couch, piteous sounds of suffering escaping from her parted lips.
Finished with the back of her legs and hips the old aristocrat again filled his palms with salt. Cruelly he pressed them against her bleeding jugs and shoved her back down against the couch. The child screamed and bellowed in agony as the rough cloth rubbed across her smarting open wounds. Yet she could not hold her body still, could not keep it from chafing against her bed.
And her breasts too were on fire. With methodic cruelty the father squeezed, pulled and twisted the upright cones. Tears poured from the teenager's eyes, her lips moved convulsively. Carefully her tormentor moved down her body, rubbing the cuts on her tummy and thighs.
Dolores' whole body was on fire. It could be no worse to be burned at the stake. From head to toe she was enveloped in the furious heat. Her flesh was afire with the inescapable agony.
Weakly she tried to push his arms away but it was useless. She was in no condition to struggle. Relentlessly he continued to infect the bleeding cuts until they were swollen and pulsing under his touch.
"Daddy noooo. No, no, daddy, please," she begged, her eyes rolling insanely in their sockets. She could hardly see him, hardly focus on him. Everything was blurred by the hot red fog. "Nooo, please," she whimpered, rolling in increasing torment on the rough couch.
Don Adolfo stopped to smile down at his miserable daughter. His dark eyes glistened with delight as he watched her writhe and strain in anguish. She was wholly at his mercy.
Again he picked up the dagger. Carefully he took one of her slender puffed pussy lips and began to cut parallel lines up and down its length. He smiled openly as she begged and pleaded for him to stop. Then methodically he lacerated the other pure cunt petal.
Trembling Dolores watched him as once more he dipped his hands in the salt. Deliberately he began to rub it into the parallel cuts on her quim. The girl gave a startled cry and spontaneously her pelvis arched away from him.
The teenager could barely stand it. Her twat was alive with the flaming salt. It was worse, much worse than the rest of her body. Her pussy was so sensitive and tender, so much more vulnerable to pain. The hurt between her legs dominated her being as uselessly she squirmed and twisted to escape the fiery torment.
"Why, daddy, why," she moaned loudly, nearly choking on her own tears, "why treat your daughter this way? I loved you. Trusted you. Love me, daddy, please."
With a cruel glance the aristocrat ignored her pleas. Under his hands her normally thin cunt lips were becoming fat and puffy.
"Mercy, daddy, love meee," she wailed in anguish. But even as she begged him she saw him take up the knife again, felt its sharp point press lightly on her swollen clitoris. He was going to mutilate her after all.
Don Adolfo placed the tip of the blade at the base of his daughter's clit. Deftly he jabbed it straight into her flesh. His ears were deafened by her instantaneous screaming. Her pathetic cries echoed in the small chamber. Under his hand he could feel her terrified body shaking and heaving uncontrollably.
Slowly he cut around the base of the bleeding clitoris, wanting her to feel every moment of pain. With a final stroke he finished the circumcision. Grunting with satisfaction he pulled the little button from her body and held it triumphantly in front of her shocked glazed eyes.
Dolores stared up at the tiny bloody hunk of meat that had been her clitoris. Yet she could not believe that it was gone. She could still feel it. From the moment he had teased it with his blade it had begun to itch. In spite of the hurt in the rest of her body she had sensed that growing need in her twat, the emptiness and longing in her love cave.
Even as he had cut into her aroused flesh she had begun to gush forth cunt cream. Dolores had greased her tortured pussy lips and oiled her rosy fuck hole spontaneously with her white spend. And it had grown worse, the craving in her crack soaring to immeasurable heights as he mutilated her.
As she stared up at her little clit hanging limply between his two fingers she was aware of the intensity of the throbbing itch in her quim. The need was insatiable. She had to have something in her. Anything. Father, dog or candlestick-anything would do as long as it filled her and quelled her desire. Gone were the burning wounds of her body. That huge emptiness in her cunt hurt worse than all the cuts combined.
Her father dipped a finger in the salt then rubbed it into the little pit where her clitoris had been. Dolores' body exploded. The desire that a moment ago seemed unendurable was growing monstrously. The fury in her cunt was unspeakable. Her clit felt like it was still there and growing huge, bigger than a pencil or a salami or the whole universe. Her anguished need expanded uncontrollably. The teenager tilted back her head and with open mouth she screamed and squealed out her agonizing need.
"Fuck meee," she wailed, "fuck me, daddy. Do something. I can't stand it. Fuck me. Someone. Anyone. Fuck meeee!"
Don Adolfo crouched between his daughter's squirming legs. His slimy prick was fat and hard-bigger than he had ever known it. He paused a moment to look gleefully down at his victim. Her cunt was opening and closing rhythmically, sucking wind as it begged for something to fill it. Triumphantly he poised the head of his cock against her hot moist crack and shoved it deep into the welcoming quim.
"Oh yes, yes, yes, daddy," gasped the girl hysterically as she felt its needed entrance. "Yes, yes. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me," she chanted as madly she began to shove her twat up and down the length of his prod. It hurt but it was such a beautiful pain. Some dick had to fill the void. Someway the rut in her circumcised snatch had to be satisfied.
Ferociously Dolores' cunt attacked her father's peter. She could think of nothing but getting enough of that oily rod. Her firm bottom slapped and pounded ruthlessly against the hard couch. It creaked and groaned under her onslaught. The child could not get enough.
