Two American filmmakers arrive on assignment in the hotbed of the Middle East to shoot footage of petrochemical plants of Iran. In Beirut Chet Bentley is attacked in his hotel room; at the Beirut airport two Persian terrorists try to murder him; on the train to Iran, Chet and his lovely female assistant, stubborn, redheaded Karen O'Malley, are attacked in their sleeper car.
Somebody was trying to kill them. Who and why? Prisoner In Lebanon is the incredible adventure of two innocent people who unwittingly find themselves in the midst of the Iranian/Iraqi conflict. Two Americans severed from the protection of the American flag . . . two Americans on the run from enemies they can not see.
But it is a story offering more than bomb blasts and wartime terrorism. The pages seep with a deeper kind of terror that lurks in the hearts of women who become victims of the undeniably superior strength of the male sex. Kidnapped and held hostage in an Iranian sheik's pasha, Karen O'Malley, the redheaded dream of the oil world, becomes a target of abuse and desire.
Turn the pages and read how a strong-willed ex-Special Forces Marine rescues the woman from the hands of swarthy-faced megalomaniacs bent on destroying her womanhood.
CHAPTER ONE
Chet Bentley lay bleeding on the cold marble Beirut hotel floor. He shook his head, trying to shake the searing pain from a clubbed blow above his right ear.
He'd been savoring a stroll along Ras Beirut and poking around the Paris coutures for a present for his girl friend; the American had settled on a pair of lacey silk tap pants and matching camisole, paid for it, stuck the sales slip in his back pocket and headed into the navy blue night. After a few drinks at the Dolce Vita, he'd staggered back towards the St. George Hotel, musing at the poster-splattered walls chipped with gun fire from which Khomeini, Nasser and Arafat stared at him with militaristic daring.
None of the terror of anarchy and confusion of guerilla warfare filled this American's veins! A veteran of the Special Forces of Viet Nam, the tall, muscular blond documentary filmmaker was in prize condition . . . except when he was drunk.
like now. . . .
He remembered twisting the key in the lock, dumping the Milady lingerie bag onto the chair, and swinging open the door. Had his senses been more lucid, he would have noticed the three dark figures crouching in waiting at the stairway. He'd heard a blur of movement behind him, but before his senses could react, they'd shoved him forward into his hotel room, kicked shut the door and clubbed him with a sickening crack alongside the skull.
Beaten to his knees under a hail of blows, it took a moment to gather the strength to fight back. Punching blind blows into the dark, the second try landed a balled up fist into a fragile cheekbone. The attacker grunted out pain and crumbled to the floor.
Chefs blood was running hot. Hunching down like a cat, his Special Forces Marine training surfaced like a cork in choppy waters. He slunk behind the chair and grabbed it by the back legs. The Milady shopping bag gave way his position as it rustled to the floor. With a murderous grunt, he caught one attacker across the back. Chet stood panting, confident he'd gotten them both. But the unaccounted for third, slammed a bolt of lightning pain into his ribs, cracking it brittley.
Gritting his teeth, Bentley lashed into the dark with fists and feet. Harsh breathing gasped tauntingly in the blackness. Abruptly a looping roundhouse crashed into his cheekbone, sending him wind milling against the wall. The world had erupted into a crimson splatter of agony.
The American regained consciousness moments later and lay panting on the cold marble floor, the blood singing in his ears below the background noise of heels bumping down marble steps. Seconds later, screaming and a blast of gunfire echoed from the hotel lobby below.
Now Chet stood swaying in the dark, his head pounding cruelly. He dragged himself to the bathroom, pulled the light switch, gagged into the toilet, turned on the basin faucet and wedged his head into the cold porcelain bowl. The cold water's pressure diluted the coagulating globules of blood which dripped down his cheekbone onto his white shirt. His collar was soaked with blood. Chet shook his head, wincing as pain throbbed in his skull and the dancing light cord created a Frankensteinian monster in the mirror.
The left eyelid had swollen shut and purpled; a cut above his left ear left an egg-sized lump and his chest was rivered with blood.
The attack didn't make sense from a political standpoint or a mugging. If they'd wanted his wallet and Travelers Cheques, the street would have been the perfect stage for a robbery. Who listened to gunfire in war torn Lebanon, anyway?
Bentley switched on all the lights and checked the hotel room. Minutes later, he sat propped up on the bed, sipping from a bottle of whiskey he'd taken from the airplane, and raked his fingers through his hair. None of this made sense!
His camera equipment in the silver Halliburton case sat behind the dresser where he'd put it. The leather satchel and suitcase hadn't been opened. Wearily, he dabbed at the coagulating wounds with the cool washcloth and staggered toward the door. The hotel owner's foreign chatter from the lobby below filtered up the staircase. Chet was in no mood to involve himself with foreign police and, about to close the door, he noticed the white Milady lingerie bag on the third marble step below.
Who in hell would want to steal women's underwear?
Why had they attacked him? His assignment from CBS Network to take footage of petrochemical plants, offshore oil tankers, and recently constructed pipeline networks in the Strait of Hormuz was hardly an undercover assignment. If he'd been attacked in Abadan, Kuwait or even Baghdad, his stopover, he could have conjured up a few quick theories. What the hell had women's panties to do with the Iranian/Iraquian war, anyway?
Tossing the crinkling Milady bag onto the chair, he stripped naked and decided to get some rest. Tomorrow morning's eight o'clock flight to Baghdad would come soon enough, and with the way his head was feeling.. . . If he were late to meet Karen, his documentary editor and lover, all hell would break loose!
"Redheads," he snickered. Better he get his bags packed now, though. He braced his palm against the dresser and hauled out the Halliburton case and checked the movie camera for damage. That Halliburton case had followed him around the world-Uganda to cover the Idi Amin case, Tehran for attempted shots of the hostages, now back to the Middle East for the renowned Strait of Hormuz, the most powerful stretch of water in the world these days.
From beside the bed on the marble floor, he plucked a handful of dirty socks and pajamas and stuffed them into his satchel, wishing to God he hadn't had that last Singapore Sling at the Dolce Vita.
He zipped up the satchel and stood upright, swaying a bit from the pounding above his left temple. Scanning the room, his eyes fell on the Milady bag which he hastily stuffed into the satchel after pulling out the customer's receipt from his pocket and stuffing it in as well. His roundtrip ticket had Beirut scheduled as a stopover and if the sexy plaything didn't fit Karen, he could exchange it. Buying clothes for a woman, he mused, was the damnedest job in the world. If you bought it too big, they berated you for thinking them fat; if it was too small, they thought they had no bust at all.. . .
Right now he'd better get some rest and pack ice on that eye.
The hotel clerk at St. George's didn't so much as blink an eye when the American filmmaker checked out of the hotel on a sun-bursting morning at six o'clock. In route to the airport, the bomb shattered walls plastered with Khomeini's bearded face seemed to follow him, haunting him. The recent squirmishes over the coveted Strait of Hormuz were intensifying, but strangely enough, that disturbed him less than the attempted robbery of his hotel room the night before. One was personal, one was not.
Right now there was something personal he'd like to get into: Karen O'Malley, five feet four inches of luscious flesh with a brain to match. Daring little bitch, he thought, the creepy feeling that a bomb could detonate any second and blow him to smithereens crawling up his spine. The Arabs were a strange bunch, and with the Israelis choking them out of their home lands, Mohammed only knew what destruction they would wreak on each other! Blowing up schools, hospitals . . . this land couldn't be trusted.
These thoughts and a thousand others rambled through the American's brain as the taxi driver let him off at Beirut's airport. The concourse of the airport terminal was clogged, but he picked out the flaming red hair and the fresh Irish skin instantly. Looking officiously elegant, Karen was wearing a beige gabardine suit with an emerald green silk blouse that matched her eyes. Flames of hair tumbled about her shoulders, and the tight vest nipped in her waist and did nothing to hide the rich swells of her full, young breasts. Christ! Bentley shouldered his way through the crowd. Harry Goodfellow didn't know what a favor he was doing me, when he assigned Karen as my assistant!
Karen stood near the check-in counter, checking her wristwatch every few seconds and glancing around impatiently. Her patent leather heels tapped impatiently and it was obvious her Irish temper was short fusing.
Chet snuck up behind her, let his bags drop to the floor, and cupped her shoulders, swinging her around to face him.
"CHET! You promised you'd.. . . "A tiny fist flew to her mouth, and she winced. "God, what in the world happened to you?" Her emerald eyes traced the purpled eye, up over the swell of his ear to his temple.
The filmmaker's hand rose to his face and a crooked grin creased his lips; he shrugged defensively. "Had a little tussle last night in Beirut. Some thugs got me in the hotel room. Don't worry, the camera's safe.. . they didn't get anything."
"You look terrible! Have you seen a doctor?"
"Nothing a little kiss couldn't fix up.. . " he grinned, leaning down to kiss her soft, warm forehead.
"Please, Chet . . . we don't have time." She pulled away and shot an anxious glance at the overhead clock. "Our plane is due to leave in a few minutes, and you know how Harry is about missing connections.. . . "
They'd handed their airline tickets to the black -haired, doe eyed Lebanese airline employee who, eyeing their names and destination, paused a moment before drawing out a telegram.
"This just came in over the teletype," she announced, handing him the blue envelope which he ripped open with a thumbnail.
Chet frowned. "Now what the hell?" he grumbled.
FIGHTING BROKE OUT IN STRAIT OF HORMUZ. STOP. IRANIAN TERRORISTS SUSPECTED OF POSSIBLE SABOTAGE. STOP. GO TO KARBALA AND WAIT INSTRUCTIONS. STOP. HARRY. BE CAREFUL.
Chet handed the telegram to his assistant. She bit her lip. "I knew this sounded too easy . . . but gosh, I had no idea the war was so close. Terrorists?" she wrinkled up her perky, freckled nose and searched Chefs eyes for an answer. "This part of the world makes Harlam look like Forty-Second Avenue. Now what?"
"Looks like we spend a vacation in Karbala, hon.. . might as well make the most of it."
The next flight out to Karbala wouldn't be departing for three hours. "We'd like to cancel our reservations to Baghdad," he informed the Lebanese lovely. "Change it to Karbala."
He guided Karen by the elbow and plucked the luggage from the floor. "We might as well head for a lounge and relax," he suggested. Changes of plans were customary when one's business was filming network news. He recalled with a shiver, almost being captured in Tehran by a gang of Iranian terrorists who'd eyed his camera with CBS's logo and wanted him for the fifty-first hostage. A vacation would do him good . . . and what the hell, a free vacation with Karen was nothing to sniff at! Maybe he'd have some time to do some independent filming.. . of Karen in a variety of sexy poses.
Shivering with anticipation, he visualized the warmly clinging sleekness of her naked voluptuousness stretched out against his lean body, and the mere thought made the gabardine of his pants tighten against his thigh as the familiar tingling feeling crawled from his belly to his penis, feeding it with anticipation.
The Beirut airport had suffered a few attacks of its own, but hastily rebuilt to show the world its recuperative powers against Israeli attacks, none of it showed from the inside. They found a table next to the glassed-in wall and contented themselves over wine as they stared wordlessly out over the concrete expanse of the runways. The morning sunlight glinted off the silver jets, their needled noses all pointing straight ahead like so many giant bullets.
The baggage loaders were crawling toward a 747 jetliner, looking like a couple of mechanically operated Mattel toys from where the Americans sat. The tractor pulled away and the mellifluous voice of the Lebanese announcer hummed the flight departure to Baghdad.
"I was looking forward to Baghdad," sighed Karen, resting her dimpled chin in the palm of her hand. "This is the first war time assignment Harry's trusted me with. Really," she said, turning her eyes to his, "I wouldn't have minded going to Tehran with you . . . but you know how Harry is about women and the military."
They clinked glasses to that and idly turned their gaze to the jet's pivot for take off. Slowly it rumbled down the runway, the vibrations of its power felt in a slight tingle of lips to drink glass. The tail end rose from the ground, the wheels started to pull up . . . away to Baghdad.
Suddenly, the sky turned into a ball of fire. Everyone in the lounge was on their feet screaming. Bomb? Air crash? The truth made itself known as an explosion showered fragments of wings, and metallic shrapnel into the air. The body of the plane, a ball of shriveled metal, plundered to the ground, shaking the foundation of Beirut's International Airport.
The American filmmakers stood paralyzed in the chaos of hysterical friends and relatives, terrified observers and distraught officials. The morning freshness turned into a holocaust of sirens . . . ambulances, military always on guard in the Middle East, and fire trucks screaming toward what was left of the wreckage.
Karen heaved a sigh of distress and rested her head on Chefs shoulder. "We.. . we were supposed to be on that flight.. . " she shuddered, and buried her face in his chest.
Chet heaved back a sigh of acknowledgement. "I'm fully aware of that, darling.. . fully aware!" His voice was shaky, his body preened for survival. The Special Forces had done that to him-taught him the key to survival was a clear head.
"Do . . . do you think anybody.. . ? "
"Survived?" He shook his head and stroked her satiny hair comfortingly. "It blew up too fast. They would never know what hit 'em . . . thank God."
"B-b-but what happened?"
He shrugged and shook his head. "In this part of the world, it could easily have been sabotage."
"Oh.. . " she sobbed. "Oh, Chet, this scares me, and I thought I was so strong!" she whimpered miserably.
"Don't give it another thought." Bentley patted her shoulder and cogitated for a moment, recalling the telegram's message. How many other planes were scheduled for blow up? Crazy Arabs . . . don't give a damn who they blow up!
"Let's have another drink," he announced, searching for a bartender in the emptied lounge, and finding none, slipping behind the bar to refill their glasses with healthy splashes of whiskey. They clinked glasses.
"Let's put this out of our minds," he said as much to himself as to Karen. "And whiskey is the best antidote for that!"
Two drinks later, he glanced at his digital wrist-watch through his one un-puffed eye. "If it would make you feel better, we could take a train to Karbala." He studied her expression of relief. "It would only take twenty-four hours, and after seeing what we just did, I think I'd feel safer on the ground."
Karen sniffled in relief. "At least you have a chance that way . . . yes, yes, darling, let's do that!"
After a quick, reassuring hug, he patted her cajolingly on the shoulders and announced he needed to take a quick trip to the men's room. "After I come back, we'll check out the train schedule and take a taxi to the train depot." He grabbed his satchel and left her standing alone.
With everyone plastering their noses to watch the futile rescue attempt, the bathrooms were deserted. Wanting to dab antiseptic Neosporin on his healing cuts, Chet set down the satchel and ran the basin full of warm water. He was lowering his head toward the basin when he caught surreptitious movement in the mirror.
The second attack took place.
Two men, swarthy, black -haired young men wearing black shirts and pants and berets had been hiding in the deserted stalls. Simultaneously, they emerged from the stalls, like two dark demons of death. Lanky, panther-like bodies with strong Persian features set determinedly.
For a second Chet panicked. A steely hand had gripped the nape of his neck and forced his face below the water. Taken by surprise, he'd automatically sucked in his breath. Now his mouth and nose and throat were burning from the hot water. His lungs felt as if they would burst for lack of air! His ears pounded and for a second, he knew how Houdini felt in the escape tank. They'd pinned his left hand behind his back; his other hand was pinioned between the sink and the second assailant's strong thigh. He heard the rustle of a paper bag next to his feet where the man behind him rummaged through his satchel.
Chet thought wildly of dunking his head lower and pulling the plug free with his teeth, but his nose and chin, thrust down against the bowl of the basin would prevent drainage.
Frantic, he bucked and heaved, trying to force his head up and back to break the grip on his aching neck. The blood sang in his temples; another few seconds and he'd be dead.
Special Forces training in the Marines had saved his life more than once, and by God it had to work again. Struggling backwards would do no good. He must use his leverage in a surprise attack coming from the front of him. With the little strength remaining him, he lifted his feet from the floor and pressured down on the sink with his one hundred and ninety pounds of muscle. The effect crackled as the screws and bolts tore away from the poorly plastered wall (too many times repaired from small bomb blasts) and the basin tilted forward, separating from the wall.
It crashed to the floor, pulling Bentley free of his assailants' grasp. Taken by surprise the Persian thugs reacted slowly, relying as was their practice on knives and guns and bombs instead of human innovation. By the time they'd scrambled to their feet to face him, he had sucked enough air into his burning lungs to regain strength.
Crouchingly menacingly, arms outstretched, the two men advanced. Now Bentley got his first look at the attackers. The taller, leaner one sported a fresh wound over his right cheekbone . . . about as old as the one purpling Bentley's eye. Ah ha, so these were the same men who'd messed him up last night!
A cold fury bordering on insolence piqued a rush of hot-blooded adrenalin in Chefs veins. After being attacked from behind by sneaky Vietnamese guerillas, he wasn't about to let a couple of Persian thugs do him in!
His upper lip curling, breath hissing from his lungs, he grabbed the first man by the collar and tossed him against the wall, but not before he'd drawn back his arm and crunched into his jaw from below. The man dropped to the floor, a tooth flying from his mouth amidst a river of fresh blood.
Behind him Bentley's ears sang with the hissed threats of the second assailant. Wincing, Chet staggered as a blow caught him in the rib cage. He careened against the wall until cold fury sparked instinct and he drove a balled up fist into the Persian's groin. The man fell to the floor in a heap of bawling pain. Chefs foot drew back for a swift kick in the belly which sent the swarthy terrorist sliding over the wet floor to bang his head against the sink's rim. Joyfully, Chet grabbed the first assailant by the hair and hammered a few blows into his broken nose before wiping his bloody hands on his pants, grabbing his satchel and making a hasty exit.
As they headed for the Information Booth to inquire about the train schedule, he told Karen about the attack.
"This doesn't make sense.. . first you're attacked in your hotel room, then the airplane crash, now this." She stared at him cautiously. "That makes three, Chet . . . and you know what they say about that."
"Christ, I'm not a foreign agent, I'm just another schlep cameraman, that's what bothers me. If I had footage on the Strait of Hormuz, I could understand the attack . . . but I have nothing."
Karen shook her head tragically. "You have one messed up face, my dear, that you have."
CHAPTER TWO
The train to Karbala was far more crowded than either of the Americans expected. Parties of anxious faced would-be plane travelers who, after watching one plane blow up into a fiery cloud, decided the ground would be far safer, made a mad scramble for an empty car compartment, but Chefs awesomely bruised face frightened the pushers aside and they slipped inside, closed the door, and relaxed.
"Jesus, at last," sighed Chet, staring out the train window. From his vest pocket, he hauled out a bottle of bourbon purchased at the train depot and unscrewed the cap. He took a long sip and passed it to Karen.
"That's just what I need . . . more booze," she quipped unworking the buttons to her tight vest and relaxing back in the seat facing Chet.
Chet winked a purple eye at her. "More booze and a bit of sex'll make a man forget about his woes anytime. Come here.. . why are you sitting over there? I haven't felt that hot body since JFK last week."
With a flirtatious flip of the hand, she pooched out her succulent lips that had touched the rim of many a shot glass that day, and slipped down beside him. His strong length felt fantastic, his hand cupping her shoulder and pressing her cheek to his chest.
"Mmmmmm," she cooed. "I will have another sip . . . does wonders for the nerves. " Behind fluttering eyelids, the fiery ball that once was a jet flickered like a re-run videotape.
"Forget about that and let's enjoy ourselves, relax, kick off your shoes," he cajoled in a lusty voice.
Karen had no objections until the glass door slid open and a voluptuous Lebanese woman poked her head inside. Chet sucked in his breath at the beauty dressed in an airline stewardess' uniform. She was tall, with a succulent set of lips the color of ripe raspberries, and wide set, thrusting breasts that gave an hourglass shape to her body, thanks to the belt cinched tightly about her waist.
Those sloe eyes traveled from Chefs handsome Nordic looks to Karen's Irish beauty. "Excuse me," she said with a French accent, "may I share the compartment with you?" She glanced over her shoulder and shrugged helplessly, then gesticulated with her hand as only the French can. "The rest of the train is filled."
Karen let out a tiny sigh of resignation at Chefs generosity. "Of course, help yourself. Move the luggage if you like."
As the airline stewardess lifted her luggage from where she'd let it rest on the seat beside Karen, the back of her hand brushed more than once against the smooth curve of the voluptuous filmmaker's breasts.
"I am a stewardess on the Baghdad flight, but our flight was cancelled because of the crash. Now I must find my way by train to Karbala and then on to Baghdad." She heaved a tired sigh. "So many problems in this part of the world."
"Ain' that the truth," muttered Chet under his breath, giving Karen a squeeze.
The airbrakes released with a wheezing sound and the train lurked forward heading southeast for Karbala. Some miles outside of Beirut, heading for Damascus, the sun began its westward journey, splashing orange ripples over the sand, reflecting as if on water. The eerie almost neon light splayed over the lovely Lebanese stewardess' gorgeous face.. . a fact of appreciation which Chet didn't ignore.
Later, after the sun was down and they'd consumed sandwiches from the vendor who'd wormed his way from one car to the next with his cart of cold foods and Lebanese beer, Chet switched off the light above the window and settled Karen in the crook of his arm. She nestled her head on his shoulder kittenishly. "Mmmmm.. . " she breathed. "I'm so drunk, Chet, and it feels so good!"
The filmmaker's hand was cupped around the bulge of Karen's breast slipping beneath the gabardine vest to rustle in the emerald silk. "Me too!" he grinned. "Jesus, it feels good touching you."
The pressure of his warm palm increased against the weight of her melonous flesh, and his thumb made rotating circles around the bud of her nipple where it spiked out under the silk.
"Chet!" she hissed. "Remember we have company!"
"She -likes you," he whispered hotly in her ear.
In the dark, Karen blushed. "Shhh.. . . "
"She's asleep . . . don't worry."
Despite protestations, Karen's hand, lying along the top of his muscular thigh, began a warm, squeezing motion. One of her slender red-tipped fingers started to make tiny circles, caressing the tightly-stretched gabardine. With the heel of her hand, she felt a sudden pressure as his long thick penis, trapped between the cloth and his flesh, began to jerk into hardness.
Chet was breathing heavily. Reaching across his free hand, he pulled aside the stiff fabric of her vest and slipped it off her arms. Now he could touch the smooth curve of her lushly ripened breast behind the silk cup so warm to his touch. Gently, he stroked his palm up and down across the fleshiness of her now erect nipple, bringing soft mewls of pleasure from her laxly parted lips.
The heel of her hand on his thigh began a rhythmic gyrating motion, rolling the hardness of his penis from side to side under the material of his pants as the fingers increased the tempo of their caresses. Chefs long, thick cock stiffened into a rubbery rigidity, throbbing beneath Karen's drunken, lust-provoking caresses. A dime-sized spot of seminal fluid stained the light beige of his pants.
Chefs arm around her waist tightened, thrusting up his palm to shove the ripely swelling mound of her breast harder against the exploring fingers inside Karen's blouse. His exploring hand found the cleft of softly trembling flesh between the twin cups of her brassiere, played there for a moment, and snuck under the taut strap to slide tantalizingly down inside the satiny cup of her brassiere and fondle the warm, velvety skin inside.
Karen gasped as he rolled and tweaked the rubbery bud of her strawberry nipple between his strong fingers, sending maddening charges of indecent sensation charging through her aroused young body. Her breath quickened, her chest began to rise and fall, and her luscious mouth dropped open. Her own fingers started rolling over the hard bulge of his massively pulsating penis outlined in bold relief, its mushroomed head seeping damply.
"Ohhh, Karen . . . " Chet groaned in her ear. "Jesus, what you do to me!"
Bending his head, he pressed his warm lips over her wetly parted ones and slipped his wet tongue between her lips.
Karen's breath exhaled hotly from her flaring nostrils and her body convulsed in a sigh of appreciation. The terrifying events of one day in the Middle East was beginning to fade from the reassuring warmth of Chefs body. Ecstatically, she squirmed against the seat, her veins on fire with dancing demons centering in the heart of her womb.
Sensing her drunken, agreeable state, Chet guided her hand to the vee of his loins, helped her tiny fingers unzip his pants, and aided, too, in pulling out the stiff tube of his penis. He wrapped her tiny fist around his eagerly throbbing cock.
As her fingers closed around the muscled staff, Chet groaned deep in his throat and smashed his mouth down harder on her trembling wet lips. She jerked his hotly throbbing penis free of the flap and mewled with delight as it sprang quiveringly erect into the air and stood up from the fly like a heavy blunt stalk.
He helped her at first, gradually milking his long thickness, his large hand clamped over her small one. The loose foreskin moved up and down the shaft as his tongue probed ever deeper towards her throat and the maddening touch of his fingers on her nipple sent shocks of desire tingling through her belly.
Karen, this isn't like you, she berated herself. But I'm so damned drunk . . . and it feels so good to be touched! Shamefully, she realized she was drenched up between her legs. The moist nylon of her panties was cool against her throbbing cuntal lips as her thighs involuntarily parted and the cool, desert air played over her secret flesh.
The seclusion, the loneliness of traveling in a foreign, war-torn land . . . was that the reason for this abandonment, she cogitated drunkenly. With a smothered groan of lust, she pulled her mouth free of Chefs warm lips and compliantly bent her head under Chefs urgent nudge. Now her flamed cheeks were posed just above the wetly glistening head of his lustfully pulsating cock. He could feel the hot caress of her breath blowing against the sensitive tip.
The American filmmaker sucked in his breath as a tingle of lewd delight flamed through his body towards his loins. The trembling redhead's mouth was a lick away from his eagerly pulsing penis, now gleaming whitely along its rigid length. A thread of saliva dribbled down from Karen's slack lips to mingle with the seeping fluid oozing in pearly drops from the slit in its bulbous head as she took her hand from the shaft and felt for his testicles. She meant only to tickle and tease, but Chet, sucking in his breath, clamped his hand over hers and urged her fingers to squeeze and explore.
Chet gritted his teeth as the girl's fingers fell into a rhythm of their own. She kneaded his sperm-bloated glands until he panted with desire. His chest heaved up and down and his head was thrown back against the headrest of the train seat. He felt her other hand reach for his cock and guide it toward her ovaled lips.. . and then he gasped and thrust his loins involuntarily as the warm moistness of her open lips closed tight as a rubber band over the throbbing mushroomed head.
Put a woman in a foreign land, and by God what she won't do. Maybe it's the Arabic influence, thought
Chet in a haze of lust. This was a first!
His lungs were bursting with excitement that ricocheted through every trembling nerve in his body as she slowly lowered her head, taking almost half of his cock into her wetly heated mouth while her tongue licked kittenishly against the lust swollen cock head. He jerked his own head forward and stared down at the glossy red hair tumbling about her shoulders. God, if only he had her alone in bed . . . what he wouldn't do to her!
His heart pumped dangerously in his chest as Karen pulled the foreskin back as far as it would go, tightening the flesh of his penis until it felt as though the head would burst. Her hot lips were sucking now at the inflated tip, and her tongue began to flicker around the glistening shaft. Keeping the skin pulled back to show off the naked head, she started bobbing her head experimentally up and down, at the same time twirling her tongue around the moist stickiness of the blood-swollen tip.
Chet let himself go as far as he could. Leaning back, he smiled mesmerically down at the profile view of her lust-contorted face with the thickness of his cock stuffed between her sucking lips. Excitement charged through him as he watched his wetly glistening penis fucking rhythmically in and out of her ovaled mouth in time with his flexing hips. The sight was too damned erotic to let him sit still. His pelvis tensed and jerked up into the slavering face of his assistant until he thought she might gag. With each hard thrust, more and more of his thick hardness disappeared until f inally only a quarter of an inch showed in the dim light as they passed a small oil refinery somewhere in the desert.
For being a neophyte at cocksucking, thought Chet with a lusty chuckle, she's got the practice down! Her tongue was making his cock head throb and jerk as though a second heart were beating within. Hypnotized, he watched as her fleshy lips pulled out grotesquely, clinging to the hard shaft as she sucked hungrily, her mind and concentration drunkenly centered on her lewdly thrilling workout!
Easing out his hand from under her blouse where her breasts were squashed against his knee, he tangled his fingers in her wealth of silken hair and guided her greedily clasping lips up and down the hot throbbing length of his fleshy stalk with dominant power. God, if only that Lebanese airline stewardess weren't sitting there, he'd shove his cock up her pussy so far it would come out her throat! Jesus, he'd love to pump his sperm into her belly. Closing his eyes, he groaned in anticipation and ecstasy.
Neither had seen the wide sloe eyes glinting across from them. "What a pleasant way to while away the time on this boring train!" The voice came directly across from them. Chefs eyes flew open to stare into the amused gaze of their travel companion. In a hush of clothing, the stewardess sat forward in her seat, her full lower lip shining wetly and her wide black eyes glinted in covetousness.
Instantly, scorching with humiliation, Karen jerked her head away from Chefs cock at the sound of the silken voice. Her open mouth glistened with saliva and seminal fluid as she stared up at the hawkeyed stewardess. Absentmindedly, she grasped the rigidly pulsing penis. "Oh, deer God . . . I'm so sorry," she whispered in humiliation and guilt.
Chet cleared his throat and froze, hating to stuff his stiffened penis back into his pants when he was so darned close to cumming . . . and with Karbala so far away too!
A throaty chuckle broke from the stewardess' French-accented lips. "Don't let me stop you," she whispered warmly. "Perhaps we could all.. . ? "
Chet heaved a titillated sigh and regained his poise. "Move over, honey . . . and let the lady sit down."
"Oh, Gawd, Chet, what are you talking about?" barked Karen. "Aren't you satisfied with one woman?"
Then Karen's head flew around when a warm hand descended upon her arm. She raised her head too quickly and dizziness set in. She counted four gorgeously snapping eyes boring into her soul.
"We can all three enjoy ourselves, don't worry. I won't touch your boyfriend."
"You mean?" Karen protested, but the stewardess awaited no further protest and dropped to the floor of the train on her haunches. "You see, we foreigners design for sheer enjoyment!"
Deftly, she swung Karen's ankles up onto the six foot long train seat so that the drunken, puzzled redhead found herself lying full length along the seat with her head in Chefs lap and her burning cheek resting against the gleaming hardness of his cock.
Chet Bentley grinned a hot blooded American male grin. Catching onto the idea (having spent plenty of time in Da Nang brothels) he shifted positions so that his weight was on one hip and his penis now jutted horizontally from his gaping fly, a dead target for her wetly parted lips.
Karen's mind was a whirlpool of indecision. She knew it was horribly obscene to involve another woman in their lovemaking . . . perverted, immoral, indecent, a hundred objections flitted through her mind, but beside it flickered the rational that this was a foreign country and what happened here was somehow disjointed with the American life of Karen O'Malley.
Chet could always stop it if something bad happened, she reasoned, not wanting to rebuke him after all the horrible things that had happened to him in the past twenty-four hours. Anyway, she needn't enjoy it.. . and it was for him. Yet flickers of strangely aroused desire danced through her loins. This one time . . . for Chet.
Karen gasped and whole body convulsed as the stewardess reached deftly up under her skirt and yanked down her white panties in one practiced gesture.
Karen's mouth flew open so that her head was resting on the seat and her lips brushed against the wet, velvety tip of Chefs penis! Her lips parted compliantly, and before she knew what she was doing, she'd raised a hand to guide the thick stalk of meat back between her parted lips.
Down on her knees, the salaciously erotic Lebanese born stewardess licked her lips at the sight of the curling pussy hairs foresting Karen's trembling loins. She placed the palms of her warm hands against the girl's trembling inner thighs and spread them gently apart as far as the panties pulled down to her ankles would allow.
Karen shivered and groaned as the pole of flesh invading her mouth made her a slave to the intolerable tremors of anticipation threatening her wetly throbbing cunt. Hesitations and doubts blew like desert sands. Her nipples hardened against the satin of her brassiere as she abandoned herself to a whirlwind of indecent pleasure that whirred in her alcohol-hazed mind.
Gently running her polished fingertips along the tender inner flesh of Karen's thighs, the stewardess placed her thumbs on the pulsating lips of the squirming girl's pussy as she feasted her eyes on the moistly gleaming pink slit nestling in its furrow of damp hair. Then, spreading the vaginal lips with a teasing pressure of her thumbs, she lowered her face towards the silken, glistening cuntal flesh a lick away.
Karen moaned again and sucked more furiously on Chet's cock, bringing up one hand to seize the thick base of the shaft and pull the throbbing stalk of flesh harder into her lust contorted face. The wildly aroused filmmaker snaked his hands beneath her arched back to unsnap the hook of her brassiere and then began frenziedly to caress her naked breasts, squeezing and tweaking the sensitive flesh as the two full mounts with their strawberry nipples sprang quiveringly free.
Below, the kneeling stewardess muttered an obscene moan and flickered her tongue deep into the hot, velvety depths of Karen's splayed cunt.
The young redhead jerked and quivered as she felt the tantalizing wetness of the hot, quivering tongue spear into her tight little vagina, and she ground her naked buttocks into the tweed train seat as she began a frenzied milking movement with her fingers along the base of Chefs cock.
Panting lustfully, the stewardess licked gently at the swollen pink bud of Karen's clitoris, snuggled in the warm fuzz of her pubic curls at the entrance to her pussy, pressing her thumbs further apart to gape at the naked, wet slit. Her tongue traced a lusty path between the layers of succulent flesh, surrounding the moist hidden crevices up between the girl's softly trembling thighs.
Unannounced, the kneeling Lebanese woman raised her head and grasped the underside of Karen's thighs and pushed them up, so that her legs, linked together by the wide stretched panties, rose high into the air and the whole flat plane of her genitals was exposed to her sloe-eyes.
With a groan of appreciation, the dark head sank down again . . . and the ravishing tongue darted into the wet pink flesh of Karen's tight cunt. From this position, she could penetrate further, and soon, with her own lips clamped lasciviously to the swollen folds of the writhing redhead's vagina, her tongue could stab far up into the deliciously pungent depths of Karen's secret flesh.
Karen's body almost jackknifed from the erotic contact of the tongue spearing so far up into her trembling belly. A choked cry burst from her wildly sucking mouth, her fingers fell from Chefs cock, and then her loins began a slow, eager grind against the Lebanese's face.
And she lapped voraciously at the redhead's cunt. She thrust her hands between her raised and spread thighs tangled her fingers in the strawberry curls between Karen's thighs. Groaning ecstatically from the mouthful of Chefs thick cock, Karen locked her calves behind the stewardess's neck and pulled the hotly sucking mouth harder still against her seething cunt, trapping the stewardess' face between her thighs.
Under the monotonous grind of the train's southbound wheels, the obscenely wetly sucking sounds filled the compartment's air as Karen sucked more frenziedly on the filmmaker's penis and the stewardess lapped kittenishly at her gyrating cunt.
And Karen was out of her mind with desire, rolling on the seat in a fit of eroticism while the desert stars shone in diamond chips outside the train window. She thrust her quivering breasts hard up against Chefs mauling fingers as her mouth slid frantically up and down the saliva-coated shaft of his throbbing penis and her thighs tightened around the black head plundering her loins. Shudders of forbidden pleasure raged in her belly with fiery urgency. Nothing mattered now-not the attack on Chefs life, not the airline crash-nothing, but the shafts of piercing delight warring within her body. The torturous agony of the wonderful swirling sensations rippling over every inch of her naked body was her sole universe. She writhed and bucked, twisted and groaned under the Lebanese's expert oral fucking, making her suck harder on the bloated head of Chet's hard cock, her cheeks hollowing with effort as though she would draw out the last drop of blood from his body.
As her fingers tangled tightly in the stewardess' hair, the kneeling stewardess slid her arms under Karen's naked hips and slunk her hands up and over the trembling white flatness of the redhead's belly, so that the cuntal lips were pulled tight against her hungering mouth.
Karen was at the point of utter subjugation to the foreign lesbian lover. Her back arched convulsively off the seat as her hips began to shudder in involuntary spasms. At the same time, Chet dropped his head back against the cushioned head rest and let the sensations boiling through his own loins take charge. "Go on, go on, baby!" he hissed through set teeth. "Suck harder . . . it's . . . it's . . . faster!"
Chet could feel it build in his balls. The pressure mounted like the squeeze of a handcuff. His wildly pulsing cock felt like a balloon being inflated with cum!
He thrust his hips up against Karen's face, ignoring her protesting mumble as he worked for the final release of the unbearable tension building, forever building, and then, every nerve in his body drained away to his genitals and he felt the white hot current surge deep in his balls and race the length of his wetly plunging shaft of flesh. He gave a strangled cry and his teeth showed white in the gloom of the night as his lips writhed back in a sneer of ecstasy.
His hips arched away from the seat back and his penis began a mad staccato jerking that flooded Karen's sucking mouth with gushes of scalding sperm, bloating her cheeks until she swallowed to keep from choking, mewling and crooning through gagged lips at his pumping loins.
"Don't stop! Don't stop . . . suck . . . suck!" he gasped, ramming his madly jerking cock deeper into her throat as his hands kneaded the quivering mounds of her naked breasts. Karen sucked as he spewed his white hot cum deep into her throat, and then, with a dying groan, he emptied the last dregs between her lips and fell against the seat, a satisfied man.
At the first acrid taste of Chet's hot sperm jetting against the back of her tender throat, Karen sensed her own orgasm building deep within her tongued belly. As she swallowed, the climax became a flood, a tidal wave of sensation carrying her along on a crest, breaking in the center of her being and sending her spiraling up amongst the stars. With a throaty cry, she wrenched her cum-smeared lips away from Chet's deflating penis as her head flailed from side to side on his lap in swirls of shimmering red.
"Aaaggghhh! Oh God, oh God, I'm cccuummm-ming!"
Her thighs tightened around the kneeling stewardess' ears as her cuntal juices seethed from her tongue plundered pussy to stream down the trembling crevice between her naked ass cheeks and flood the slavering chin of the frantically sucking stewardess.
Insanely excited by the effect of her depraved attack on the redhead American's genitals, the stewardess dropped one hand to haul up her skirt and finger fuck herself in time with Karen's thrusting loins. Out of her mind with desire at the sluicing sounds of the twin orgasms echoing from the seat above her, she clawed furiously at her own wetly throbbing cunt until after a few seconds, her fingers thrust savagely under the elastic leg band of her panties to massage the blood engorged bulb of her clitoris.
In seconds she, too, was twisting and groaning in climax, all the while her lips remained fastened, sucking voraciously at the sweet quivering flesh of Karen's cunt.
At last it ended. The kneeling stewardess lowered the up-thrust legs gently to the seat and lay her shimmering black head against Karen's damp thighs. Karen, too, muttered a deep contented sigh and subsided against Chefs hips. Later, when the fear and strangeness of the day had dissipated, self-disgust and shame set in. But for the moment, after this harrowing, confusing day, she was happy to relax.
"I must leave now . . . we are almost to Damascus," breathed the Lebanese stewardess, straightening her skirt and hauling her luggage from the rack above the seat. "From there I fly to Baghdad."
Then she was gone through the sliding door of the quiet train compartment, punctuated by Chefs snores.
CHAPTER THREE
"What do you mean the train tracks have been blown up?" barked Chet at the Jordanian train conductor. "What does that mean?"
"In the Middle East," explained the swarthy, chisel-faced conductor, "one must be prepared for inconveniences of all kinds. We believe it is the work of Iranian terrorists, since Jordan is, as you Americans know," he put in with bushy, arched eyebrows, "are on the side of Iraq."
"A lot of good that does us," mumbled Karen, then tutting with a sigh.
The hour approached sunrise. Outside their window a hint of pink streamed in elegant ribbons over the wind-rippled sand with steely fingers poking into the arid waste. Neither had slept well in the train compartment and irritability from repetitious delays shortened her Irish temper.
'That means we're stuck here out in the middle of the desert until they fix the tracks, is that right?" she snapped at the chocolate eyed conductor who nodded affirmatively in a slump shouldered bow.
'That's just great!" Karen stared up at Chet as if this inconvenience were his fault.
Chet took one look at the tired emerald eyes, pleading for a decent night's sleep and, taking the conductor by the elbow, pivoted him into outside the compartment. He drew a handful of assorted Lebanese, Jordanian and Syrian coins out of his pocket and shoved them into the conductor's fist. "You think you might find us a sleeper?"
The conductor balked.
"Karen and I need time alone," he insinuated, offering the conductor one of those you-should-understand-because-you're-a-man smiles. "You see, I picked up this French lace lingerie for her in Milday's in Beirut, and I want to make it a special occasion."
"French panties . . . lace, ah ha . . . I see." the conductor scratched his chin, the muscles in his jaws meshing. Rattling the coins into his pocket he crossed his arms over his uniformed chest and shifted his weight. "I suggest, you Americans do not lock your sleeper which I have agreed to find for you." He spread his hands. "In case of attack.. . . "
* * *
As Chet threw the luggage up onto the top bunk in their air-tight sleeper keeping the satchel below, something struck him as weird. The conductor didn't have a Lebanese accent like the airline stewardess, or come to think of it, like any other service people at the train depot or airport. He sounded more Arabic than . . . Don't let your paranoia run away with you, Bentley. You need rest to clear your head.
Karen kicked off her shoes and peeled off her suit and blouse, until she lay on her back staring up at the bedsprings of the bunk above them. Cascades of flaming red hair, tussled and unbrushed, tumbled about her naked, creamy shoulders. Her eyes followed Chefs deft fingers as, standing with head bent to avoid collision with the six foot ceiling, he stripped naked.
"I'm getting tired of feeling like a hostage in a war zone, Chet."
"Don't think about it," he appealed, getting down almost to his knees to crawl in beside her. "When you're in a better mood, I have a surprise for you."
Her eyes saucered. 'That was a heck of a surprise last night.. . . " She blushed, hoping lovemaking with Chet would dispel the recriminations she had suffered ever since the outrageous scene with the Lebanese stewardess. Yet, she had to admit that the experience taught her that her own sexual inclinations were a little less normal than she'd realized! Chalking it up to
Arabic influence and foreign travel, she decided not to think about it. Things had a way of working themselves out, and circumstances have a way of helping, too.
He interpreted the stress in her voice. "Think some old fashioned lovemaking would cure your guilt?" Facing her, the voluptuous redhead suddenly drew in her breath as she felt his finger come into contact with her nearly naked flesh as she lay in her black satin brassiere and panties to match.
An electrifying shock charged through her body as she felt him stroke gently towards the top of her thighs. A moment later, he raised himself up on one elbow and with the palm of his warm hand, cupped the full mound of one swelling breast.
"Let's take that off," he breathed.
"Again? In this heat?"
Removing his fingers from her warm thigh, he guided one of her tiny hands towards his loins. She felt the hard rubbery head of his cock nosing against her skin. As the hotly throbbing shaft grazed rigidly into her palm, she gasped and muttered a protest. "Really, Chet.. . so soon after?"
Karen's squeal of protest changed to a moan of pleasure as he stripped off the warmth of her brassiere and panties and kissed her on the lips. He moved the palm of his hand over the shifting mound of her firm young breast, teasing the nipple so that the tender bud of flesh hardened and stood up stiffly erect under his rotating caress.
Releasing her hand, he stroked her thigh again, feeling the nudity quiver under his touch. Karen mewled with delight as the tip of his outstretched middle finger found the narrow, swollen slit of her vagina, hesitated, and then gently thrust into the wetly throbbing flesh. Her hips arched up from the mattress as his probing finger parted her softly curling pussy hairs and made tantalizing contact with the quivering button of her clitoris.
The tiny shaft of flesh was already wet and slippery from the unexpected desire of laying naked with the man she loved. She sucked in her breath to hold back the groan of helpless ecstasy she felt building deep in her rapidly rising and falling chest.
Chet shifted the hand on her breast to give its twin equal attention, and his other massaged the hairy length of her desire-soaked vaginal furrow. Maddeningly, he stroked the wetly throbbing inner lips of her tight young cunt, circling his middle finger around the swelling head of her clitoris as she squirmed and writhed on the cool sheet on the bunk bed.
"Feel me, touch me," he breathed.
It was a request she couldn't deny. Her own fingers clasped around the hardened shaft of his penis, rolling the loose sheath of the foreskin up and down the massively rigid pole of masculinity.
He smiled at her, his pearly teeth making striking contrast to the ruddy tan of his cheeks from a week of Beirut sunshine. His bruises had healed astonishingly overnight; the swelling had gone down.
"God, you know how to turn me on!" he panted. "Oh, my dear Karen."
Staring at her with passion widened eyes, he eased his hips across her pelvis so that her fingers and the hot stalk of his cock were trapped between her warm thighs.
His penis felt enormous, and it was! Her slender fingers could just reach around the sinewy hardness of the blood-engorged shaft. The bulbous head was squashed wetly in her clenched palm, seeping its seminal juices between her fingers to guide a sticky path across her softly trembling belly. As he'd taught her to do, she smoothed the lubricating juice around the penis, rubbing it into the folds of his foreskin so that it was slick and ready. Chet was a good teacher when it came to lovemaking.
Chet groaned in lusty desire and smashed his mouth down on her wetly parted lips to plunge his tongue deep into Karen's throat. Forcing his hands between her shoulders and the mattress, he ran them over the soft curves of her back and hips, feeling the raised ripple of her spine as she undulated her perspiration sheened body up against him in a hypnotic motion. Her legs pulled apart, her thighs spread of their own volition and he sank down between them, the tautness of her tendons hard against the outside of his hips. He knew how great they'd feel later when he'd buried the domineering hardness of his cock deep up into that quivering little belly.