"Ughh, uh, uh," grunted the older man, riding the hot wave of Dolores' lust. Never had his prick felt so welcome. With mixed disgust and jealousy Andres watched them, thinking Don Adolfo sounded like a pig in heat. And he had never before seen his gentle little pet Lola fuck so ferociously or demandingly.
"Faster, faster, faster," muttered Dolores half-aloud, as if ordering her cunt on to even greater accomplishments. "Faster, faster, harder, harder," she urged banging her twat with each thrust loudly against her father's hairy balls.
The fat cock pistoned into her with wild and insane speed. Their genitals were a blur as they fucked and screwed together. Still Dolores wanted more, needed more to cool her burning snatch.
"Fuck me, daddy," the teenager pleaded, "Hard, daddy. The best fuck. Fuck me best. Dick me hard daddy, hard. Dick me. Dick me. Dick me."
"Yes, dearest, yes," gasped Don Adolfo, "oh yes sweetest Dolores. Yes. It is the best. The best fucking I ever ... ever ... oh, oh my child. I'm coming my precious daughter. I'm coming. I, uhhh."
Immediately the child held her body stiff and rigid, though she trembled with expectation. Heart pounding she waited for the coveted jism, hardly daring to breathe. Her cunt was locked firmly at the base of his prick. She could feel the growing throbbing in his dangling nuts.
"Give me daddy come," she chanted as if in prayer, "give me daddy come. Lots and lots of daddy come. Fuck me, daddy. Fuck me."
Then suddenly it was there. All at once she was flooded with his junk. It was everything she had ever wanted, thick stringy stinking boiling hot spend bursting out of his heavy knob. It inundated her womb, splashed along the walls of her fuck cave, dribbled copiously out between the lips of her tight pussy.
"Ah yes, daddy, yeees," she screamed. "Fuck your little baby child. I loooove it. Thank you daddy, thank you. Oh, ohhh, uh coooming. Daddy coooming. Uh, uh cooome. Cooome. Ohhh coooming. Daddy. Fuck meeee."
Dolores' arms and legs thrashed madly on the couch. Her body shook and trembled with each new jet of endless spunk. Her eyes rolled in their sockets, her wideopened mouth distorted her face as she screamed at the top of her voice.
"Fuck meee. Fuck meee. Daddy fuck meee. So hot. Ah so hot. Ahhhh."
Together they tossed in insane orgasm. And the more he came the hotter and more joyous his jism felt. Through blurred eyes she could see steam actually rising from her twat. Then as the crescendoed toward another higher climax she remembered the capsule she had stuck up her cunt. It was working. It would be the last orgasm for either of them. A fantastic, inhuman, abandoned ferocious orgasm.
"Fuck me hard, daddy. Fuck me hard. Give me all your jism. Shoot it in me, daddy. All in me. Shoot it in. Oh, oh, oh come. Come. Coooomiiiing."
As Andres watched in frustrated disbelief he realized Don Adolfo was screaming, not in joy but horror. Wide-eyed he pulled his prod from his daughter's furrow and stared at it. It seemed twisted and purplish. Smoke was rising along its entire length and from his balls.
From across the room Andres could smell the acrid odor. It was some kind of acid. That pill Dolores had shoved up her cunt had contained acid! He glanced at his pet. She was still thrashing in abandoned orgasm but the smoke was billowing from her quim too. The acid was eating her insides.
"My God," cried Don Adolfo hysterically, staring down at his rapidly disintegrating prick. "That damned chemist. He gave her one of those capsules. He gave her a capsule. The son of a bitch. My God, my God, oh my God."
Still screaming in horror the Grand Inquisitor ran from the room. Noxious smoke still rose from his crotch. "Doctor!" he yelled. "Doctor! Doctor! Doctor!"
Quickly Andres went to his beloved Dolores. She was still tossing and crying in furious orgasm. Lovingly he put his arms around her.
"My precious Lola. Oh my precious pet," he whispered.
Suddenly with crazed eyes the girl was looking at him. She had heard him. With great effort she was trying to slow her climax, to come off of her high. She wanted to tell him something.
At last she lay more quietly, staring up at her master. Her fingers bit into the couch, her heels buried in the cushions. She panted heavily, unable to get her breath.
"My Lola. I do love you," murmured Andres.
"I'm dying master. Dying. The acid is eating me alive."
"Then I die too," answered the young Socialist. For the first time in years tears of love filled the hard man's eyes.
"Yes, the knife," she groaned. "Take the dagger. Kill us both. I want to die now when I cannot tell pain from pleasure. Life and death are the same to me now, Andres. In orgasm there is no difference. And death is natural. Sex is my salvation."
Without hesitation the young man picked up Don Adolfo's knife. It was not bravery that would let him suicide. He wanted to join his dying Lola.
"Kiss me first," she gasped. "One last kiss my love and master."
Passionately their lips met, their tongues searched the other's mouth. With compassion each cried for the other and their tears mingled on their cheeks.
They did not hear the door crash open behind them. It was the Captain of the Guard and his men. With them was the doctor.
It was too late. Writhing in ecstasy for one last time, Dolores felt the razor sharp knife glide up her cunt, feeling for the last time the ultimate ecstasy. She had wanted it that way; wanted the symbolic ecstasy of being fucked one last time by her lover.
And he, lying on top of her churning body, scarcely felt the bayonets of the guards piercing him.
The doctor watched the two writhing bodies, shaking his head at the horror done in the name of God and king and country. It was better this way, he thought. But better for whom? Not Spain. And, being a once pious man, he prayed.