The American filmmaker panted hoarsely and shoved his sweat-warmed hands further down beneath her, cupping the firm fullness of her buttocks in his palms and pulling her hotly open loins up tighter against him. Slowly, he began to move up and down, sliding his lubricated shaft in and out of her feverishly clutching fingers, feeling it grow hotter and harder and wetter with every thrust of his strong loins. The claustrophobic hotness of the train's sleeper, rivers of perspiration coursed down the crinkled skin of his testicles to mingle with the dampness seeping from her wetly gaping cunt.
The erotically aroused redhead moved her ass cheeks in urgent circles, grinding her cock hungry little pussy up against Chefs thighs. Guiding her motions with the dominance of a male lover, she snaked her legs wide on either side of him, and locked him to her. Her heels hooked over the backs of his knees and her calves, sweating from the humid Jordanian air, pinioned his shuddering thighs and pulled him tighter to her.
"Ohhh, Chet. . . " she gasped into his open mouth, her eyes tightly shut and her pelvis writhing uncontrollably beneath his weight.
Moaning with desire, Chet began to shift his hips, dragging a warm hand out from under her quivering ass cheeks to reach for his hotly throbbing penis. But the girl was too quick for him, and she pulled the slippery shaft of hardened flesh across her belly, rolling his thick penis toward her pussy. Their sticky fingers met around the rock-hard pole of flesh, sending waves of shivering excitement through each of them as together they guided the hot pulsating head between the fevered lips of her passionately trembling cunt.
Chet panted wildly as she slid his penis up and down between her legs, teasing it damply against the crinkly hairs of her pussy, forcing the blood engorged pole of flesh into greater hardness until it ached intolerably from the agonizing pressure within the veins. Reaching down with her other hand, she used her thumb and forefinger to spread her vaginal lips apart.
The feel of her tight, young pussy opening for the head of his cock, brought a deep animalish groan from Chet's lips. Who could hold back with a cock tease like this hot redhead! Ramming his hips down with a cruel thrust, he drove the thick bursting tip of his cock into the gaping mouth of Karen's trembling cunt with a flesh splitting surge.
"Aaaagghh!" whimpered Karen beneath him as he felt the warm sheath of her cunt slide wetly over his lust-hardened thickness.
"Ohhh!"
He rammed in deep as he could go, tearing another moan from her parted lips, louder and with more feeling this time. "OOOHHAAAHHH!"
Chet levered himself up on his hands to gain more power, then thrust again. His relentlessly boring rod of searing hot flesh forced its way another inch into her warmly clasping cuntal hole.
"Ohhh!"
And another inch deeper. "Aaagghhh!"
He bored into her wetly seeping folds deeper still. Then he stopped, feeling his sensitive cock head bang against the spongy tip of her cervix. It felt tight and hot, aching the full length of his rigidly pulsating shaft . . . her cuntal lubrications eased the way, and now his cock head was firmly jarred against her cervix as his heavy, sperm-bloated testicles slapped wetly into the wide split crevice between her ass cheeks.
Karen's lips parted in a low animal cry. She was pinned to the bunk bed mattress, unable to move. The muscular filmmaker lay still for a moment with his long hard penis embedded to the hilt in her moistly clasping vagina, waiting for the shock of his brutal entry to subside into a warm glow of eroticism. Far up in the trembling girl's belly, he flexed the inflated head until Karen groaned, her teeth clenching between passion-drawn lips. He flexed the head again . . . and she groaned. It turned to a mewl of desire as her hot passage expanded to clasp the pulsing length of male flesh within.
Then Chet began a slow revolving motion of his pelvis, grinding his massive hardness tightly into her naked loins, expanding the caressing walls of her vagina until her cunt fitted his pulsating shaft like a glove. Karen squirmed from side to side as she strained under his weight, arching up her hips to lift them both off the bed. Crooning with desire under his pounding body, the lust-inflamed redhead began to open and close her legs scissor-like around him as she thrust upwards to meet him on each spearing plunge.
Her mouth gaped wide. Her red hair flung from side to side on the white sheet warmed with their damp perspiration. As Chet drove his penis rhythmically into the hot wetness of her pussy, a stream of warm moisture ran down the widespread crevice between her legs to saturate his fingers where he felt his own hard rod of flesh sawing away into the hairy lips of her tight young cunt.
He massaged the warm softness of her buttocks, and felt his cock growing hard inside her clasping little cuntal hole until he was sure it would burst from the exquisite milking pressure of her caressing cuntal walls. His balls slapped wetly against her nakedly rotating ass cheeks below. It wouldn't be long now, he knew, hearing the blood sing in his ears. Christ, he hoped she was ready to cum too . . . nothing as embarrassing as leaving a woman hanging on the edge of orgasm!
He rammed his penis into her with long, hard stroke, striving to excite her to that peak of climax. Their sweating, undulating bodies streamed with sweat as the ground frantically against one another. Her swelling breasts scraped voluptuously against the matted hair of his pounding chest. Their bellies slapped lewdly together in the damp heat of the room. Their thighs glided over one another as easily as the greased shaft of his cock plunged into her cunt.
Chet could tell Karen was broaching the precipice of orgasm. She gripped him frantically with her ankles and knees, opening and closing around him in time with his surging thrusts into her hotly palpitating pussy. Beneath him, she gurgled and mewled, hissed and drooled. He knew it couldn't be long now . . . with that hope, he plunged into her with merciless speed.
"Aaaahhgghh!" she chanted, spurring him on with pounding heels riding high on his muscular back. She jackknifed her legs up towards her shoulders, pulling her knees back savagely to offer him the widest possible opening of her loins. Her body was steaming with desire. She clasped him with the backs of her calves, winding her tapered legs around his nakedly pumping buttocks as her eyes rolled uncontrollably in her head. Her ankles locked together above his hips as she ground her ravenous cunt up and down his pulsating shaft as it fucked into her with maddening power.
Her face contorted with lust as she strained for the final explosion that would set her free of this maddening lust! So close, so close. Almost.
And then.. . .
The friction of her moist elastic cuntal walls sucking at his throbbing cock did it for Chet! An irresistible flood of feeling built up in the nerve ends deep in his sperm filled balls and surged relentlessly outwards-a wave of white hot passion broke within his body and pounded in his ears.
He hoped to God the force of his climax would make Karen cum too! Shuddering, he gasped. His mouth clamped voraciously down on hers and then he uttered a groan that swelled to a cry of victory as his lust-hardened cock jerked uncontrollably and spewed hot sperm far up into her wildly clasping pussy. She felt it gush against her cervix in torrents, forcing her closer to orgasm with each scalding spurt.. . and as he had hoped, the fury of his climax triggered off Karen's.
Wrenching her lips away from his, she opened her mouth and screamed so loud Chet had to silence her cries with a kiss. Her naked heels drummed in a furious tattoo on his pumping ass cheeks, pounding at his sweating flesh as she sobbed her ecstasy into his mouth. She squeezed the cheeks of her buttocks up against his now deflating penis to trap it within her. Her seething belly ground frantically against his tense loins. For both of them it was a timeless moment of space and time.. . there was no train stuck in a desert, no war over the Persian Gulf, no attacks, no worries.
When it was over, Chet expired a sigh and collapsed limply between Karen's lowered thighs, his softening cock slipping wetly from her well-fucked pussy with a lewd sucking sound. His lips nibbled gently at the soft skin of her warm neck, dipping under the curls of her red hair. He closed his eyes, giving himself into the feeling.
In the airtight compartment, Karen lay quietly on the narrow bed, listening to his breathing and feeling the slowing of her own pulse. Drowsy and contented, she felt calm and completed. Tenderly, she kissed Chet on the forehead and cuddled into his shoulder. A trickle of tension returned to haunt her for a fleeting moment. When would the train move again? To where . . . how far had the war spread since she'd left the States such a short time ago? The attacks on Chet, by whom and why?
She nudged him with her shoulder, a smile growing over her lips. Had he forgotten about the surprise?
Tiredly, she glanced about the stuffy room, her eyes falling upon the door. Karen blinked, panic racing like ice water in her veins.
"CHET! Somebody's coming through the door!" she screamed wildly.
She jabbed Chet desperately. The door flew open and a lean figure with a black hatchet man's mask over his head and a gleaming knife in his hand leapt into the sleeper car.
Chet was exhausted . . . but he was sober and his mind snapped back to alertness. In the split second before Karen had screamed, he had sensed the stiffening of her muscles, heard the sudden intake of breath and flicked his eye sideways to see the door opening. By the time Karen's cry had burst into the silence of the steaming hot room, his brain had already telegraphed a warning to his muscles and nerve ends. That Special Forces training again.
As the Marines had taught him in hand-to-hand combat, he didn't try to roll away from the assailant, he went for him.
like a bedspring, his steely body uncoiled; wrapping his arms around Karen's shoulders, he rolled over her and forced her to the inside next to the wall.
The attacker hurled himself onto the bed just as Chet rolled under him onto the floor and Karen scrambled nakedly to the foot of the bed and crawled beneath. The knife blade plunged into the mattress still warm from their lovemaking, where Karen and Chet had been lying two seconds before. The black hooded mask reduced the attacker's peripheral vision to his disadvantage and, by the time he'd retrieved his knife from the ripped mattress, Chet had time to plan action.
Scrambling onto the top bunk bed, Chet tore the sheet from the creaking bedspring. Whoosh! The cold steel blade jabbed at his naked belly; Chet whirled to one side, twisting away from the murderous steel and slammed the edge of his hand brutally down on the intruder's forearm in a swift karate chop.
Grumbling in pain, the knife man clapped his free hand to the injured arm and thrust a second time, this time grazing Chet's upper arm. But Chet was ready this time. As the assassin drew back for another lunge, Chet tossed the wadded up sheet over the man's head.
Beneath the lower bunk, Karen's lush young body trembled in terror. She heard the clang of the knife hitting the metal edge of the creaking bunk, heard the grunts of pain and raised her hand to her mouth in pure terror.
Chet's arm seared with pain. Blood dribbled onto his chest, his belly and splattered on the walls. The sight of his own blood enraged him. As the assailant tearing at the sheet, pulled off the black hood and charged again, Chet recognized him as the conductor.
"Dirty sonofabitch," grumbled the American, grabbing the Halliburton steel case housing his movie camera and flinging it with all his strength at the man crawling up onto the upper bunt, knife dripping with Chet's blood clutched in his fist. Automatically, the assailant's arms flew up to protect his head from the heavy case, but the weighty steel and its contents knocked him backwards over the edge of the bunk.
That's when Chet took a nosedive off the top bunk. His lips thinned in s snarl of fury and his eyes blazed with rage. Chefs shoulder caught the man on the thighs and knocked him off balance so that the knife swung in the air above Chefs head, then tumbled to the floor. For a moment the two of them tangled in a hydra of arms and legs in the cramped space legs kicking under the bed where Karen lay cringing. Then Chefs strong fingers closed around the assailant's wrist below the knife blade's handle and forced it high above his swarthy face.
Eyeball to eyeball, the American and Middle Eastern conductor glared murderously at each other. Panting, lungs burning for air, they locked together in the suggestive position of lovemaking. Gritting his teeth with the effort, Chet pinioned the man's free hand under his arm and used his superior strength to roll over on top. Then, using an old Marine trick in terrorism, he grunted out a murderous growl as every sinew in his body tensed and he tried to bend back the hand grasping the knife and force the assailant to drop his weapon.
The sinewy attacker's tendons corded as he strove desperately to fight the pressure of the ex-Marine's powerful grip. Beads of sweat popped out on his swarthy forehead and he showed a gold tooth as he gritted his teeth, struggling to break the American's grip and plunge the blood dripping knife blade into his back. His lips went taut as a wild dog, and his smoky breath hissed up over Chefs handsome features.
Under the bed, Karen let out a cry of helplessness. From her vantage point only Chefs naked hairy legs and the assailant's dark painted ones was all she could see. Biting her lip until it bled, her fists balled up for action, she lunged, propelling herself out from under the bed in attempt to grab the assailant's arm.
But her timing was half a second off. Chet's steely body had spasmed into a tighter grip. The sudden movement behind him caught Chet off guard, as he relaxed his concentration.
That was enough for the assailant. Thrusting a springy foot against the American's ankle, he kicked Chet's leg aside and brought up his other knee to crash into the naked American's testicles.
Chet gritted his teeth in a choked cry of pain. He rolled off the attacker's stomach and let go the knife blade hand to grasp his balls.
Karen screamed. Down on her haunches above the assailant's head and out of his line of vision, she watched in horror as the assassin rose to his feet and raised the knife high in the air to plunge it into Chet's heart. With adrenalin-powered strength, she picked up the steel Halliburton case and brought it crashing down on the back of the man's head.
The assailant crashed to the floor, the knife fluttering from his hand. He fell face down, his body draped over Chet's spasming thighs.
Chet ripped off the mask. It was the conductor.
CHAPTER FOUR
Karbala was a far more modern city than Chet had anticipated. King Khalid's putting his petrodollars to work, the American documentary filmmaker thought to himself as his shoes slapped urgently on the hot sidewalk heading for the steps of the American Embassy in Karbala. Arabesque mosaic architecture blended like fire and water with glass skyscrapers keeping odd company.
He was in search of someone who might enlighten him on the sudden violence in the Middle East and shed some light on the Iranian/Iraqui upheaval. And a few personal issues-like attempts on his life-could use some illumination as well.
The man he sought was an acquaintance from the Special Forces based in Da Nang back in 1975. Colonel Jibsen had been one hell of a Marine, and once a Marine, always a Marine. Chet needed a man like that right now and, luckily for him, Jibsen had found station in the Saudi Arabian branch of the Central Intelligence Agency.
As Bentley's shoes climbed the steps to the embassy, his mind fled to Viet Nam those years back and recalled in particular one stout hearted American whose zeal for patriotism was matched only by his muscular structure. Two hundred and thirty pounds of unadulterated beefy muscle, closely cropped hair and bird-like eyes. If the gun he carried didn't scare the pants off indigent American officers whose poor performance was viewed as an embarrassment to the United States and due cause for death by their own countrymen specially trained in high intelligence, the burly sight of him did. That was Jibsen's job: killing lazy Marines who fucked up.
There's trust in distrust, Chet reminded himself, and honor amongst Marines. Jibsen would help for that reason and only that reason.
Jibsen hadn't changed a bit, except for a few extra crows feet under his eyes from the searing Karbala sun. His ruddy skin matched his hair in color, making his head look obscenely naked. Robin's egg blue eyes stared at the nervous American filmmaker.
"What the Strait of Hormuz and oil has to do with my life, I don't the hell know!" blared Chet across the big man's desk. "I've been attacked three times, a plane was sabotaged that should have had me on it, and a train track gets blown up in Jordan!" he sighed heavily. "Jordan's not the hell in the war yet!"
"The hell," corrected Jibsen. "They're backin' Iraq."
"So what information have the police gotten out of the conductor who tried to put a knife through my heart.. . huh? What the hell kind of judicial system have they got in this country?"
"You're in a foreign country," rebuked Jibsen, his blue eyes piercing Chet's blazing ones,". . . mind your fuckin' manners." His ragged fingernail picked at a piece of meat between his front teeth. "You're American, they're Arabs.. . they want what you got," he said flatly.
Chet's voice whined in frustration. He spread his hands. "What the hell have I got?" He enumerated the items on his fingers. "A couple pair of underwear, dirty socks, banged up camera, coupla shirts and a present for my girl." He drew in a deep breath. "Shit, I forgot about giving it to her."
"What?" Jibsen cocked his head to the side.
Chet shook his head disgustedly. "It's not important . . . I bought my girl a little something in Beirut, something I was saving for a surprise and I forgot to give it to her."
"Maybe that's what they're after," suggested Jibsen with renewed enthusiasm.
"A pair of panties and a camisole; the world's in a worse state of affairs than I thought if that's cause for trying to kill somebody!"
"So what do you want me to do about it? This is a big country, Bentley, biggern' Vietnam ever thought a bein'. " He shook his head appreciatively. "Lots a bucks to be made in this part of the world if you got the right connections." He leaned over his desk and grunted, "These fuckin' Arabs'll own the world in a coupla years after they clog up the Persian gulf. Huh," he snorted, "the stupid shits in the states'll be ridin' bicycles."
Chet failed to see the humor in it. "Who the hell's side you on, anyway? I'm surprised you're not wearing a Khomeini button, for Chrissakes."
"Listen!" Jibsen's coarse features coarsened. He levered his meaty palms on the top of his desk and rose off his chair. 'The only reason I'm talkin' to you is because you're a Marine. You were a chickenshit in Nam and you're a chickenshit now . . . but you're a Marine so I gotta treat you like one."
"You win." Chet held up his hands. "Maybe I am a chickenshit, but I got this aversion to people trying to kill me. I want you to find out who's after me and why, and get some information out of that conductor. He's probably the bastard who blew up the tracks. I've got an assignment to work on, I'm waiting for orders from CBS in New York. I need a bodyguard for Karen. I can't take her to Abadan with me."
Jibsen stiffened. "Abadan . . . that was bombed yesterday."
"What?"
Jibsen slapped an English newspaper on the desk under Chet's nose. "We're at war, boy. The fuckin' Strait's all clogged up!"
Back in the hotel room, Chet explained the situation to Karen: She would stay in Karbala under Jibsen's auspices and he, unassisted would head for location when word came from Goodfellow to advance. War documentary assignments, he was beginning to understand; we aren't a hell of a lot different from being in the Special Forces. Both took guts.
That afternoon the awaited telegram arrived from CBS. CONTACT ABDULLAH IN BASRA. STOP. REPORT BACK UPON ARRIVAL. STOP. HARRY.
'That's it," sighed Chet resignedly, never having appreciated Karen's luscious bumps and curves more in his life. Christ, he hadn't felt this scared since he landed in a rice paddie in Viet Nam up to his knees in muck, leechers chewing at his kneecaps and guerilla farmers throwing glass Molotov cocktails in his face.
Something about being in the midst of war with no gun and a sense of survival your only ammunition, unnerved the ex-Marine. He felt it, but didn't show it.
"Cupping Karen's shoulders, he stared into her emerald eyes. "Jibsen's an asshole, but he stays alive." He shook a finger at her. "But don't let the ugly bastard seduce you, that's all I ask, because if you get turned on by him, that'll make me look pretty damned unattractive."
"Oh, Chet, I want to go back to New York, both of us." Her lovely shoulders shivered and she pressed her soft curves to match his muscular ones. "I don't like being in the middle of war with no news of what's going on. I keep thinking of the American hostages in Tehran who've been cooped up going crazy for over a year, and anything seems possible."
"I've got a plane to catch," he announced, pulling reluctantly away from her tempting lusciousness. He'd have given anything for an hour naked in bed with her in one of those Hemingway love scenes, feeling the earth move for them. . . but damn it, this was real life. He had a job to do.
Chet was retracing those thoughts, wishing he'd gone for that one last screw, when he walked up the steps of a government building in Basra. The streets of the city were eerily vacant and the smell of sulphur and burning oil stung his nostrils. The imminent feeling that a bomber could strafe overhead any second and nail his bloody carcass to the American Embassy doorstep, shivered through his lanky frame. Times like this, he wished he shared some of Jibsen's cocksure sentiment. Jibsen was a man who'd never die.
Chefs growing distrust of Arabs intensified as he eventually came face to face with Abdullah. Events happened so damned fast in war, yesterday's friend could be tomorrow's foe. With that in mind, he extended a hand to Abdullah, the Minister of Information at the Embassy. The sweaty faced Iraqi looked the epitome of the typical Arab male. A large nose dominated his long, thin face. Taut lips spreading in a welcoming smile nearly brushed the tip of his nose. His attire created a strange contrast of East and West. He wore a natty suit, with a crisp white shirt and about his head a turban draped over his shoulders.
Bentley handed him the letters of introduction which the diplomat read carefully. After pursuing them, Chet stuffed them back into his satchel along with his clean socks and underwear. His fingers touched the crinkly Milady lingerie bag stuffed in the bottom, and mentally he snapped his fingers at his stupidity for neglecting to give Karen her gift. He wondered what the Iraqi would think if he knew he was carrying a pair of lacey panties in his bag. Damn things getting to be a bad luck charm.. . .
"You are from New York City, the Big Apple?" put in Abdullah rhetorically
Chet eyed the Iraqi diplomat quizzically, and nodded. He hadn't expected this kind of reception in a country devoted to anti-Americanism.
"And your assignment is to take footage of our petrochemical plants for use in a documentary film?" He spread his hands as he spoke.
Chet nodded. "Correct. I was originally scheduled to go to Abadan but after the oil war broke out, my supervisor decided my assistant and I should not risk the dangers."
"You are wise not to step foot in Iran," he said crisply, shuffling slightly in his chair. The Khomeini has treated your people badly."
Chet got the instant impression that anti-Iranian was equated with pro-Americanism in this country, and that helped dispel a bit of distrust.
"The world does not understand that Iran and Iraq are two totally different cultures. They are Persians, Indo-Europeans, we, the Iraqis are Arabs," he said proudly. We belong to the Sunni sect of Islam, the Iranians to the Shiite sect."
The American filmmaker stared at the map of the Islam world over the diplomat's shoulder. Red arrows marked war zones. "I had no idea the war had spread that far. When I left the States there was talk, but-"
"It is the war of the century."
Chet dove for the chance to change the subject. He had the distinct impression he could waste a whole day listening to the Iraqi damn the Iranians. "About my permission for filming.. . . "
"Oh, yes. You mentioned an assistant." The Iraqi leaned back and touched his fingers together.
"Karen O'Malley. For safety sake, I left her in Karbala under the auspices of an American by the name of Jibsen."
Abdullah's eyebrows raised, and his thin lips fell slack. "Jibsen . . . I have heard many things about the man."
Chet didn't like the delivery of that admission. "Yes, he works with the Central Intelligence Agency. I knew him in the Special Forces in Viet Nam."
'There have been reports that your Mr. Jibsen is allied with an Iranian terrorist group who are anti-Khomeini." His face was set in a knowing smirk.
"Jibsen? With the Iranians?" Chet scratched his head. "I find it hard to believe.. . the man would have given his right testicle to die for America.. . . "
Abdullah lit a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. The air stung with a clovish smell. "Believe me, Mr. Bentley, the man is a clever capitalist. The Arabs are just now coming into wealth; we are enamored by what I shall call Western fast talk, and your Mr. Jibsen fits well into that category. He has made many petrodollars procuring wives for American-hungry sheiks and now he is reputedly working in this country for an oil field heir back in the United States who despises the Ayatollah, and wants only to embarrass him. You see," and here the Minister of Information stiffened judgmentally, "the Ayatollah is the savior of the poor masses. There are others who oppose his dictatorial regime."
The idea of Jibsen being involved with wealthy oil men didn't sit comfortably with Chet. Somehow it amused him that the burly, redheaded hulk had managed to fanagle his way into Arab money.
The American filmmaker squinted off into space. "Come to think of it, I recall there being a rash of arrests involving anti-Khomeini demonstrators."
"You see, this is the war of the century. We are twice torn-by religion and by money. The Iranians are united for a cause now, but soon it will be the oil rich versus the hungry masses. Such is the cur of our universe." He paused. "Which is why your Mr. Jibsen is being hired to gather information in case of future wars within our countries."
"Meaning.. . . "
"I'm talking explosives, bombs, Mr. Bentley."
Chet gulped. A dark cloud of doom haloed his head, growing more dense as he lifted his head to stare into the Arab's snappy eyes.
"I fear you've made a grave mistake leaving Mr. Jibsen to care for your assistant. The man is ruthless."
Bentley's hand rose to his forehead. Alarm sizzled through his veins. "Karen, I've got to find Karen."
"Believe me, Mr. Bentley, I will do anything to assist you in dealing with this Mr. Jibsen. If you need help, please feel free to contact me."
CHAPTER FIVE
Karen O'Malley blinked her emerald eyes and stirred to a drugged wakefulness as she lay belly down on the warm sheets. For a moment she stared dizzily at the flaking stucco walls. Where was she? She pushed herself up on the palms of her hands, tumbles of red hair cascading about her naked shoulders.
Stripes of sunlight filtered through the barred windows, creating a rectangular slash across the small room. Dimly she recalled Chet packing for Basra, him telling her that she would be under the care of a Mr.
Jibsen, was it? Wearily, she slung one shapely leg off the rumpled bed, and realized with a shiver that she was naked. Now her saucered eyes took in the small room with its single chair and elaborately carved table. In the corner of the room her luggage had been spilled open and its contents scattered about the floor as if someone was looking for something. What?
In a burst of alarm, the facts started piecing together. The attacks on Chefs life, the robbery in his hotel room, and now this.
She had distrusted and abhorred the red faced Jibsen the moment he appeared at her hotel with instructions to pack immediately and relocate to a safer part of the city. Something odious and offensive about the man disturbed her and when he drove her further into the poor, congested sections of Karbala, distrust crystallized into fear. She'd struggled to get out of the car, but his steely grip caught her tiny wrist and whipped her around to face him. He drove then, one hand gripping the wheel, the other clamped to the nape of her neck.
Trapped in an Arab town, God only knew where.. . left alone, imprisoned. It was ridiculous as a B-rated movie, melodramatic and terribly real! A naked prisoner.. . Karen O'Malley, film assistant, CBS, New York. What a story line, she whimpered.
In a burst of white hot panic, she leapt for the arched door. The heavy wood plank with its iron hinge refused to budge. Terror like she'd never known rippled through her body as she twisted frantically at the hinge, until beads of perspiration sheened her nakedly jiggling breasts and red tendrils clung in sweaty swirls to her creamy forehead.
Her eyes flew about the room, settling on the chair. She dragged it to the window and with the tips of her red polished nails, pulled herself up until her dimpled chin rested on the rough window ledge. The dusty smell of camel dung stung her nostrils as a parade of Arabs in tarbooshes and white robes rode waddling camels toward the marketplace beyond. Her tiny fists grabbed the bars and clung to them with desperation. Dizziness overcame her, and the terrified American climbed off the chair and collapsed onto the rumpled bed.
How would Chet find her, imprisoned in this dung-smelling cubicle?
And Jibsen . . . what happened to him? Had he brought her here to die? She gave in to emotion, weeping helplessly, her body wracking with sobs that splashed onto her flushed cheeks to dribble onto her luscious breasts.
Jibsen's face wore the self-satisfied smirk of a satiated cat as he slipped the heavy key into the hinged door and stepped into the coolness of Karen's prison. He stared at the hostage's sleeping body. Christ, what a piece of ass Bentley managed to find, the lucky bastard! Just looking at her naked body splattered with Arab sunlight was enough to make his balls ache and his thick cock stiffen and jerk inside his loose pants.
He rested his hands on his hips and glanced around the room where her luggage contents were strewn recklessly. Obviously she hadn't come to yet, he grinned. The smirk faded and his thick fingers clawed at the back of his head. He grunted with dismay. Sudan and Mitch sure managed to fuck things up. Christ, three attacks on a guy and still they couldn't get their grubby Persian fingers on one measly garment bag! And it was nowhere to be found in the luggage. Faisal was going to be damned pissed for this mess-up and he knew who would have to pay. Arabs didn't fuck around when it came to leveling judgment on defectors, and he would be termed just that if he didn't find that damned bag with the lacey underwear.
His eyes fell on her magnificently rounded breasts bursting out from around the sheet immodestly draped over her soft pink flesh. Her naked shoulders and swan-like neck looked so sweet and fresh compared to the swarthy, sweaty Arab women. One of Karen's legs had kicked out to the side, making the sheet bunch up and show off one silken thigh. If he craned his neck far enough to one side, he could see the slit of her pink pussy and the patch of red tendrils.
A dull pounding ache coursed through Jibsen's stalky cock. Christ, how he'd like to ram it deep inside her belly while she moaned and thrashed and bucked under him. Lucky bastard Bentley! Even in Nam he got the lookers and left the dogs to him. The man had a way with women. By God, Bentley wasn't the only man who could make snooty little bitches beg for cock.
Jibsen sucked in his breath and Karen's eyes opened slowly . . . at first. When her emerald eyes caught sight of the bird-like orbs lecherously raking over her naked body like dirty little insects, she yelped and bit at her clenched fist in terror. Karen saw the bulge under Jibsen's loose pants and turned her head in revulsion. With an angry gesture, she yanked the sheet up to her neck and tucked in her leg.
"What do you want with me?" she spat up at him. "Why have you taken me here, and where's Chet?"
A crooked grin showed off yellow teeth and Jibsen's paunch heaved as he sucked in his breath, his hands resting on his hips in military fashion. Lewdly he cupped his balls with one meaty palm. "This is what I want with you, and number two, I've brought you here for safe keeping, let's say, until certain items show up. About your precious-assed Chet, he's probably in Basra with his balls blown off by now."
A cry that was half rage, half shame tore from Karen's tightly pursed lips. "How can you call yourself an American . . . what have you got to do with the attacks on Chet?" she demanded icily. "I'm beginning to see this all fits in, you kidnapper!"
Jibsen stood grinning down at her with a taunting smirk, cupping his balls and staring at her.
"You ugly pig!" she spat. "Don't get any ideas about-"
With that insult, Jibsen leapt to his feet and seized the trembling redhead by the shoulders; his nails dug cruelly into the soft, tender flesh as he shook her savagely. Karen squirmed and writhed, trying to wiggle free of his steely grip, but he held her tight.
Karen threw her head back and laughed hysterically.
"You think you can scare me, you've got another think coming.. . and as for Chet, don't underestimate him, he's as strong as you'll ever be and twice as tough." Her eyes raked rancorously over his massive hulk.
"He's a chickenshit!" grumbled Jibsen.
"You make me sick!" she yelped. "You ugly, filthy pig!" Karen stopped, panting for breath, the room was suffocating, dusty and close.
He threw her back onto the bed, her head slamming into the wall. His upper lip curled hatefully. "You think your Bentley's such hot shit you ain't had nothin' till you've had a real Marine fuckin' into your belly." He held her motionless then, and stared insolently into her small frightened face. "If I want to fuck you, I'll fuck you." He gave a short, cruel laugh, his lips curled back over tobacco stained teeth.
"You lay one hand on me and so help me God, when Chet finds me, he'll kill you!"
"Shut up!" Jibsen's hand shot out, seizing the sheet from her nakedly shivering body in one swift motion. He wadded it up and tossed it to the floor amidst the wreckage of her luggage. Holding the fear frozen American by one meaty paw, he struggled out of his pants. Deftly, he eased them down over his thick hips until his thick, rock hard cock sprang free, stiff as a pole, its bulbously swollen head oozing drops of lubricating fluid. Karen gasped in disgust. It was the hugest set of genitals she'd seen on a man-elephantine in size, and angry looking, red as the shortly cropped hair crowning his head. Whereas Chefs penis was silken and hard, this one was stalkish and brutal looking. She shivered.
"What's the matter?" he sneered. "You never seen a real Marine prick before?"
Karen stiffened as his calloused hand slid down over her smooth stomach to the gentle mound of her pelvis, then further down between her legs to crawl with insect slowness along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She gasped, struggling to free herself from his lecherous fingers. Huge wet tears rose to her eyes and purled down her flushed, satin cheeks.
"Please," she begged, "don't touch me. I'll give you whatever it is you want, but please don't touch me."
"What I want, you ain' got . . . that chickenshit Chefs got it, the fuckin' bastard!. And when I find the shithead, I'm gonna pull out every hair on his head, one by one until I get that damned bag!"
Karen buried her face in her hands, sobbing. "Why? Why are you tormenting us? What is it you want?"
He shot her a contemptuous look as he forced her naked body down on the bed. In a wheeze of breath, he got on his fat knees and straddled her defenselessly shivering body. His snaky eyes filled with red hot lust, his mouth twisting sardonically.
"Anything. I'll give you whatever it is you're after," she whimpered. Her voice trailed off into a hopeless wail of despair. Nothing would placate this odious creature, nothing! Dear Chet.. . where are you? Why didn't you take me with you instead of leaving me with this beast! Tears of rage and horror poured from her emerald eyes.
The ex-Marine turned foreign agent bent his head to Karen's and mashed his thick lips wetly on her tightly closed mouth. Brutally, he forced his hot, wet tongue between her futilely resisting lips, lashed in and out, and slithered its slimy way down her fear constricted throat.
Karen struggled against him until the last ounce of her strength had died in the heat of confusion and despair. She lay whimpering beneath his weight, sobbing softly as his calloused, meaty hands roamed over her pinned down nudity, stroking her neck, her throat, the soft, naked flesh of her smooth white shoulders, pinching and tweaking and appreciating with a lustful vengeance. His hot, sweaty palms moved down to cup a melonous breast in each hand, kneading and squeezing. Hot hungry lips explored her face again, his tongue sinking deep between her lips so that she could taste the clovish smell of tobacco. Tauntingly, he ran it down the valley between her milky white breasts and with a lewd, savage growl, he fastened his sharp teeth harshly into the small bud of her nipple while Karen recoiled in pain. She began to struggle feebly again, her naked flesh squirming up against the hard, massive body that pinned her to the sagging mattress.
With a deathly movement, Jibsen caught her small wrists in his powerful grip, crushing them until she swore she could hear her bones crack. When he lifted his head and snapped down at her, she could see the needle-pointed sharpness of his incisors. She shivered, recalling Chet having described the practice of certain serious-minded Marines who, for the sake of creating a weapon of their mouth, sharpened their incisors to beaver-tooth blades. Fearfully, she bent her head and noticed the red marks on her breasts where those teeth had drawn blood.
"Please . . . don't hurt me again."
Jibsen snickered lewdly. "I'll chew your clit off if you don't shut up!"
And this man was animal enough to fulfill that promise, Karen realized in a sizzle of terror.
He bent his head again, the bristles of his crew cut red hair brushing against her cheeks brazenly. His thick lips roamed moistly over the snowy whiteness of her heaving breasts, teasing the nipples into taut little cherries, despite the fear and rage ricocheting around in her brain. His two meaty hands slid down the flesh of her silken belly, roved over the soft, sensitive curves of her hips, slipped under the twin half moons of her smoothly rounded buttocks with a touch that sent little quivers of tingling dread through Karen.
Dear God, could it be this ugly creature with his dominant touch was raising desire within her? She closed her emerald eyes tight, feeling his hand seeking the thin, softly curling wisps of pubic hair to slip with slow deliciousness into the narrow slit of her pussy. He searched teasingly between the warmth of her inner thighs until he found the tiny bud of her clitoris and stroked it into throbbing erection with the strength of his middle finger pad.
With a deep, animalish growl, he slipped his fingers from Karen's helplessly quivering cunt and kneed up over her again. "-liked ol' Jibsen finger fuckin' ya, didn't ya? No better than them Nam whores," he leered down at her. His harsh tone brought Karen's mind back to reality of her gloomily imprisonment with a horrible abruptness. Chet flitted to mind again and the thought of his wonderful maleness and subtle gentility, closed shut any traitorous circuits of desire this horrible creature had flicked on within her.
Gruffly, Jibsen pried her thighs apart, then hunched over her, his red head inches above her loins. As she realized his intentions, she let out a wail of despair. The filthy pervert! How dare he defile her body!
She thrashed about, flailing her arms until she exhausted herself. Triumphantly, Jibsen held her down with a mocking grin. When panting, she lay back limp and unresisting, he fixed his bird like eyes on the thin, tight slit up between her trembling legs.
"Jesus, I could make a fortune sellin' your cunt to these pussy starved Arabs. Blondes and redheads, that's what they want."
Jibsen rested the palms of his hands on her soft inner thighs, while his strong thumbs sought out the fleshy edges of her cunt. With a slow, teasing outward movement that brought a low cry of shame from Karen, he pressed the softly hair fringed lips apart, exposing the pink, glistening hole of her cunt to his gaping eyes. He growled out a snarl of appreciation and riding her body like a cowboy, buried his face in the vee of her openly spread genitals. His tongue flicked in and out of his mouth, running over his parted lips with lecherous intent. Lizard-like, he slipped the slimy digit into the wetly seeping hole of her pussy!
"Oooohhhh . . . nooooo!" Karen screamed out in shame as the lewd, maddening sensation raced through her nudity, making her tingle against her will and goose bumps raise on the sheened globes of her breasts. The suffocating heat, terror at reprisal and her own body worked against her will, and her legs jerked wide apart, hanging over the edges of the bed as though they belonged to a limp rag doll.
The ex-Marine ran his slimy tongue up and down the hairy virginal furrow, probing and lapping and exploring until his razor sharp teeth found the tiny bud of her clitoris and, once again, with a maddening swirl of the tongue, he licked the quivering mound into throbbing erection.
Karen whined with agonized pleasure, torn between the traitorous exquisite feelings that his insistent licking of her wetly throbbing vagina aroused within her helpless body, and the shame and humiliation at the wicked delight.. . not un-like the train car episode, she thought dully. Could it be she possessed a mania for oral sex?
Her body rippled and shivered and goose bumped as Jibsen's mouth closed over the hardened bud of flesh that throbbed against his flicking tongue. Breathing with instant lust, the burly man began to suck it as if it were a shellfish. Grunting and growling, he gave the tiny tit of flesh a sharp, cruel nip with his sharpened incisors that tore a gasp of real pain from Karen's heaving chest. A bolt of electricity shot through her body, scissoring her legs and sending her head to bang against the wall.
She arched backwards desperately, struggling to free herself of this monster ravaging her disgustingly. Closing her eyes tightly to shut out the shame, a groan of despair tore from her body and overwhelmed by his maddening licking, she slumped back against the bed. He plastered his open mouth to her ragged cuntal lips, sucking them into the hot wetness of his mouth until they dripped with saliva. He flicked at the soft folds of the throbbing pink flesh there, withdrawing to push her legs up over her head and lick downwards at the narrow crevice between the smooth twin moons of her nakedly upturned buttocks.
Karen's cheeks burned in shame, her breath came in heavy pants.
Jibsen smirked inwardly. Hot redhead bitch . . . Christ, she's almost cumming! Then, lifting his lips from her vaginal furrow, he grabbed his thick, veiny cock in one hand and, kneeling up between her widespread thighs, guided the bulbous tip to the tiny vertical mouth between her legs pushing forward until the thick, rubbery head slipped through the red strands of her pubic hair towards the swollen flanges of her pulsing vagina.
Karen gasped and held her breath as damning desire churned with the agonizing guilt within her. This was her kidnapper, her tormentor. How could she feel desire from this evil creature's wicked lapping of her cunt. And now he was going to fill her belly with his seed.
The blood swollen tip of Jibsen's enormous prick slipped into and penetrated the tightly clenched opening of her naked cunt. The searing contact of his huge cockhead with her swollen, itching cuntal lips sent her into sharp little spasms of pain and pleasure and she screamed from the bottom of her soul.
"Please . . . no . . . please!"
But with a sudden thrust, Jibsen flicked his heavy hips forward and thrust his cock deep into that seeping narrow cuntal slit, spearing into her with mercy or respect. It was up to him to show her what a Marine could do . . . that he could break anyone's will.
He flexed his hips forward again, plunging and drilling into her until Karen felt as if his fleshy shaft had exploded up inside her womb to shatter every nerve ending. Vainly, she braced her hands against his hirsute, steely forearms and levered back, trying to escape this evil rape. But his cock held her in place, it might have been a spear stabbing into her womanhood. Still and exhausted, she lay panting beneath him, impaled on his cock that pressed against the soft, ridged flesh of her cunt, inflaming it, turning it into a searing sheath of fire.
Jibsen lay still too, until suddenly, he arched his back, raising himself above Karen to stare contemptuously down into her fear stricken face. "Bigger cock than Bentley's, ain' it? Don' it fill that belly to burstin'? "
Karen's lips trembled and shook her head violently. "Never!" she spat. "He's a chickenshit and I wanna hear you say it!"
"No . . . never.. . . " she shuddered.
"Then I guess you need a little more cock." He flicked forward, fucking so deep into her belly he bored into the spongy tip of her cervix with pinprick force.
Karen let out a wail of pain and again tried to squirm back to lessen the bursting pressure within her belly.
Jibsen withdrew partially, raised himself up and snarled: 'Tell me Bentley's a chickenshit or I'll turn your guts to pudding!" His tone was brutal, his manner animalish.
Terrified he might do just that, Karen bit her lip until tears squirted from her eyes. His final torment was to make her degrade Chet while he raped the woman Chet loved.
"Never, I'll-aaaggghhh!" He'd bored into her another three healthy inches, skewering her to the bed with his burly, hairy body, his cheeks flushed with a rich suffusion of blood that matched his carrot hair.
'Tell me.. . I want to hear you say it." Flexing with his hips, he slammed forward so hard Karen's head banged cruelly into the wall.
"He's a chi-chick.. . . " No, she couldn't say it! Flinging her head from side to side in a wave of red curls, she refused to open her mouth.
"By God, say it!"
Harder this time, deeper and more painful.
Karen couldn't take the torment a second longer. "He's a chickenshit . . . " she hissed through pearly clenched teeth.
"Want some more cock?" he taunted, grinning lewdly down into her contorted face, wallowing in the power he exerted over her flesh.
"Oh, no . . . no.. . no!" she wailed.
"No? You sure?" A threat of rebellion rang in his voice.
"Y-yes . . . I d-d--! " Karen hurriedly amended as through her agony, she caught his tone of displeasure. "Then beg for it, bitch!" he snarled. "Please . . . no!"
"So help me, you beg for my cock or I'll turn you over to a greasy sheik and they like nothin' better'n to screw a redhead in the ass!"
Karen sucked in her breath. "Do it," she pleaded, her eyes stinging with tears.
"Say fuck me, and you'd God damned better mean it!"
Karen's head lolled to one side in abject humiliation and shame. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she pleaded, "Please, please f-fuck me with your cock."
"Marine cock."
"P-please fuck me with your M-marine cock." There it was out, her shame completed.
Jibsen's mouth twisted scornfully. He slipped his strong hands beneath the smooth, rounded cheeks of her ass as he began the slow thrusts that would bring him to ejaculation. He slaved above her, fucking in and out of her tightly clenched pussy in long, smooth strokes, burrowing his cock deep up into her moist pussy that clasped and released it in smooth motions of acceptance.
Then, a wicked grin creasing his contorted, bulbous features, Jibsen bored the tip of his outstretched finger into the tiny puckered opening of her anus, bringing a moan of agony from Karen's parted lips. Slowly, he wormed it deeper into her secret nether depths, goring in deeper and deeper. Karen moaned in real pain as his ragged hangnail tore into the buttery flesh as the stretched rubbery rectal hole until his finger brought lessened mewls of pain.
Jibsen fucked in and out of her cunt wildly now, making the bed creak and bang against the wall with each hip thrusting lunge. And it worked its effects on Karen. Exquisite tongues of fire seared in her loins, her quivering belly, shooting high up through her shivering nudity to lick at her tender, teeth-nibbled breasts. She tossed her head from side to side, delighting in the feel of his hard driving penis, and the finger skewering deeper up inside her rectum.
The ex-Marine grunted and drooled, his face beet red as blood surged from his head to cock and back again with the force of his impending climax. He felt his captive jerk and lurch beneath him. A wet, sticky fluid gushed from the walls of her hotly clasping pussy and then, unbelievable to them both, she writhed and churned wildly under his strong body. Teeth clenched, tears squirting out of her emerald eyes, the captive American grunted out her climax.
That did it for Jibsen! He felt his own lust tormented cock bloat in agonizing spasms, the insides of his testicles seemed to explode and split wide open. The hot white liquid churned there for a frothing moment before shooting out the rock hard prick deep into Karen's hotly contracting young belly. It churned and swirled there with her own flooding juices before dribbling down her inner thighs in thin rivers of surrender.
Jibsen collapsed on top of his captive, his sweaty, hairy chest grinding against the smooth nudity of her melonous breasts. Limp and exhausted, she tolerated his weight.. . her legs spread lewdly to the sides of the bed in shameful defeat.
CHAPTER SIX
In the twelve hours following Chet Bentley's arrival in Basra, his meeting with the Minister of Information, and his subsequent decision to leave based upon Abdullah's inside scoop on the ex-Marine Jibsen, the conflict had escalated to a full scale war.
Chet was sitting dejectedly in his hotel room, trying to make arrangements to return to Karbala, when the first Iranian warplanes headed for the petrochemical plant in Basra strafed the plant at a low one hundred feet altitude. The $1.1 billion complex, geared to produce polyethylene vinyl chloride and other valuable petroleum by-products, was obliterated in seconds.
"Holy shit," the American filmmaker wheezed, hearing the air raid sirens wail in his ears. Shades of Viet Nam came back to haunt him. Death, destruction in a foreign land, and with no weapons to defend himself. He had to get back to Karbala, but how?
With Iranian warplanes clouding the skies of Basra and the confusion of evacuation attempts of over three hundred workers, the officials turned a deaf ear to the cries of one stranded CBS filmmaker. No city busses were running to the airport closed to tourist travel, and no one could promise him when the airport would operate again.
"Shit . . . " Chet paced his hotel room, listening to rockets bombing the city. The skies had turned into fireballs. Reports filtered through the hotel's front desk that part of Camp Camelot, the housing area for foreign workers, had been bombed. Now many Americans dead or injured, he wondered, feeling a panicky helplessness.
Attempts to reach Abdullah, Minister of Information, were aborted and frustrating. Wait.. . he could only wait.
As he sat on the edge of his bed chewing his thumbnails, his eyes fell to his satchel where the white Milady lingerie bag peeked out tauntingly. Chet stared at it for a long moment as if he expected it to reach out and shake hands with him in complicity.
Back in Karbala, things fared no better. Irate over his ineffectiveness in finding the long-sought for item that would win him a nice slice of wealth and power, Jibsen vented his rage on the nearest target: one quivering, naked Karen O'Malley.
"I don't know what your intentions are," snapped Karen with a confidence she didn't feel, "but I demand to be let out of here immediately!"
Jibsen chuckled coarsely. "Save it," he rasped. "You'll get out of here when I let you out, but if you're so Goddamned hot on bustin' out of here, I know of a nice greasy sheik who'd powder my fist for a red head with big tits like you!"
"You wouldn't dare.. . " But the fierce glint in his eye told another story. "B-b-but, w-w-what do you mean?"
"Just what I said. I hauled you off to this dung smelling dump to find something and I ain' found it yet and I'm gettin' real pissed. If you ain' got it, that means that asshole Bentley's got it."
"Got what?" Karen's chin quivered.
"That would be tellin', now wouldn't it?" he smirked, glowing inwardly as she wept into her cupped hands.
"He'll find me. He won't stop until he does! He's got more p-power than you ever thought of having!"
Jibsen laughed. "Fuck that shit. I got half of Iran backing me . . . more money than the fuckin' federal government, so don't tell me that chickenshit's gonna risk his balls for a redhead with big tits."
"You'll never get away with it." She broke off with a wail of pain as the ex-Marine's hand slapped viciously across her tear wetted face. The blow sent her reeling back against the wall and a red mark welted across her cheek.
Shooting her an evil glare, he stomped out the door, locked it behind him and left her to misery. Some time later, when the sun was dipping toward the west in orange ribbons and the night grew cool, Karen raised her head from the bed at the sound of a key turning in the lock. For a moment hope soared, then plummeted miserably as she recognized Jibsen's jowled face and two swarthy Persian faces emerge from the deepening shadows of night.
"Oh, dear God!" A hand flew to her mouth and she bit her fist.
Jibsen barked orders in Arabic at the two young Persian men. Their black eyes danced and their mouths spread in lusty smiles.
They emerged from the shadows, their lanky, strong bodies in full view. Strong, aquiline noses gave symmetry to tensely strained expressions that bordered on a lust for violence.
Before Karen realized what was happening, the two Persians leapt for the bed and seized her by the arms and legs. She screamed wildly, flailing her arms and legs. like a sack of potatoes, they picked her up and flung her violently face down on the bed. One of them threw his lanky body across her scissoring legs while the other sat on her writhing shoulders, his bony knees pinning her arms to her sides, his sweating face towards her feet.
Painfully twisting her head to one side under his weight, the hysterical captive girl saw with a shrill of horror that Jibsen was slowly unpeeling his clothing.
"Mitch," he barked at one of the men, "pull them pretty thighs wide."
"W-what are you going to do to me?" she quavered.
Jibsen pulled his shirt over his head and licked his thick lips. The room was dark, save for a slither of dying sunlight. "Redheads with big tits big game in this country, little girl. But sheiks like their women used, you know . . . virgins don't cut it in this country."
Karen stared at him through the glow of orange light that splashed over his ruddy cheeks making him look all the more evil.
The big ex-Marine unzipped the fly of his pants, peeled them off and stepped out of his shorts. Standing naked before her, he looked even more immense. And his penis.. . dear God, his penis! His meaty, muscular body towered with strength. Over the heavy, bloated pouch of his hairy testicles, the stalk of his penis jerked toward the plaster-chipped ceiling in a bulbous erection.
Karen gasped aloud as she felt her legs suddenly freed of Mitch's bony frame-and then her ankles were pinned and wrenched brutally apart, so that she was held spread-eagled face down on the bed. And now Mitch leaned forward with a toothy grin and dug his bony fingers into the softly rounded half moons of her naked buttocks. Gripping her top half between his splayed thighs, he pried the quivering mounds of her smooth flesh slowly apart, exposing the entire length of her hairy cunt to Jibsen's searing gaze.
She felt cool night air on her genitals, and she realized with a desperate sob that she had never in her whole life felt so utterly helpless and degraded. Shivering, she jerked again, shuddering with disgust as Mitch worked a thread of spittle to the front of his mouth and spat it down on the tightly clenched nether ring of her anus.
The shameless gesture was only the beginning of the humiliation and pain she would suffer. Staring mesmerically at Jibsen's cock, she watched saucer-eyed as he rubbed the loose foreskin up and down the rigidly bloating pole, exposing the purplish, bulbously inflated head as he massaged the pole of flesh into rock hardness.
"Arabs ain' big on cunt, they use camels for that," he guffawed hoarsely. "But assholes, now that's some-thin' different."
"Noooo!" Karen grasped the meaning of his evil intent. She wailed as the full implication of his bestial, indecent intentions popped luridly into her mind. "You can't.. . nooo!" she gasped. "Please, not there, no!"
"Save your breath, honey. Don't wear yourself out. The best is yet to come." Stepping towards the bed, he leaned down and thrust the tip of his outstretched middle finger against the tight hole to her naked rectum, poking viciously at her defenseless anal hole.
Spread helplessly on the bed with her legs brutally forced apart by two Persian terrorists and her hips jammed down by the pressure of Mitch's buttocks-splaying hands, the sobbing captive writhed her naked buttocks against the fiery rape of her anus, thrashing wildly from side to side and clenching tightly her ass cheeks to fend off the brutal penetration of her tender anus. That these merciless terrorists could conceive of such vile acts was monstrous! Maybe they were just tormenting her, trying to scare her into something, but what? She couldn't be any more frightened than at that moment, trapped by three strong bodied men bent on ravaging her defenseless body!
Jibsen leaned down and spat a wad of saliva onto her desperately contracted anal ring shining like a puckered button between her brutally stretched ass cheeks. With a grunt of evil intent, he bored his finger deeper into the warm buttery depths of her anus.
"Assggghhh!" Karen couldn't hold back a scream.
"Tight asshole you got there . . . gonna take some stretchin', " he grunted. Lewdly, he drilled his finger deeper and deeper, stretching and expanding the tightness of the girl's rectum until she thought she would faint from the pain. Moans of protest bubbled from her fearfully quivering lips as he moved the finger around the inside of her contracted little hole, sawing it in and out to stretch the clenched anus in preparation for worse tortures to come. Between his thick thighs, his evilly swollen penis throbbed with delightful anticipation.
"Ahhh, don't!" the redhead screamed again and he jammed a second finger into her warm, velvety depths. "You're hurting meee!" she wailed from the depths of her soul.
"Scream all you like, but Arabs like to hear redheads scream," he taunted. Abruptly, he plucked the raping finger away from Karen's defenselessly puckered hole. Forcing his hand between her fear-tauted stomach and the rumpled bedsheet below, he stroked his fingers lewdly back and forth along the hairy length of her vagina and smeared the fluid of his earlier excesses still warm in her cunt up and around her plundered anus to lubricate the hole further still. A moment later, she felt the bed sag as he climbed on and kneeled between her cruelly spread thighs, and then the hard, warm seeping rubbery tip of his bulbous, hotly pulsating cock was pressing tightly against her hairless anal opening.
The spread-eagled girl held her breath as she felt the thickly rigid penis wedge into the crevice of her forced open ass cheeks and pressure remorselessly forwards. Dear Lord, it was huge! He would kill her with it! Rape her in half!
Jibsen's stomach muscles contracted, and then stood out as he strained forward. Karen felt the hard probing pressure between her buttocks grow into an agonizing fiery pain that seared through her anus and up into her intestines. Stars flickered before her eyes and she went dizzy with fright.
"Ohhhaanngghh . . . God!" she belted out. "Please, agghhhh!" she shrieked in agony as the nether ring gave way with an evil, ominous plop and the inflated head of his penis popped inside her anus with a surging power.
A spasm of miserable agony shot through the nakedly quivering redhead's loins, a pain so unbearable it rent screams from her burning lungs. Squirming with all her strength to evade the impalement, her naked buttocks writhed wildly under Mitch's splaying hands, but her wigglish attempts only abetted him in wedging the thickly gleaming cock deeper into her tortured anus. It felt as though a monstrous battering ram was being relentlessly thrust into the tiny opening of her virginal back hole!
Grinning cruelly, Jibsen slammed his thick penis forward another agonizing inch, and then another, and still another hot inch into the screaming girl's nakedly thrashing body. Then his beefy loins smacked heavily against the softness of her lewdly spread ass cheeks. She was hopelessly skewered on the brutally thick fleshiness of his raping penis! It was buried to the hilt in her tightly clenched anus and there was no hope for escape or mercy!
Panting and wheezing from his exertions, the ex-Marine began to fuck rhythmically in and out of her hot spongy depths under the lustful gaze of the two Iranian terrorists.
As the helpless girl fought with frantic desperation against the horrible degradation of this monstrous attack on her defenseless anal hole, his pounding hips pumped faster and faster, thrusting the inflamed spear of his lustfully expanding rod again and again into the brutally ravaged tightness of her rectum. She was impaled on the stone hard cock as helplessly as an insect on a collector's board!
The kidnapped redhead's hair flailed over the bed, her head twisting from side to side in helpless subjugation as the tempo of his pistoning hips increased and his huge penis plowed on and on and deeper and deeper into her savagely stretched rectum. Her mind was adrift on a sea of pain and humiliation. The flesh of her ripe young buttocks shuddered and quivered uncontrollably under the pressure of the terrorist's fingers. The soft bowl of her belly trembled convulsively every time her agonizingly splayed thighs were buffeted by another hellishly thrusting plunge of the American's raping shaft. Her ankles, held painfully wide in Sudan's grasp, were aching for want of blood, and her proud young breasts, still bearing the incisor marks of his earlier rape were squashed under the weight of evil Mitch.
Jibsen's mind was an inferno of impatient lust that burned in his cheeks and sent another pint of blood to bloat the tube of his inflated penis. The sensation of the naked captive's warm, velvety rectum clasped so tightly around the base of his passion inflamed cock was driving him on to greater excesses. His eyes locked with piggish delight on the sodomizing pole of his iron hard flesh buried deep in Karen's upraised ass cheeks, and he felt his heart pumping wildly in his chest. Never had he seen a more exciting sight in his life! He was almost sorry he was turning the bitch over to Faisal!
With steaming breath, he eyed the tender ridges of her pink anal flesh pulling out with each withdrawal of his long thick staff-and then disappearing once more as his inward thrust drove her little rectal ring back up into her belly. His breath gushed in jets, faster and faster, through his flaring nostrils as he fucked like a madman in and out of her piteously puckering anal hole.
And scream, Karen did.
Pounded into the bed by his hammering cock, pinned in total submission, her cruelly distended anus brought fresh groans with every scalding plunge. Gradually, she discovered when she relaxed the muscles in her anus, the pain lessened and experimentally, she concentrated on just that. Amazingly, a new sensation, frightening in dimension, overwhelmed her loins. Unexpected, forbidden sensations of excitement began to ripple in her tingling loins. The shame of lying helplessly on her face being sodomized by one man while another sat astride her back forcing her buttocks apart, was joined by a strangely masochistic sensation. Pleasure? Could she possibly be feeling pleasure from their cruel rape? She was a white slave, her body being used like a whore's to satisfy his cruel male lust.
No doubt about it, she realized with self-degrading humiliation. Twinges of pain still shot through her belly, but the feeling of Jibsen's hard cock, that hard spear of male flesh, racing up into her vulnerably filled rectum was flooding her veins with a sensation of pleasure-pain! Shame and ecstasy, pain and pleasure mingled to fill her with wonders of what a man's body can do to a woman.
The sweat poured from Jibsen's face as he plunged in and out of her anus. Spittles drooled from the corner of his mouth. The insanely writhing redhead felt Mitch's splaying fingers removed from the stretched cheeks of her ass-only to be replaced by Jibsen's mauling hands.
She gasped again as she felt someone's obscenely intruding fingers forcing themselves beneath her hip bones and creep lewdly through her drenched pussy hair to feel the ragged swollen lips of her cunt.
Abruptly she mewled a new wail of agony, this time from the soul. Her defenses crumbled and the young redheaded captive began screaming again with clenched teeth passion as the raping fingers patted her throbbing cuntal lips and scrabbled at the tightly erect bud of her swollen clitoris. Dear Gawd! It was unendurable, intolerable, delicious . . . if his fingers continued their unbearable clawing and torment of her secret inner flesh, she just might cum!
Jibsen's blood fed penis sawed into her seething anus with burrowing strokes. No, she couldn't cum! She couldn't respond that masochistically to rape, her mind screamed. To cum would be an admission of something dark and defiled lurking in her soul. The same element that had made her relent to the Lebanese stewardess' lapping tongue, and that repetition was unthinkable!
The tidal wave of erotic lust swept over her remorselessly. She heard a voice within her soul scream: "Do it . . . fuck me harder . . . harder!" She realized with a shrilling bit of horror that that voice belonged to Karen O'Malley!
Jibsen felt the sweat stream from his every pore as he fucked into her widely stretched hole between her buttocks. He stared down in fascination at her tightly clasping rectal mouth, pulling her softly rounded ass cheeks further apart as he fixed his piggish, staring eyes lasciviously on the pink ridges of her anal flesh clinging to his raping cock on each withdrawal stroke.
She was pumping her ass insanely back against him now, meeting thrust with thrust as she screamed her lust aloud. The little bitch was going out of her mind she was so damned hot! Faisal would pay a good bit for this one, thought Jibsen greedily, proud of himself for thinking up this plot of getting rid of the bitch, since she didn't have the thing he wanted. Once he had disposed of her, he'd go after Bentley and by God, that would be the end of them both! What a stroke of luck, he chuckled to himself, that Bentley had come to him for help.. . what a god damned lucky stroke that was!
"Aaagghhh!" Karen cried wildly. Her tingling body was bursting with sensation. It didn't matter what they did to her now, as long as she could cum!
Sensing that his victim was about to reach the peak of sensation and topple over the precipice to one teeth-gnashing orgasm, Jibsen plunged his stone hard cock into her fire filled anus with redoubled fury, brutally splaying her lust white buttocks apart as his pistoning cock fucked faster and faster against her eagerly thrusting ass cheeks. And suddenly he felt her back arch, her body stiffen and shudder.
"Aaaghhh . . . Ohhh, Gawd! I'm cumming!" Karen screamed in a demented wail of lust. Then her lusciously ripened young body bucked and jerked and thrashed with a crescendo of intolerable delight as her orgasm tremored insanely through her with the force of a tropical hurricane!
The wildly churning of her lust inflamed buttocks triggered off the sodomizing ex-Marine's climax, he threw back his big head and bellowed out a gasping cry of release. His hips arched convulsively forward, ramming his raping staff even deeper into the helpless girl's rectum as the throbbing head of his cock exploded into a storm of powerful jerking in the tightly convulsing depths of her vise-like anus.
Scalding spurts of semen jetted far up into the ravaged redhead's bowels, and she shrieked in a mindless ecstasy with each fresh gush of his white hot cum. For a long moment, the men held her cruelly pinned to the bed, as Jibsen skewered his spewing penis, ejaculating his churning cum in forceful spurts up into her quivering rectum. He thrust violently down on her spreading thighs and levered himself away from her, his deflating cum covered cock pulling free of her plundered nether depths with a lewd plopping sound.
"Christ, what an ass!" he panted, clambering off the bed to leave a pearly trail of cum stringing across her trembling buttocks. "She's still tight as hell. . . Mitch, jump on and see what you can do!"
Crushed into abject subjugation by the rape of her anus and the Arab's obscene mauling of her clitoris and humiliated even more by her own lewd reaction to it-Karen lay sobbing into the bed.
She felt Mitch's weight lift from her ankles, and then the other leapt down to take his place. Straddling her back and arms, he leaned forward to pry apart the shuddering cheeks of her ass once more. Again her thighs were excruciatingly spread wide as Mitch took up Jibsen's position between them and hauled down his pants to produce his stiff, swarthy cock!
"Oh Gawd!" wailed Karen as she felt herself falling into new depths of despair. They're going to rape me again!
The lustful Persian terrorist, his dark eyes dancing with triumph, guided the rigidly throbbing shaft of his cock in one hand, rammed the wetly seeping head against the plundered hole that his friend was holding wide, and plunged the hot, searing pole of flesh two inches into her distended and sperm wet anus in one powerful thrust. As she screamed in a combination of pain and pleasure and shame and remorse from the animalistic attack, he rocked back on his heels and grabbed her hips to drag the tightly clasping ring of puckered flesh still further up the raping shaft of his penis.
Jibsen was zipping up his pants. "Do it to 'er, boy.. . stretch that tight asshole!"
Stuffing the limply shining tube of his deflated cock back into his pants, he chuckled down at Karen's flailing body. "Sheik Faisal's gonna have something for you ol' chickenshit Bentley never dreamed of."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Almost as soon as the air-raid sirens shrilling in the Basra skies broke the silence, Iranian Phantoms roared over the skyscrapers. Chet Bentley stood on the balcony of his Basra hotel enduring the ten minute holocaust of whirring Iranian rockets and Iraqi anti aircraft guns. Moments later silence fell, an eerie, untrustworthy silence. An hour later the sirens screamed anew. Seconds later two Phantoms streaked in 200 feet above the hotel. Its belly nearly scraped the upper floor of the hotel.
"Holy shit!" muttered Chet Bentley. At least in Viet Nam he had weapons; here anything in the way fell victim. Including foreign filmmakers!
He slunk dejectedly back into his hotel room and threw himself down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. His mind hadn't jarred from the worry of Karen. Only one man could help him get back to Karbala in one piece-Abdullah.
Karen O'Malley lay on a gold-tasseled divan in an arabesque, vaulted room. The divan sat on a platform with mosaic swirled tapestries strewn with gold hung on the wall. She lay on a heap of pillows. The smell of incense was heavy in the air.
She could recall nothing of her journey-the fumes of hashish surrounding her, combined with the dulling effect of the drug Jibsen had shot into her hip to keep her quiet, made the horror of his bestial rape a fantasy and nothing more.
CBS and New York and even Chet Bentley seemed unreal as dazedly, she wondered if she would ever see him again, feel his warm, loving fingers touching her flesh. Languidly she stretched out on the divan and crooked one naked leg to-naked! She hadn't even realized she was naked!
Her head turned slowly as a tall lean man in a white Arab robe pulled aside the curtain and floated into the room. His dancing dark eyes bored into her flesh, bringing a whimper of fear to Karen's trembling lips. So much had happened, so much to think about, if only she could think!
He spoke English brokenly through tensile lips. Mockingly, he bowed and said: "I have come on behalf of Faisal, your master." As she lifted her frightened green eyes to him, his began to roam over the smooth, ripe curves of her naked body, a sadistic smile playing over his thin lips. His face was long and swarthy, his nose hooked so exaggeratedly the tip nearly touched his lips as he grinned lecherously down at her.
Karen shivered. "My m-master?"
He settled down on the divan beside her and she could smell the heavy sweetness of his oil. Without ceremony, he reached out and pinched one of her nipples into a hard peak of tingling sensation. "I have come in my master's behalf to examine you and see if you are worthy of partaking in our diffa."
Karen didn't listen to his words; her mind was centered on the tips of her breasts, burning with growing excitement. The effects of the hashish and the tranquilizer softened fear and heightened sensation, leaving her floating on a Persian carpet in unclouded skies. Her mind blocked out his voice, concentrating on his actions. A tiny moan escaped her throat as she felt a strange churning in her loins.
"You have a magnificent body. The master enjoys women with big breasts."
To test her reaction, he squeezed hard on her milky breasts until jagged spears of pain shot through the reddened nipples, wrenching her from dreamy arousal. His closeness was suddenly making her claustrophobic. She struggled frantically to pull herself free of his excruciating, biting grip. A rush of adrenalin flooded her veins and she managed to tear herself from his sweaty grasp and leapt up from the divan to dart for the curtain. But the Arab was accustomed to frightened women in harems, it was his job to control them, and he caught her before her bare feet hit the floor. He looped one arm around her waist and dragged her back down on the divan, sending the pillows flying. She lay there quivering, naked except for the ring of her master which identified her as property of Faisal, the chieftain.
"Do not try to escape or the master will be most displeased. You will be beheaded for such attempts."
"Be-beheaded?" she gulped.
"And disemboweled."
"Disemboweled?"
"Yes. Women in our country belong to men. You displease us and we do away with you."
Karen blinked at that clear cut philosophy and cowered into the cushions against the wall, crossing her arms over her breasts in a feeble attempt at modesty.
Her weak defenses curled his lip in amusement. A couple more tugs with his large hand and he'd grasped for his penis that poked out from under his robe like a snake crawling out of a hole. It jutted out menacingly as his fist pumped at its blood-fed length.
No.. . he wasn't going to take her from behind, she prayed.
Dear God, Chet!
A crooked smirk creased the Arab's face as with a sudden movement, he wagged his penis at her with one hand and eased her back down on the divan with the flat of his palm.
"I want you to suck my cock," he said flatly. The young naked woman cringed at his crude words, just one more torment in an endless nightmare of rape and pillage.
Wide-eyed, paralyzed with fear, she watched him hold onto his robes and knee his way up to straddle her naked breasts, pinning her arms to her sides with his knees. She saw the blood fattened head of her Arab master's penis thrust forward and press wetly against her tightly clenched parched lips.
"Oh, God, Chet!" she wailed.
"You must take my cock in your mouth or suffer the consequences," he panted lewdly. He grinned lewdly and with his sweaty thumb and forefinger, reached down and pinched the nostrils of her finely chiseled little nose tightly together until she sputtered out in a desperate need for air.
"Mmmmmmphhhgghh!" Karen groaned, dizzy from holding her breath and the unctuous smell of his heavy oil. It was either open her mouth and accept that stiff tube of Arabian meat, or die. The choice was an easy one to make.
Finally, her lungs burning for air, her eyes blinking against the stars flitting before her dizzy, drug-dulled eyes, her lips popped open wide, sucking in great gulps of long denied air.
"You are being sensible now. The chieftain has paid a great deal of money for your favors."
For an Equal Rights Amendment supporter like
Karen O'Malley, that hardly made sense. Dear God, why had she asked for the Middle East assignment? Why couldn't she have taken the Mt. Hood assignment instead! She'd rather lose her life in a flood of scalding lava than to drown on Arab cum, and that's what the choice was, pure and simple.
With a cruel lunge, he shoved it into her helplessly gasping mouth, ramming it down deep inside her parched throat until it seemed to brush all the way back against her open throat. She gagged and tears filled her eyes as she fought wildly to expel the rock hard protuberance that filled her mouth to bursting, so unnaturally. The smell of his genitals stung her nostrils, pungent and unclean. The telltale smell of women's love juices was distinct in her mouth and she wondered how many women this detestably ugly man had raped that day. God, it was sinful, disgusting and unclean what he was doing to her! She would suffocate on the smell of him if the length of his drubbing cock didn't kill her first.
Viciously, the Arab grasped Karen's tumbles of red hair in his gnarled, knuckled hands and yanked her head cruelly forward. Karen broke free just long enough to suck in more of the genital-scented air, and panted with relief. Then the triumphantly grinning Arab sank his lust hardened pole deep into her mouth again, in . . . in deeper . . . up to the kinky curls of his pubic hair. The short, wiry hair around his penis grazed and tickled her lips, while his sperm heavy balls slapped lewdly down against her chin, beating a lewd tattoo. Now he began to fuck in and out of her widely ovaled mouth with long, quick strokes, and strangely, partly due to the drugs numbing effect and the aphrodisiac effect of the hashish she'd been forced to smoke, and partly due to the rising tide of masochistic acceptance of the debasing act she was being forced to perform in this godforsaken country, Karen began to feel a whispering wind of unwanted passion again rising in her that took possession of her body, leaving her helpless to fight against this obscene defiling of her cock-stretched lips.
He rammed his Arabic cock so hard into her tiny mouth that Karen could feel the tight, parched corners of her lips stretch, then split painfully. Chills of damning excitement whipped up and down her goose bumped spine, little sparks of lascivious delight seemed to explode, fluttering like butterflies in her blood. With a terrible shame masked by the threat of death, she felt the sticky moistness seeping wetly between her now wide spread legs, felt the warmth of it suddenly hotly flooding her pulsing pussy, felt the ache and throb of desire down there between her legs.
How could it be that she was surviving this obscene act? Sucking an Arab's cock, she thought dully. It was wonderfully horrible! Wicked and evil. In a sudden burst of love for life, she shed her self-degrading inhibitions about this strange race of people and their morals, and threw herself into the act of cocksucking. She ran her shamelessly searching tongue back and forth over the sensitive length of his huge prick, teasing the tiny slit into the tips, licking the drops of sticky fluid that oozed from it, tasting it, savoring it for dear life . . . as he jerked his hips forward and fucked deep down inside the saliva filled cavern of her mouth. It throbbed there like a heartbeat in its hotly clasping liquidy warmth for a moment, then withdrew, and plunged in again.
Karen's lust-distorted brain brushed aside all rational thought except for the will to live . . . all memories of Chet and their life together, and she gave herself completely to her task of being fucked in the mouth by a foul smelling Arab . . . an utter stranger whose swarthy face she'd never seen before and hoped to God to never see again! No! She'd never sucked anyone's cock but Chefs and that was only to please him . . . never herself. Irish Catholics were raised that way, and Karen O'Malley, despite her perfect curves and proportions, was no exception.
Now it seemed she could not get enough of the stabbing of his swollen penis deep into her throat, as if she could not bear to wait for him to shoot his foamy white sperm, filling her mouth with the searingly pungent flavor of his male cum-pouring it down her throat, letting it flood out over her parched lips, dribbling down her dimpled chin while she thrashed in erotic bliss below him.
Madly, insanely now-she sucked on that rubbery knob, her cheeks of their own volition contracting, tightening around his fleshy staff that moved in and out between her tight, pursed lips like a well-oiled oil rig. And then, suddenly, the man's faceless body above her went into a violent spasm, and his abruptly jerking testicles sent the hot stream of thin, milky sperm gushing warmly up into her tightly clocked mouth, welling up and over her young lips like a fountain of half whipped cream.
Karen gulped to swallow every precious drop, her throat constricting and relaxing in turn to squeeze it dry. The captive American mewled and cooed and gurgled and swished her tongue hotly around the now slowly deflating penis, while the Arab threw back his head and ground his teeth together in pure joy. Her lips clung possessively to it, her ovaled lips elastic and ught in a last desperate effort to prolong the moment. At last he grunted and pulled away from her mouth with a wet, sucking sound, and reeled backwards, a thin, glistening strand of his sperm following him away and across the firmly rounded melons of her shimmering, heavy breasts. Karen's exhausted head sank heavily down onto the divan.
"You are a beautiful woman," she heard him say as she buried her head in the cushion and sobbed in utter despair. 'The chieftain will be pleased to make your acquaintance, I am sure."
Chet was jubilant! The Minister of Information had decided that because of heavy air raids, culminating in the bombing of Basra's petrochemical plant and the subsequent hurried expiation of American families, all but a handful of foreign correspondents covering the war, would be asked to leave Basra.
He stuffed his dirty socks into his satchel, gathered up his shaving equipment and paid his hotel bill. A special courier bus would pick up the reporters from UPI, AP and the major television networks and deposit them in safer Karbala.
The journey from Basra to Karbala is a long one. A single highway joins the two cities, a lonely ribbon cutting through seas of sand rippling under the orange sun. Now and then an oil rig added a touch of spontaneity to the monotonous arid wasteland; clusters of buildings housing foreign oil drillers sat in inanimate testimony to life in the barren land.
The ride was tedious, temperaments rang from despair to tension with reports of fresh attacks drilling further into the heart of Iran. There was talk of foreign involvement and fear of the United States entering the war.
One man ignored the heated chatter of rumors and sat alone with his chin cupped in his hand, staring out into the sensuous wind-whipped wastelands of a country he'd come to despise. The smooth outline of sand dunes, curved and smooth as a woman's body, sparked heated reminder of what lay ahead in Karbala.
The idea of Jibsen being involved in foreign terrorism both amused and terrified him. And what of Karen? What was his crazy intrigue over his baggage, he wondered, his head spinning around as a white Toyota pickup truck hauling two camels in the back, whizzed by in reminder of changing times. Funny, he cogitated, now time moves differently in foreign countries. Bedouins hauling camels to their diyarat, traditional grazing areas, white slave trade, sheiks in
Halston suits wearing the traditional turban.
A weary load of travelers debarked in Karbala. Hotel rooms were made available in a downtown hotel not far from where Chet and Karen had spent one night before his instructions to leave for Basra. Chet checked in his luggage at the Hussein Hotel with the instructions to keep it under lock and key, and headed straight for the Hotel Americana.
The buxom old Frenchwoman at the reception desk sat sipping mint tea. She studied the handsome American's face behind the rim of the delicate tea cup and set it down with a clatter. No, she had not seen Miss Karen O'Malley since she'd checked out of the hotel room two days prior, and no, she had left no forwarding address or message.
'The room is vacant, sir, if you wish to look for yourself," she encouraged, reading the distress on Chet's tired face.
"A large American with red hair?" Again a negative. A finger touched her lip then. "Wait. . . yes, I do.. . I believe he was carrying her luggage."
Second guessing Jibsen's Marine mentality, Chet accepted the large brass key and headed for the marble staircase. He slipped the key in the lock, turned it and eased open the door.
And stood dead still in his tracks.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In the palatial headquarters of Faisal's region outside of Karbala, the diffa, a ceremonial dinner, was in the midst of preparation. Chieftains from surrounding regions were due to arrive that evening for three days of hedonistic pleasure. The air was redolent of chickens cooked with lives, succulent roast lamb cooked over a spit, rose-flavored milk, pilaf and orange juice.
The women of the harem, of course, were not permitted to participate in the affair until called for. A woman, in traditional Arabia, is not worthy of mingling socially with men and for that reason, Karen O'Malley lay in a drugged stupor in her quarters. In the hallway beyond, rich carpets were hung for the occasion and the air was perfumed with spice burning in a brazier. Beyong was a twisting, high-ceilinged corridor closed off by heavy drapes. The Moorish arches were highly decorated in painted mosaics. Beyond this anteroom was the courtyard where the diffa was to take place.
The checkerboard tiles of the courtyard were strewn with expensive Persian rugs and velvet cushions, and on these about thirty men attired in ceremonial robes reclined around low tables set with an incredible array of hot dishes, fruits and earthenware dishes. Faisal himself sat on an arabesque tapestry divan covered with Siberian furs. Attired in plain, white robes, he wore a traditional turban. Large-stoned rings studded his fingers and he sat with arrogant ease.
The occasion for this diffa was secret to most. As owner of the largest oil field in Iran, and having fathered twenty-seven sons (daughters didn't count), his penultimate concern in this his fifty-third year of life, was to perpetuate the power of his region. Two things assured this: money and weapons. The paranoia of wealth ran thick in his veins, the fear that the masses, backed by a fanatic like Khomeini, could some day by force steal from him what Mohammed had given him, was precisely why he backed the anti-Khomeini Iranians in the United States. And, thusly, he had employed one Colonel Jibsen to get for him the necessary information to assure his wealth.
This diffa was in celebration of the delivery of that information.
The night was warm and sticky, diamond chips stars sprinkled in a navy blue sky. The greasy smell of roast lamb cooking over an outdoor spit filled the air.
In the center of the courtyard a center platform had been set up with a divan and countless velvet cushions, built for the express purpose of showing off Faisal's harem of luscious bodied American women . . . who ranked, somehow, one step above Arabian women.
The women were bathed, scented and scrubbed. Each sat in her separate room inhaling the sweet tasting hashish through a bazuka pipe. Garrish strands of yellow gold draped about their naked bodies, around their necks, waists and ankles. Their hair was brushed back in traditional Arabic fashion and held with semi-precious stone studded combs and barets.
Karen lay in a drugged lassitude on the divan, knowing her turn would come to please the Arab sheiks lustfully filling their gullets in the courtyard. The tinkly sound of belly dancers filtered in through the mud walled building, along with the lewd laughter of men in heat of hedonism. The sound grew louder, and, turning her head, the red trail of her hair falling over her naked shoulders, she noted the door was opening.
They had come to get her.
Leading her by the hand, her bare feet cooled by the marble courtyard floor, Karen's saucered eyes took in the thirty robed, swarthy faced men nibbling from greasy fingers bits of roasted lamb which they had torn off the roasted carcass in handfuls. Her body's movements tinkled in the still, warm night air as Karen, in a drugged stupor, was being dragged by the hand to the center stage.
A chorus of appreciative grunts rippled from the circle of men as the lush bodied redhead hesitantly sat down on the divan. As she settled herself down in drugged complacency, the mounds of her full, milky breasts jiggled under the wealth of gold strung about her neck. Nervously, she eyed the crowd of hedonistic Arabs whose dancing black eyes bored into her naked flesh like an army of crawling ants.
Where had Faisal found this lovely young thing? She was gorgeous, fresh faced and innocent looking, un-like some of the haggard looking women Jibsen managed to scrounge up at the airports and bus terminals clogged with unsuspecting tourists.
Karen smiled vacantly, drugged, her wetly parted lips laxly open as she stared off absentmindedly into the night. The torches burning in braziers reflected in dancing flickers in her scared emerald eyes.
The collection of sheiks and chieftains leaned over their low tables for a closer look at this virginal looking creature whose shimmering red hair tumbled erotically over her creamy shoulders. She seemed too well bred, too gorgeous to be real. They stuffed their faces, licking their fingers and belching while Karen settled herself nervously on the divan, one elbow braced on the pillow, head cupped in her hand.
A belly dancer swirled from out of the anteroom, her belly rippling erotically. Her long black hair danced down her back with the erotic movements of her art. Karen languidly turned her head and then her jaw fell slack.
Behind the belly dancer danced two black dwarves, nakedly shining in the brazier light. Their piggish eyes stared at the naked woman and their tongues lasciviously circled their thick lips. Karen sucked in her breath with alarm, instantly knowing her fate. From the hairless vee above each pair of stunted legs, the biggest cocks she had ever seen in her life dangled grotesquely! As they danced towards her, hopping up onto the stage, the two limp rods of dark flesh expanded and stiffened in obscene jerks, stretching the elephantine-wrinkled skin until the two shafts were gleaming with tautness and the prune colored bulbous heads burst out of their foreskins to point at the stars sprinkled overhead. The bull-like sacs of their testicles swung heavily between their knees.
Karen bit her lip to choke back the cry of fear that sprang to her lips. Those menacing black Denises, spearing out so lewdly, so horrifyingly from the loins of the black, dwarves was the most hideous, obscene sight that ever stung her eyes. She was cowering into the divan when the twin dwarves leapt up onto the stage feet away from her.
What kind of perverted sense of humor possessed the Arabs? she wondered wildly. One of the robed servants arranged braziers burning with torch light on either side of the stage. The illumination splattered over Karen's provocative body and a gasp of awe rose from the crowd of men at the satiny flesh beneath. They could not see the goose bumps of terror prickling over her naked skin or the tear squeezing out one horrified emerald eye. Karen sucked in her breath miserably as the twin dwarves scrambled up onto the divan.
Intuition preempted inhibition and Karen, sensing the sadistic lust flanking her naked body on both sides, recalled the warning: "You will be beheaded or disemboweled if you do not please the master." Oh, dear Chet.. . what has become of me? With disgust clogging her throat and fear prickling her nudity, she hastily traced her icy fingers down and tentatively felt for the half-bloated stem of his bulbous cock, dangling lewdly in front of his hairy balls. Tentatively, she gave it a heartless squeeze while her emerald eyes squeezed out a tear. Slowly, she slipped the foreskin back, leaving the tip of his mushroom-shaped head naked and shiny. It didn't feel cold and slimy as it looked in the glistening lights playing in orange shadows over his clammy skin. The other dwarf muttered something in a chipper, high tone and sensing the lust in his eyes, Karen reached out and grabbed his penis, too.
Some of the sheiks, well acquainted with Faisal's penchant for American women and his brutal, sometimes lethal treatment of them, drank nervously from their vessels of wine, wiping their mouths with the backs of their hands. The Arabs reputation for sodomizing sometimes took on deathly implications. They waited for the screams, the whips . . . waited to see this poor gorgeous creature down on all fours with whip marks crosshatched over her creamy flesh.
A grunting sigh broke from the white robed crowd of men as some of them, uninhibited in showing lust amongst other men, hauled up the hems of their robes and stroked their genitals in rhythm to Karen's pumping fist. Greedy black eyes took in her voluptuous Irish beauty . . . the high breasts with puffy nipples hardening from the touch of cool yellow gold draped about her luscious flesh, reflecting in shimmers from the torches below on the checkerboard courtyard marble.
Her rib cage and waist were slender and her hips full and mature as she sat on the red velvet divan. Her thighs were firm and marbly and her shimmering red hair accented her creamy Irish complexion. Total innocence and angelic pleasure.. . white and pure, in the eyes of the Arab men. Her stomach was flat and firm, and her pubic mound jutted out as it offering something very special.
The droopy eye lidded Faisal licked his greasy fingers and stared at the newest addition to his harem with awed pleasure. His half-closed eyes fell to her pussy, on the two softly pouting cuntal lips peeking out as she sat with her legs spread.
The grotesque, naked dwarf on her right ground his teeth, his pulse racing out of control at the velvety feel of Karen's pumping fist working him into a hard erection. He sat beside her on the divan, his feet dangling off the edge of the bed, humping his hips with the movements of her hand.
On her left, the other dwarf squeaked in delight as, standing in front of her, and to the side, he bent his knees a little, grinding his hips in time to Karen's pumping fist. A single drop of pre-coital fluid oozed from the tip of his cock and Karen gave his penis a tug and wiped the wetness on her naked thigh.
From the audience, Faisal stuck his greasy fingers in a warmly scented finger bowl and grunted in broken English: "Play with your cunt . . . let these honored men see your cunt!" He gesticulated expansively, turning his head to see the admiring glint in the men's eyes.
Wanting to keep her head and her bowels intact, the nervous American captive let go of the rigid stalk of male flesh and slipping off the divan, jutted her smooth hips out at the men, giving them a peek at her pussy's ragged lips. The Arab gathering groaned collectively and the sound of rustling robes sluiced the night air as they cupped their hairy testicles beneath their robes and panted with lust.
Encouraged by that response and confident of her suspicion that the only way to keep her head was to be as whorish as possible, she smiled a lewd, drugged grin as her free hand slid down over her belly and her fingers played in the nest of her pubic curls. The torches blinded her, hiding from her the men's lusty glares.
Maybe it was the hash they'd forced her to smoke, maybe it was the flaming survival instinct that had kept her alive through the past few days, but instead of fighting to separate herself from this humiliation, she turned into a groaning, shivering, goose bumped mass of red hot passion. If it was sex these Arabs demanded of her to stay alive, then sex they'd get.. . red hot and ready! She'd show them what liberties American women could have with their own bodies!
Her polished fingertips played over her cuntal lips like butterfly wings. In a tempting pose, she spread her feet wide apart and thrust out her hips; she clenched her dimpled buttocks tightly together and swirling slowly around, bent her head and wiggled her buttocks at the hungry eyed men. Her fingers unconsciously spread the swollen lips of her cunt wide apart, opening it like a fish's mouth. One of the dwarves grabbed her free hand and she squeezed and pumped it, rubbing his pre-cum onto her thigh in glistening threads of lust.
"Squeeze it!" the dwarf squeaked, reaching down to guide her hand to the tender spot underneath his stubby cock where the vein gushed with hot blood, bloating the black tube another inch.
A gasp of awe rose from the gathering of masturbating Arabs.
"American!" barked Faisal, pointing at the second neglected dwarf with one hand, while his other hand dipped into the warm bed of birds and rice at his elbow.
Immediately, the dwarf seized her free wrist, wrenched it away from her pussy lips and spun her around, .tearing her other hand from his twin's genitals. Four rough black hands fell upon Karen's creamy nudity, grabbing at her, forcing her down on all fours on the divan. To keep her balance, she spread her legs wide, exposing her buttocks and the split of her pussy. They jumped on her at once, each seizing a cheek of her ass and spreading it aside like so much bread dough to show the Faisal the winking hole of her rectum!
The collection of Arabs murmured their appreciation and here and there one muttered filthy epitaphs in Arabic, bringing a titter of laughter from the men. Some wanted to see blood, some wanted chains . . . one suggested the snake charmer might do well in the act.
"Squeeze their cocks!" belched Faisal, growing impatient. Automatically, Karen's hands wrapped themselves around the stumpish cocks, this time pulling the black skin all the way back until the pair of mushroomed heads turned vibrant purple. The two dwarfed bodies, grotesque in proportion, brutalized her body with savage, pinching touches. They attacked her nipples and gouged at her soft glowing flesh. Their hard hands got wilder and groped over her naked flesh, pulling and mauling her tender flesh as if trying to rake the skin from her bones.
Karen fell into a trance. Her eyelids fluttered and a dazed grin parted her wet lips as she stroked their iron hard black cocks with two pumping fists while their stubby fingers ran torturous paths over her slim rib cage, down over her naked belly, to probe at the jewel of her belly button. Then straight down to the furry vee of her cunt.. .
Compliant, she bent one knee and lifted the leg slightly, her weight on her bare toes as she sat on the divan, giving the men a wide open crack to her pussy. She grimaced half with pain, half with masochistic pleasure as one of their thick forefingers forced its way up into her wetly throbbing cunt and began to saw in and out of the lust seeping hole. His finger dripped with lubrication, thick and creamy as sour cream.
The dwarf sucked the finger free, licked the cum slickened digit and shoved it back in. The Arabs went wild!
That humiliation should have made her want to die of shame . . . being mauled by two physically grotesque black dwarves . . . but pleasure filtered through the fear in the warm Arabian night.
The men masturbated in rhythm to Karen's ravishment as, jutting her hips forward, she let them pump in time to the finger sawing in and out of her vagina. Her hands were still squeezing the two stumpish cocks and stroking them rhythmically as if letting go of them would mean death-and it would!
One of the dwarves jumped up alongside her and grabbing her long red mane from behind, pulled her head back, nearly snapping her spine. His livery lips locked in a long wet slobbering kiss. Their hot tongues sparred, licking at each other as his little hands pawed at her naked breasts, leaving red streaks where his ragged fingernails scraped her flesh and raised blood in its path.
The night seemed to grow hotter, more humid too from the steam of lust rising from the stage. Everyone watched intently on stage, witnessing the ravagement of this strawberry -haired angel. Low animalish grunts and groans rippled from the men as they played with their rock hard cocks.
Now the finger was yanked from Karen's sucking hole up between her gorgeous legs as the little dwarf forced the captive to her knees on the divan. Kneeling between them, her red hair cascading from her head in shimmers of fire light, she stroked their bludgeoning cock and gazed with hungry eyes at the brutal, steel hard cocks wagging in front of her eyes.
"Suck his cock. . . " demanded Faisal. "Suck his nigger cock!"
Obediently, Karen hauled the pulsating black stump down to her half open mouth and let her tongue flick out and lick at its swollen head. Nobody needed whips to coax her to do it. Opening her pouty lips wide, she slowly guided the hot shaft of male flesh into her mouth as if it were her first food in days. Her lips closed down around the blunted head and her cheeks hollowed and expanded in a sucking motion. The dwarfs cock glistened with her saliva and shone in the flickering torch light as the little man fucked brutally in and out of her mouth, his grotesque little body humping wildly. With a lewd snarl, his hands reached down to tangle her long red hair and hold her head steady as he began to jump up and down, levering his hands on her shoulders. The other dwarf contented himself with caressing her nakedly quivering breasts as she sucked on the other raging penis. The men had finished eating now and several lit up clovish smelling cigarettes that filled the night air in blue smoke.
"Suck 'em . . . suck both of them!"
She couldn't, could she? Her lips clung to the shiny black flesh, her tongue licking its vein heavy underside before she snapped her head around and opened her mouth wide to accommodate the other's thickness. Her free hand groped behind her until she found the cum sticky length of the other penis. She fondled its hot stubby length as her mouth slid back and forth like an oil rig.
The two dwarves squealed with lusty glee. Their rough hands dug into her tender flesh, massaging, caressing, pinching, poking. They mauled every inch of her satiny flesh, leaving trails of blood from their ragged, unkempt nails. With a shove of his hips, the second dwarf guided his cock between her lips and shoved deep into her mouth. Karen acted only out of self preservation and felt a strange purging from the hideous act of sucking two black cocks at once!
They held her head tilted back, holding her brutally in place by the mane of her long red hair as they stood side by side, fucking into her beautiful face, punching at her. The audience went wild, but they knew better than to move before Faisal gave the signal.
Karen's head was pinned back and her mouth wedged open until the corners nearly cracked. The two stumpish penises crammed into her hot mouth gagging her. Wildly, insanely, she sucked at both of them, her hands reaching out to cup their oversized buttocks and pull them closer into her.
Her hardened nipples rubbed against their hairless thighs, thrilling her from their clammy heat. The Arab men gaped with open mouths at the sight of this voluptuous American sinking to the lowest depths of depravity!
The girl lay sprawled obscenely on stage, her legs opening onto the lustful view of her hair fringed pussy with its glistening, dewed petals. The nub of her clitoris winked at her viewers, glowing like a neon bulb in the orange splatters of firelight.
Faisal clapped his hand once and a servant came running. He barked orders in Arabic and seconds later a bottle of oil was thrust into the hands of one dwarf. Unscrewing the cap, he tipped the bottle above Karen's breasts, splashing her with the warm liquid. Big oily blobs dribbled over Karen's magnificent breasts, pooling in the shadowy cleavage.
Lewdly alive with lust, Karen used her hands to smear the oil all over her stomach while the dwarf rubbed it all along her curving thighs and abdomen.
Faisal barked another order in Arabic to the dwarves and quickly, not wanting to lose his head, the little man devoted his efforts to greasing the deep shadowy crevice between her ass cheeks. Faisal's moustache twitched in anticipation.
Karen O'Malley was lost in a private world as she caressed herself, massaging the oil over her bumps and curves. She tucked her chin in and bent her head as both hands tried hard to hold one slippery mound in place while her tongue licked and swathed the hideously humping dwarves.
CHAPTER NINE
"I knew you'd show up sooner or later," chuckled Jibsen, looking every bit the ex-Marine as he stood with feet wide apart fondling the black length of a billy club.
Bentley's hand had barely lifted from the door opening onto the hotel room where he'd last seen Karen, when the coarse-featured Jibsen started laughing. Chet stared into the gloating piggish eyes, his fists drawing up into steely balls. He didn't like being betrayed; if he'd wanted to get stabbed in the back, he would never have left Viet Nam. "Where's Karen? What have you done to Karen?"
"Forget that little shit with the big tits. Me and my Persian buddies fucked her ass off and sold what was left to Faisal. You'll never see her again.. . never," he grinned triumphantly.
Chet stepped forward and glared the man in the eye. Instantly the fondled billy club waved ominously in the air. From where he stood, Chet could see raisin-colored splatters of dried blood. "So help me, Jibsen . . . I should have put a bullet through your ugly skull in Nam!"
The coarse featured man laughed. "You got a lotta balls coming back to this hotel after my Persian thugs bashed your face in."
"I came back to look for Karen."
Jibsen spit on the carpet. "Nobody does that for a fuckin' woman."
"I have and I did."
Jibsen's smile faded and his eyes raked up and down the tall handsome man standing ten feet away. "Where's your luggage?"
Chet glanced around his ankles and an amused grin broke out over his face. "Gosh, I guess I forgot it, huh?"
"You bastard!" The billy club wheezed through the air, barely missing Chet's cheek. "Where's your luggage?" Jibsen bunched up his ham-like fist and drove a cruel force into Chet's stomach. The blow seared into his guts, sending waves of agony flaming up into his skull. The billy club was jabbed into his diaphragm and with a choking cry of pain and doubled over.
"Where's your luggage? You don't hear so good, huh?" the big American bellowed as Chefs tortured lungs gasped to draw in a lungful of air.
". . .told you . . . I don't have it." he groaned.
Jibsen jerked his head and two Iranian terrorists emerged from the closet. Chet took one wincing glance into their swarthy faces and instantly recognized them as his attackers in the Beirut airport men's room. They pinioned his arms behind his back without giving him a chance to struggle. Jibsen went to work, punching his victim's chest and belly and solar plexus with rapacious, ruthless force.
The helpless captive's body bucked and jerked and writhed under the battering attack. The sound of knuckles on flesh and bone filled the room along with an occasional whack of the billy club crashing into Chefs rib cage. Chocking groans and gasps forced their way through Chefs bleeding lips. When Bentley was doubled over, Jibsen barked an order at the Persian thugs who let the American's body fall like a sack of cement. They stood back as Jibsen went to work.
"Where's your fuckin' luggage . . . I'm asking you one more time, Bentley . . . and then I'm gonna get rough."
Bentley's right eye was swollen shut, his nose bleeding red dribbles onto his once white shirt. He panted desperately, the pain in his rib cage excruciating. "I don't know.. . looking for Karen.. . I don't have it all . . . with Karen.. . "
"You lying shit.. . tell me!"
Behind his tortured, swollen eyes, Chet's mind raced. What was Bentley's obsession with his luggage? What had his socks and underwear to do with international espionage and weaponry? It had become a matter of principle now.
The ex-Marine stepped towards the crumpled victim. Chet sucked in his breath, his broken ribs crippling him. With a wicked grunt, the big man leaned down and grasped the sac of Chet's sensitive balls and pinched them hard.
Chet belted out in pain.
"I'm askin' you one more time . . . and then I'm gonna castrate ya!"
Chet stared incredulously up into the big man's eyes. ". . .don't know . . . " Another ounce of pressure would kill him. "Hotel . . . in the Hussein Hotel.. . "
"You lying sonofabitch.. . first you don't know and now you're lying!"
"Aaaggghhhh!" Chet screamed as a bolt of intense agony shocked his system as Jibsen's steely fingers grasped the sac of his manhood and yanked so hard Chet's body jerked puppet-like.
Jibsen had drawn back his booted foot, ready to bury it in the pit of the filmmaker's groin, when a thunderous roar rent the air. "What the hell's that?"
One of the Persian thugs darted to the window, stuck his black greasy head out and stammered: "It's an Iraqi military helicopter!"
"Shit. . . " muttered Jibsen. "An we ain' got the luggage yet. I can't afford no fuckups when we're this close. Come on, let's get the hell out of here.. . take the back fire escape!"
On the floor, the battered body of the American filmmaker lay twitching in agony. Minutes later, the door opened and Abdullah came into his fuzzy vision.
Under the starry Arabian skies, the torches blazed, splattering orange reflections over the redheaded American's oil glistened body. The mounds of her milky breasts danced with the rhythm of the dwarves' caressing touches. Her belly shivered, her thighs quivered . . . and the Arab sheiks and chieftains were growing heatedly impatient.
Abruptly, Faisal clapped his hands, barked commands at a white-robed servant and seconds later the two screaming dwarves were hauled off of Karen's writhing body. They were not to have their pleasure with the American, a treasure reserved only for guests. Faisal jabbed a finger at Falid, indicating it was his privilege to jump on stage. Next a quick glance around the gathering and Faisal indicated to Ahmed he could join in the defilement of this luscious bodied American too.
Both men wasted no time stripping out of their robes and clambering up on stage to join Karen's oil glistening body under the heat of the brazier torches. Falid and Ahmed, their swarthy, hard muscled bodies topped in white turbans fell to work, punishing her with poking fingers and prying hands as they stuck their finger up into her pussy . . . sometimes both at once, and fucked her hard, jabbing into her tender pussy flesh with their bony digits.
Karen, grateful that her dwarfed lovers had been replenished, wriggled on the divan like a belly dancer made with lust. The men's hands mauled at every inch of her body as they stroked over her oiled flesh, pinching, pulling, tweaking her creamy nudity. It was a wild pagan scene.
The men's muscle-rippling bodies sweated profusely under the torch lights. Finally Ahmed, slipping and sliding over her lushness, got a firm grip on her slippery waist and crouched over to whisper in her ear: "I'm going to fuck you.. . "
Karen shuddered with anxious anticipation. Her ripe young oiled body trembled and she spread her legs wider still, returning his threats with an open invitation to do just that. She shuddered with an unholy desire.
The Arab's well-used muscle crashed down on top of her slipping and sliding, crushing her voluptuous breasts. His throbbing cock jerked and he guided it between her legs.
The gathering of lustful Arabs riveted their eyes on Ahmed's buttocks and they leaned forward to get a better look at this wonder of Arab fucking American. It was a commonly told rumor that American women were very liberated in sex. . . but could this petite lush body take the camel-sized prick jutting from Ahmed's loins?
The voyeurs sucked in their breath as the purple-mushroom headed penis slipped easily into the girl's well lubricated cunt and shoved with an obscene sucking sound that smacked of sadism. Her pink cuntal hole spread wide and her hair fringed pussy lips clutched involuntarily around the thick shaft as it sank out of sight into her tautly rippling belly!
This is what the Arabs had been waiting for! They hauled up their robes and squeezed their balls gently as would a lover's hand, they pulled at their swarthy penis until they pounded with blood . . . all the while their fiery black eyes watched the defilement of the hapless American captive.
Ahmed and Karen began to move in savage harmony, as if they'd rehearsed this act for the benefit of Faisal's pleasure. Ahmed's bulging biceps rippled as he held the slippery naked girl beneath him and fucked in and out of her wetly clasping cunt with brute force. His balls slapped wetly against her oiled buttocks and Karen's tight little pussy rolled inward with each violent thrust. Each time he pulled out to the tip of his lust swollen cock head, Karsn's cuntal lips clung to the thick shaft like a rubber glove pulled from a surgeon's hand.
And Karen was fucking the Arab to save her life! Her greased hips gyrated and pumped as if on ball bearings, and she bucked and undulated with a total disregard for her long gone lover, Chet Bentley. Who was fucking who was anybody's guess. Ahmed fought to hold onto her slippery body while the hands of a dozen hungry Arabs reached out to grab a leg, a breast, a pubic curl. Her mouth gaped open like a beached fish and deep animal moans of pure pleasure rumbled from her throat as her head thrashed from side to side, whipping her red hair about her face. When she did open her eyes, they were glassed over with a distant, reckless glint to the emerald green.
An orgy was a few strokes away.. . .
Falid, growing impatient and feeling a bit the fool, got into the act. "Roll her over," he grunted at Ahmed. Karen, lost in her wild lust, her slim waist bucking as her hips lashed up to take all of the Arab's hard cock, didn't hear the suggestion. Her emerald eyes blinked open when she felt hands twisting her nudity around, rolling her over on the divan.
The tall Arab kept punching into her cunt as if trying to bludgeon her to death, even while they rolled over onto Karen was riding his swarthy, sweaty body like a horse. It was a relief, having his weight off her lissome body, and the night air was cool on her perspiring nudity. She breathed freely now, taking deep lungfuls and resting for a moment, concentrating on the hotly throbbing cock buried deep in her velvety cunt. Then she leaned down, taking some of the weight with her arms and allowed the nipples of her oiled, ripely swaying breasts to brush back and forth over his chest. The effect was electrifying! Stars flickered before her eyes and adrenalin-powered lust charged through her veins.
Ahmed looked into the gorgeous face of the redheaded American and smirked lecherously. He ground his teeth with frustrated lust. Karen deliberately teased him by clenching and unclenching her cuntal muscles, milking his cock with maddening tightness. Slowly she tightened her buttocks muscles and rocked back and forth over him, grinding her cunt into his pubic curls and mewling from the feel of his pubic kinks grinding maddeningly against the oily nub of her clitoris.
The gathering of sheiks stared with dancing black eyes at the American's oil slickened buttocks only a hand's grab away, shining like two full moons in May.
Then eyes fell on Falid crouching by the writhing couple whose moans and yelps of lustful joy filled the night air. A cruel, depraved expression in his dark moody eyes glistened in the night as he held in his pumping fist the angrily throbbing head of his yellow, veiny cock.
Karen was slowly spreading her oil sheened legs wide, until she had to bend her knees to ward off cramps. She paused, a moment of depraved ecstasy as she exposed her nakedly churning buttocks to the gathering of lustful Arabs. Murmurs-low, lewd, intent filtered up into the night skies as the men masturbated themselves shamelessly between guaffs of wine and nibbles of food.
All eyes were glued to Karen's naked ass cheeks as they slowly spread apart, showing off the tightly puckered button of her anus buried deep and snug in the fleshy crevice between her ass cheeks. Her buttocks undulated, rolled tantalizingly as they moved up and down, teasing the men as they pumped over the Arab's stalking pole covered with the slippery sheen of oil as it burrowed and gored deep up into the gorgeous American's cunt. Every hungry eyed Arab could see that swarthy pole of male meat spreading the ragged lips of her pussy so wide they almost folded back on themselves, reveling in the buttery softness of her seeping, willing pussy.
The captive American deliberately used her cuntal muscles to grasp more of his cock, as if her cunt were a nibbling set of lips. She slithered on her knees slowly forward until they hugged the Arab's hairy armpits. Her quivering ass cheeks rode shamelessly high in the air, her buttoned anus winking invitingly at Falid as she ground her cunt frantically down on the stalk growing from the black hairy forest of Ahmed's loins.
Falid fell to his knees on all fours, slipping between the hairy widespread legs of his friend and the sleek ones of the captive woman, until he was crouched over her upturned, oiled ass cheeks.
Karen was one goose bumped mass of quivering female flesh, moving as if run on batteries. Her mouth hung open lewdly, her eyes glazed, a spittle of drool threading from the corner of her lovely cock-stretched mouth bleeding from the torture of sucking the two black dwarves at once. It wasn't until she felt the hotly probing naked head of Falid's rubbery prick squeezing, pressing against her anus that she realized Jibsen's evil threats were a stroke away from reality.
The Arabs went berserk, shouting obscenities in Arabic, goading on their friend to take the American in the ass. They sucked in their breath as Falid held his thick jerking cock in one hand, guiding it up and in to nudge against Karen's tightly clenched little anus.
Karen's eyes sprang open as if on springs when she felt the first digging pressure. She froze in her obscene position, scared of moving for fear of displeasing Faisal or Ahmed who was grunting underneath her, bathing her face in smells of roasted lamb and mint tea. He was tweaking her nipples now. Karen panicked.
Her red hair swung around and her wide emerald eyes stared uncomprehendingly at the swarthy figures hovering close to the stage. They were closing in on her: tight lipped, lusty eyed Arabs, pumping their cocks in their fists and muttering undecipherable promises in a language she couldn't understand. She tried to move, but both men held her tight, their hands digging into her oiled flesh, their ragged nails scratching her back in red trails of blood.
"Nooooooo!" It was a long lost wail that bubbled in her throat. Desperation glinted in her eyes. She had to get out of here . . . all these men . . . dear God, what would they do to her? What was there left to do to her? Desperate could not convey the helplessness of being held prisoner sandwiched in between two lustful, vengeful men from a culture that despised women and American to boot. She could only hope they didn't flail her alive!
Now Falid was using the thumb of his hand to spread her slippery ass cheeks apart. Karen clenched her teeth, an elephantine tear squeezing out her eyes to dribble down onto her quivering breasts.
She quivered with dread as Falid's hands brutally wedged open her tightly clenched buttocks, drawing them apart like a dinner roll. The crowd hissed a gasp of encouragement as Falid used his knobby brown middle finger to tease at her rectal opening.
With a quick jab, Falid rammed his oil coated finger into her puckered anal hole and twirled it around in widening circles. Up to the first joint it bored. The muscles of Karen's buttocks clenched automatically and her anal hole gripped defensively at his finger like a closing fist. The pain was reflected in her twisted face, and a low hoarse moan came from deep in her bosomy chest.
"Pllleeezzz noooo!" The horrible experience with Jibsen and his Persian thugs was still ripe in her mind. Two Arabs raping her at the same time . . . they were going to kill her!
Falid's face was a mask of sadism. His taut lips were pulled into a straight line, black eyes snapping, nostrils flaring. As if in answer to her panic, he sawed and reamed in and out of the buttery warm depths of her cunt, ramming a finger into her up to the palm of his hand. Karen groaned in agony from the scalding anal rape. Her aristocratic features contorted in pain and incredulity. Recklessly, he fucked like a madman into her poor little hole in preparation for bigger things to come. And that bigger thing was throbbing dripping with pearls of pre-cum now . . . dangling between his thighs!
Karen closed her eyes and tried to be still, Concentrating, trying not to think or feel. She could see her ragged, bleeding body left on the divan once Falid had finished with her. Chet . . . dear God, what had happened to Chet? She'd been so sure he would find her, rescue her.
She crouched on her stomach on top of the groaning Ahmed, her legs spread wide, her knees tucked under. His hard cock throbbed inside her cunt like a live animal, and she felt Falid's thick worming finger stabbing through her rectum from behind. She had cooperated with them, suffered the indignity of sucking an ugly, grotesquely disfigured set of black dwarf cocks, because she'd wanted to save her life. Now they were going to kill her anyway! Tears of betrayal scalded her eyes, and inwardly she damned the detestable Arabs and their lies! Dear God, if she lived through this torture, she would never trust another Arab as long as she lived.
She begged and pleaded, but it did no good. The Arabs jeered at her, pumped their cocks in her face, climbed up onto the stage and pinched her buttocks, taunting her. They yelled in Arabic for him to "fuck her in the ass . . . fuck the American in the ass!"
Falid pulled his finger from Karen's tight little anal button with a lewd plopping sound. He aimed the lust bloated head of his aching cock directly at that cringing puckered hole and flexed his hips with every ounce of strength in his body.
"Aaaagghhh . . . ! " All eyes fell on Karen's lust contorted face, saw her emerald eyes gape open as the brutally stiffened cock plundered into her with the speed of an oil rig.
"AAaaagggghh GGAAWWWDDDDD!"
Every black eye turned to her nakedly upraised buttocks as she froze, screaming up into the blinking stars. Every Arab eye watched the grotesquely stretched hole give more, spreading, slipping like a glove over the probing tip of his thick, rampaging cock. Falid grinned in triumph and thrust his hips heavily downward, burying half of the hardness of his male meat into the soft velvety channel with one vicious thrust of his powerful hips.
Her groans choked back into her throat as Karen fought for freedom from this crucifying assault; but her every move only helped to impale herself deeper with each jerk and twist of her tortured body. Falid's massive prick sank deeper into her futilely resisting anal hole. Beneath her, Ahmed grunted and rammed his penis into Karen's cunt until his cock bored into her tender cervix, doing his sadistic best to pin her in place.
The voyeurs pulled at their penises and stroked their balls, watching as the lucky man leaned over the redhead's up-thrust buttocks and fucked his bloated penis through the last remaining resistance . . . going deep up into her tight little rectum, right up to his sperm-bloated balls.
They fell into a maniacal fury of fucking the redheaded prisoner, buffeting her body between them as if she were a sack of potatoes. . "AAAGGGGAAHH!"
The scream sluiced through the air, piercing the ear drums of every voyeur.
"Ohhh Gawwddd . . . help meee!" Karen screamed piteously as she felt Falid's hotly throbbing cock fucking deep up into her rectum, banging against the tender, thin membrane separating her cock-filled cunt and rectum. She whimpered and tossed her head in agony, sandwiched whorishly in between the sweating Arabs who treated her like the lowest of Mohammed's creatures. With only that thin blood-fed membrane separating Ahmed's plunging cock from Falid's thundering one, Karen felt everything magnify intensely. In and out they thrust in unison, pumping into her, punching her belly and anus at the same time as if trying to meet in the middle.
The scene in Faisal's courtyard was close to riotous. The men, with robes hauled up to the waist, pumped their penises frenetically squirting their cum in white steaming arcs onto the stage above. Pearls of cum splattered over Karen's back, dribbled in white rivers from her thighs.
Now her rapists fell into a smooth cadence that pounded her oil slickened body between like a rag doll. Faisal, watching intently, clapped his hands and ordered the servant to bring out the other women in the harem. One woman wasn't enough.
Seconds later a dozen hashish drugged white bodied women, nude as the day they'd become hapless prisoners of Faisal's palace, were herded out into the courtyard. The Arabs jumped on them with lewd grunts. In moments, the sound of wet cocks ramming into wide-stretched genital openings like high powered oil rigs, slapped through the courtyard. They screwed and sucked and defiled the helpless women as they watched the frayed edges of Karen's pussy flesh pull out with Ahmed's penis on the out-stroke and disappear back inside her cunt as he plunged again deeper into her quivering little belly.
But it was Falid's thick cock pulling out of her backside, drawing the tight ridges of her tightly clenched anus with it, then wetly ramming back up into her until his cum filled balls were wedged hard up into her softly yielding buttocks, that every one watched.
Something started to loosen within the redheaded American. Maybe it was a hysteric reaction born of the will to live. Maybe it was the idea of being ruthlessly 'ucked by two men while forty people watched oogle-eyed . . . that unscrewed the masochistic bent in her.
Couples scrambled up to their knees, breaking the chain of lovemaking, to watch the miraculous performance. A strange, far away glint sprinkled in the captive's eyes and a low ecstatic moan trembled from her lips. Involuntarily, her oil glistening buttocks began to undulate and from the pleased expressions on the Arab's faces, she obviously was clenching fist-like with her cuntal and anal muscles, milking their cocks.
"The American -likes ass fucking!" one of the Arabs chimed in his native tongue and a chorus of agreement rent the night skies. Winces of pain on her sweat-streaked young face were breaking into rapturous moans.
"Fuccckkk itttt.. . " she grunted thickly to them as they bored into her anus and cunt in synchronized speed. The words coming from one so beautiful were doubly arousing. The other women of the harem stared and blinked incredulously at the newest member of the secret society of lost American travelers who'd found themselves prisoners in the ruthless Faisal's grasp.
Faisal, too, could not believe the transformation in the redheaded woman's rape. Shedding his robe, he stepped toward the stage. Copulating Arab sheiks rolled to the side, parting like the Red Sea, to make a path for the powerful man who would soon be the most wealthy and powerful man in all of Iraq.
With a snarl, Faisal kicked hands and legs out of his path until he stood at the side of the divan near Karen's thrashing head. He watched as Ahmed fucked in and out of her cunt with sadistic, punishing blows and Falid pumped his hips, slapping up against Karen's rectum. The bitch was supposed to be screaming for mercy like the women of Islam, not loving it! She was being battered and jerked and twisted about, her head flying back and forth until her screams turned to moans and moans to groans, finally to wild sounds of animalistic delight as her body found the rhythm and she moved in fucking unison with her two Arab rapists.
"Fuck the bitch until she dies!" barked Faisal in a queer falsetto as he pumped at his rock hard cock that outsized any male's there by a full three inches. He caught hold of Karen's thrashing head and held it between his strong hands and, with his thumbs, forced her parched, bleeding lips open. Brutally, he guided his cock toward her lips and shoved the full ten inches down her throat like a sausage being stuck into a meat grinder.
This was ultimate thrill.. . sucking the cock of the perpetrator of her capture and humiliation. Some weird sense of survival whispered from a deep corner of her subconscious that by lowering herself to this debasement, she would somehow purge her soul. And purge she did, and suck she did.
Faisal began jerking his hips back and forth as Ahmed and Falid fucked and bucked, and Karen let her body ripple and go limp while she ovaled her lips and lapped at Faisal's dripping penis, tasting the bitter-sweetness of his rape-bound arousal. She sucked like a new vacuum cleaner, drawing the sperm from his testicles that beat against her chin. She clenched shut her green eyes, glassy with lust, her long eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings over flushed cheekbones. She sucked and twirled her tongue as they beat into her from all directions.
The four sweating bodies, glistening with perspiration of mixed races and love oils, completed a circuit of lust. Faisal was the first to scream out his release. His stiff, proud body rippled, his teeth gritting, while white hot sperm shot into her mouth, bulging and hollowing her cheeks as she gulped and swallowed and sucked for more, her tongue twirling around the slitted end madly. When it deflated like a stuck balloon, she licked the splattered cum from his hairy testicles like a baby kitten.
Ahmed came next, exploding his thick cum into her cunt with a wild roar that sluiced the night air. Karen was up in the heavens with the blinking stars as her own searing orgasm blinded her for a moment. She felt as though her insides were coming out when it hit with a thunderous force and she let out a wild cry. "Fuck my asss . . . hurrrttt meee!"
And hurt her Falid did. White hot pain coursed through Karen's anus and mingled with her orgasm, making it wilder, sweeter, more intense and damningly memorable. She felt as if she were riding a Persian carpet through the diamond studded skies, whirling off into limitless time and space on a ride of eternal pleasure.
Opening one emerald eye, she saw Ahmed lying beneath her, his moustache still twitching from his orgasm. From behind, she felt Falid's hot oily cum shoot into her ravaged anus, filling her up until it dribbled down between her legs.
Then all went black.
CHAPTER TEN
"You must not approach Faisal's pasha as an American dressed as you are," insisted Abdullah dictatorially. "He will have you beheaded by his guards. The man is ruthless, powerful and to be feared."
Anger surged through Chet's veins. "But he's got my woman! I don't give a shit if I have to go as a beggar, but I'll drag Karen out of his ugly hands!"
"I regret I can be of no greater help to you, but to interfere would cause dissent in a country already torn by war."
"And just who the hell is this Faisal, anyway?" Chet winced, held the ice bag to his swollen forehead and felt nothing but hate.
"Faisal owns the largest oil fields in Iraq. Because of his power, he is frightened of peasant uprisings. He is paying your Jibsen to get him the formula for the H-bomb."
Chet's head flew around. "Are you shitting me? Jibsen with a bomb? Huh?"
"Do not laugh," warned Abdullah, strolling up to the hotel window and glancing down into the clogged streets below. "This is a country of many changes."
"I can never thank you enough," said Bentley, offering a warm hand to the pro-American Iraqi. "I would have been a dead man had you not come just then." He adjusted the brown, dirty rags of his beggar's costume arid felt the weight of the holster riding his hip.
"More reports of Faisal's treachery and possible treason have filtered through the embassy . . . and with your concern for your assistant, I felt it my duty to seek you out. Fortunately, Mohammed graced us with good timing." He bowed to the East reverently, accepted Chet's warm grip, and disappeared through the door.
On foot, his ankle length tattered robe marking him a beggar, Chet pulled up his hood to hide waves of blonde hair and a bruised face. Below, his white Addidas whispered over the sidewalk as he made his way towards the heart of town, outside of the tourist district to where the heart of Karbala pulsed. Chefs pulse quickened at the thought of seeing his redheaded Karen again.
He neared the marketplace bustling with Iraqis who'd come to sell their wares, charm snakes, tell fortunes, juggle and do anything to earn a living in this land of extreme wealth and dire poverty. A parade of soldiers guarded the archway leading to the open market. Guns slung over their khaki shirted shoulders, they kept a wary eye out for suspicious foreigners during these days of strife.
Keeping his eyes peeled to the ground and looking the humble beggar, Chet quickly surveyed the hub of activity. Abdullah had given him vague directions to Faisal's palace, but he needed more concrete information to avoid looking the lost foreigner he was. He was swinging about, peering under the hood of his beggar garb, when a soldier on horseback whipped his horse into a gallop chasing a ragged youth who'd been seen stealing a pomegranate from a vendor. With disregard for filthy beggars, the horse charged into Chet's path.
To avoid being trampled under the dusty hooves, Chet nose-dived to the ground. The protection of his hood flew backwards, revealing a tanned American face. The sudden movement, following Jibsen's hideous attack on his genitals, left him temporarily stunned. Laying in the dirt, he shook his head and started rising to his feet when an Iraqi soldier caught the incongruity.
"Halt!" he barked in Iraqi.
Chet took one wide-eyed glimpse over his shoulder, muttered a desperate "Shit.. . " under his breath, and scrambled to his feet. He was a foreigner in a country at war, an enemy at that, and his Arabic wasn't strong enough to withstand the rigors of long cross-examinations. Besides, the battered condition of his Nordic face and his new Addida tennis shoes would lend no credence to any story, no matter how wildly convincing. They would probably throw him into a hay-floored dungeon and feed him gruel until every last hair fell out of his head. No, there was no other way around it.
The soldier, on horseback, had halted his horse, swung around and raised the barrel of his rifle. Had it not been for Chet's impeccable sense of timing, he might have been trampled under the heavy camel hooves being led by a Bedouin bringing earthenware vessels to market. The agile American yanked up his beggars robe, the legs of his denim Levi's scissoring frantically in a mad dash for the twisting alleyway. Behind him, shots rent the air. The din of screaming women and thundering horse hooves screamed in Chet's ears. The marketplace became a bedlam of rearing donkeys, frightened camels and maddened soldiers hot in pursuit.
He followed the alleyway lined with mud-walled buildings. Behind him, the shouts of Arabic soldiers winging bullets in the air hastened his speed. His addida tennis shoes slapped along the dusty street as he headed for the adjoining alley and plunged into an arched doorway whose steps lead up to a courtyard above. But beggars weren't welcome in Iraq . . . he'd better keep running.
They were hot on his trail, no doubt about that! Panting wildly, he sprinted around the first bend in the narrow lane. He dashed into an entry smelling heavily of urine and littered garbage and ran up a flight of stone stairs, crossed a wider street and headed for an archway that led into a maze of alleyways behind. Footsteps and shouting voices sang behind him; bullets whizzed over his shoulder to chip plaster from the wall.
The length of the beggars robe was prohibiting his speed and he ripped it off, tossed it down the steps behind him and tripped up another set of steps leading to an alcove. He was making a split second decision when he felt something warm grasp his arm.
Ready to swing, he pivoted around ready to land a punch in the face of an Iraqi soldier. His hand fell to his side as he stared into the sloe-eyed loveliness of a belly dancer returning from the marketplace.
A tight layer of diaphanous fabric sheathed her belly and hips, and a silver cupped brassiere with strands of silver dripping about her neck, shimmered over a deep cleavage. She might have been naked. Chet gulped.
"You American?" she whispered, her cloying perfume stinging his nostrils. She nudged him by the elbow and pointed to a winding staircase leading to a modest mud-walled house above. "Come with me.. . " she said in Arabic.
Chet did, gratefully. The sounds of pursuit were one stairway away, but the bullets had stopped singing in his ears. Hopefully they'd found the discarded beggars' robe and assumed he'd run the opposite direction.
At the top of the stairs, the seductive dancer opened a hinged door and nudged the American inside. She bolted it and leaning against it, stared longingly at the handsome blond American.
The room was tiny, furnished sparsely with cushions and rugs on the floor. Chet had the distinct impression the girl made her living by moving more than her hips.
And she was lovely. Voluptuously curved, her breasts heavy on her chest, her soft belly rippling under the green transparent shift. Her sloe eyes were wide and her lips full and ripe.
"I saw you in the marketplace," she said in Arabic, smatterings of which Chet understood from prior assignments in the Middle East. She cocked her head in the direction of the steps. "The military is after you, that I know."
She came toward him in a cloud of perfume. "You stay with Pasha and I take care of you." Whisking up the diaphanous skirt, she thrust her pelvis outward and smiled seductively. Beneath the skirt, the ragged lips of her cunt pouted invitingly.
Chet backed away. "I cannot stay, I must leave," he chirped in a tight voice in broken Arabic.
"Do you not desire me?" she contested.
Chet gulped. Suddenly she was pressing her lushness against him, her hands groping for his genitals, her fingers caressing, crawling over his flesh, groping for his testicles. In spite of himself, Chet felt his cock stiffen and lurch under his denim Levi's. "See, you are ready for Pasha."
Chet groped in his pocket, hauled out a handful of change and clasped it into her warm palm as he pried it off his crotch. "I don't have time for that right now, but you can help me with one thing . Tell me where I find Faisal's palace."
Her tiny hand flew to her mouth. "Ah," she sucked in her breath. "That is a forbidden place, for an American especially."
"You're telling me," he mumbled in English.
"Better you stay with Pasha," the girl said.
Chet grinned, leaned over to kiss her on the lips. The brief encounter relit the girl's desires and she was devouring him with kisses, her lush body pressed against his, her hand snaking around his neck to bend his head towards hers.
He unlaced her arms from around his neck. Footsteps scrambling up the stone steps made him panic. His eyes shot toward the arched window.
"You must go quickly! They will search for you here and if they find you.. . " She ran a finger under her throat symbolically.
"Faisal's pace?" he whispered, hearing the footsteps and loud Arabic voices making threats against the beggar.
She gave him directions. They banged on Pasha's door just as Chet made the ten foot leap onto the alleyway. Pressing his panting body to the mud-walled building, he looked right and left, listening for Iraqi soldiers. Satisfied by the silence, he took off for Faisal's palace.
The outside of Faisal's palace was nothing stupendous, but once Chet had stolen his way through the arched courtyard, strewn with costly rugs and cushions, the meaning of Arabic petrodollars struck home.
Hugging a mosaic column, he peeked through the archways, hearing servants on the far side of the courtyard muttering in Arabic. Chet scurried through a deserted anteroom decorated in rich carpets and perfumed with clove-smelling incense, and followed a twisting corridor which led onto a second courtyard where a large fountain spurted prismatic crystals into the air.
Sucking in his breath and patting the holster boring into his hip bone, Chet tiptoed toward the back of the house. It would only make sense that the harem would be at the back. Rather like Blacks in the back of the bus, thought Chet miserably. Being a new member of Faisal's private society, no doubt they'd locked Karen in a separate room, considering her obstinence.
A narrow stone stairway twisted upwards beyond the anteroom. Heavy wooden doors locked with heavy iron bolts lead off the corridor. Chet stopped, put his ear to the first door and listened. The sounds of sobbing filtered through the wooden plank. No, that wouldn't be Karen . . . the weeping was far too hysterical.
Cautiously, on tiptoes now, he unbolted the second door and peeked inside. A fleshy bodied naked woman was asleep on her back. The third room he found empty. Biting his lip and losing hope, he unbolted the fourth. A naked woman with enormous breasts crowned with raspberry nipples glared druggedly at her from a divan piled high with cushions.
Chet drew in his breath, squared his shoulders and dashed rabbit-like around the corner . . . and stood still in his tracks.
A dozing guard sat outside a bolted door, a sword hooked in his belt. Cautiously, silent as a cat, gun drawn from his holster, Chet slunk towards the door. Hurling himself at the guard, he clubbed him viciously over the head with the revolver butt as his other arm squeezed around his throat.
The guard was well trained in combat and the thundering blows only stymied him for a moment. They crashed to the floor together and the sword fell from the guard's belt. As the strong body writhed and threshed beneath him, Chet levered his knees between the man's shoulder blades, put his arm around the guard's throat and pulled up with all his strength against the pressure of his knees.
The muscles of the guard's neck corded, the veins in his swarthy forehead popped as he fought against the well trained ex-Marine's strength to break the neck cracking lock around his throat.
Sweat poured from Chet's brow and rivered down his cheeks; the muscles of his arms spasmed . . . until the gasping breaths of a choking man bubbled and died. The head flopped lifelessly on the marble floor.
Chet stiffened. The screech of air-raid sirens sang in the air. "Holy shit!" muttered the American, hearing the screams of terror echo down the hallways from trapped women. Shuffling of feet scuffed up the stairs and down the hallway.
Knowing the dead guard wasn't the only servant stationed to maintain the harem, Chet shot back the bolt on the door and flung it open. Karen, trembling with alarm, her red hair tumbling about her naked shoulders, stared at him from a pile of cushions.
It was tempting, but first things first. Jamming his gun back into the holster, he darted to the hallway and dragged the guard by the feet and dumped him in Karen's chamber. Outside the sirens wailed. Seconds later the hellish thunder of Iranian aircraft sang in the air.
The world exploded into a deafening blast of dropping bombs exploding over the skies of Karbala. The walls of Karen's chamber trembled, the plaster chipping from the walls.
"I never thought I'd love the sound of bombs, but by God, I'd rather take my chances in war than getting caught in Faisal's palace!" He grabbed Karen by the arm. She didn't budge. "You okay?"
She stared at him incredulously while plaster shivered off the walls and a detonated missile crackled blocks away. She had never expected to see him again . . . and here he was in flesh and blood. She flung herself hysterically into his arms sobbing wildly while the bombs sang and exploded. "I thought I'd never see you."
"Later for that," he said urgently. "Cry later. Right now we've got to get ourselves out of this place alive. I have a feeling it ain't gonna be easy."
"But, I'm naked!" she protested, as if suddenly realizing her immodest state.
"Better to be naked than dead." He ripped off his shirt and held it out for her slender arms to slip through. "Come on, we've got to get out of here."
Outside in the corridor all hell broke loose. Women, trapped behind bolted doors, screamed as rockets shook the walls of their prisons. Karen balked. "We've got to let them out, please, Chet!"
"We'll take care of them later.. . right now we have to save our own necks!"
The courtyard below was swarming with guards and servants hovering in confusion as pillars cracked and crumbled around them, explosions biting into the mud-walled building of Karbala.
They picked their way down the steps and dashed for the alleyway. Stones bit into Karen's bare feet; the flaps of Chet's shirt winged up to show off the lush nudity beneath. Shards of rock and bits of stucco whistled through the air. Donkeys and camels, torn from their master's reins, thundered down the alleys braying wild-eyed.
The Americans plastered themselves to the alley wall as a wounded donkey screamed in the last throes of death before collapsing in the clogged narrow street.
Minutes later they dashed up the confusion of stairways and pounded on Pasha's door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The air attacks on Karbala lasted one day. Iraqi war missies whistled retaliatorily over Iranian skies.
Chet, Karen and Abdullah, Minister of Information, were sitting discussing the odious Jibsen and his Iranian terrorists. The Americans had checked into the Hussein Hotel and after a good night's rest their strength had been restored.
"I'm trying to get all this straight in my head," said Chet, holding an ice bag to his eye. 'The attack in my Beirut hotel room, the airplane blowing up, the train tracks being bombed, and Karen's experience at the harem were all tied together?"
Abdullah nodded. "That's right. We've had spies planted in Faisal's palace and it appears the diffa was a sore failure since Jibsen was unable to deliver the goods."
"Which was? I still can't figure out what Jibsen was looking for from me? Jewels? Dope? What?"
Abdullah smiled patiently. "As I told you, Faisal is much concerned about weaponry. It is reports by our spies that he will soon have the secret to the bomb. That will make him an independent power within Iraq, a most dangerous situation for the harmony of our country."
"I'd say," snickered Chet.
"Speaking of our luggage, isn't something missing?" Karen wanted to know. She slung one slender leg over the other and cocked her head seductively. "Wasn't there a present I was supposed to have been given?"
Chet snapped his fingers. "Sorry, babe . . . forgot about that. My satchel's locked up downstairs. Why don't you two entertain yourselves while I go find my satchel."
Convincing the hotel desk clerk his battered face was the same as the handsome one on his clearance papers and passport, he was granted entrance to the luggage storage room filled with American luggage belonging to soon to be deported news reporters and war correspondents.
Keeping in mind that every occurrence with his luggage seemed to conjure up trouble, Chet slipped the key in the luggage storage door silently and twisted the latch. A beam of sunlight stole fugitively through the barred window. The afternoon shadows angled over the line up of oddly shaped luggage. Finding his satchel would be no easy task.
He'd stepped a few feet into the room when his sixth sense alerted him to another presence. Whirling around he tumbled to the floor with Jibsen's full weight hurling through space to pin him to the floor, knocking the wind out of him.
Gasping for air, Chet struggled to twist onto his back; but Jibsen had seized his arm and screwed it up between his shoulder blades.
The struggling filmmaker beat uselessly at the floor with his free hand. Jibsen's weight crushed him, and although Jibsen was flabby in the stomach, he was strong. Chet had to break the grip to keep his arm from being broken. His mind reeled with pain.. . Jibsen had gone for his left eye socket. With a grunt, Chet lunged his head forward and his teeth sunk savagely into the flesh of Jibsen's hand.
"You fuckin' sonofabitch!" roared Jibsen, releasing his grip on Chet's arm to grap for his hair and drag the cruelly biting teeth from his hand.
The second the arm was free, Chet drew his knees up and with one supreme kick, threw Jibsen's heavy body to one side and scrambled to his feet to kick furiously at Jibsen's jowls. The tip of Chet's shoe caught Jibsen on the side of the chin and the sound of bone crunching filled the room. But Jibsen was a Marine and Marines fight to the death. He was up in a flash, his hands held away from his sides, an evil glint in his piggish eyes.
'This is what I've been waiting for, Jibsen . . . I've got a bone to pick with you!"
"Shuddup, chickenshit.. . " growled Jibsen, running his tongue over his teeth and finding a few missing. He spit them out just as Chet rushed forward again, swinging a powerful right to Jibsen's jaw.
The big man blocked the punch with his palm and smashed a murderous hook to the side of Chet's head. Chet staggered back against the luggage rack. His cheek had been split, and blood trickled down his chin. Jibsen seemed to have a thing about battering the left side of his face.
Jibsen was coming at him again, panting hoarsely as he hammered a flurry of blows to Chet's battered face and aching body. But Chet was tough too, and younger. Gasping and wincing as Jibsen's meaty fist raked across his chin, sank agonizingly into his abdomen and hammered into his rib cage, he stood up and returned punch for punch. His only hope was to stay on his feet and hope the older man tired first.
Jibsen's chin got a leaden beating as Chet thudded glancing blows there before punching at the heart. One fist into the solar plexus wheezed the air from Jibsen's lungs . . . and Chet, ducking under Jibsen's fists, brought up his head to pound his fist squarely into the other man's face.
Jibsen yelped out in pain as his broken nose gushed crimson; he swayed dazedly from the attack.
Tigerishly, Chet leapt forward to land a searing left and a pile driving right across Jibsen's diaphragm. Jibsen grunted and fell back against the luggage rack behind him, while the filmmaker punched into his flabby gut.
But Jibsen wasn't an ex-Marine for nothing. He drew a deep lungful of air and came at Chet, knocking him alongside the head, sending stars shooting in front of his eyes. Then, grabbing a suitcase, he swung it at the younger man to throw him off balance. Wind milling backwards, Jibsen took a flying leap at the fallen man.
Chet jerked his knees back into his stomach, smashed his heels into Jibsen's groin and straightened his legs with all his strength. Jibsen hurtled backwards and landed on his back, his head banging into the luggage rack.
Chet was on him in a flash. Blinded by blood streaming from a cut above his eye, Chet kicked him in the belly. The big man howled with pain and tried to scramble away on his knees. Chet grabbed him by the lapels and hauled him to his feet. A bent knee jabbed into Jibsen's groin, bringing him to his knees for good.
As he lay moaning through cut and bloody lips, Chet jumped astride his panting body, jammed one foot into his armpit, seized his right wrist in both hands and hauled upward on the arm with all his might.
"Let's have it, I want to hear the whole story.. . "
"What the fuck you talking about?" groaned Jibsen.
"About the Persian thugs attacking me . . . what have I got that's so damned important to you?"
Jibsen yelped. "You're breaking my arm!"
"I said talk!" Chet Bentley had two scores to settle . . . the attacks on his life and the abduction of his girl friend. He took neither lightly. Breathing heavily, Chet shifted his other leg so that his knee was jammed against the back of Jibsen's elbow. Still hauling the arm up against the pressure of his foot, he began bending it back over his knee. "Tell me, you shithead, or I'll break your arm off!"
Jibsen screamed with agony and writhed on the floor, kicking his heels.
More pressure . . . sweat beading Chet's forehead.
"Aaagggghhhh!" wailed Jibsen. The sound of cracking bones reverberated in the room. Chet let go, and Jibsen's useless arm flopped to the floor. "You broke my arm, you fuck head!"
"I'll break the other one if you don't start talking!"
Jibsen groaned through set teeth. "Those . . . were Iranian terrorists . . . following you . . . luggage . . . in Beirut you bought some lingerie in.. . a French boutique. . . "
"Yeah, big shit!" mocked Chet. "Let's hear the rest."
"The lace.. . has the secrets for the bomb woven.. . in Arabic.. . "
"That's for Faisal, right?" Jibsen nodded.
"For a goddamned piece of underwear your Uranian terrorists blew up a fucking airplane . . . killing innocent people?" grated Chet. For that heinous crime, Chet grabbed Jibsen's good arm and brought it back against his knee.
"Aaiiiiie! Stop, goddamned you!" He struggled for breath. "It wasn't my idea!"
"Then whose was it?" snarled Chet.
"Faisal's . . . he's backing the anti-Khomeini groups in the States . . . giving 'em all money and papers to stay in the States . . . wants to take Iran . . . oil fields . . . Aneee!"
"And Karen . . . why did you sell her to Faisal.. . ? "
"She.. . she didn't have the Milady bag.. . it's your fault, you asshole," he sang through clenched teeth. "You shoulda given her the lingerie and none of this shit would have happened.. . "
"Why the hell did I end up with the lingerie . . . tell me that!" Another inch forced back against Chet's knee made Jibsen's back arch off the floor.
"Somebody else by your description . . . ouch . . . Christ, you're killing . . . me.. . Was supposed to pick it up.. . . "
"Chet, I'm so glad to be going back to New York," chimed Karen hastily packing her suitcases in the Hussein hotel room.
He swung her around by the shoulders, his face a mass of swollen purples and greens. "Before we go there's something I have to turn over to Abdullah.. Reaching into his satchel he hauled out the lace trimmed tap pants and camisoles and spread the lace over his palm. Karen's slender finger traced the inch-wide lace.
"It looks terribly irregular . . . look at the stitches, they're going this way and that. . . "
'That's the code for the H bomb, my dear. . . woven into the lace of your underwear! That's why Jibsen's Persian thugs were trying to kill me . . . I had the secret they needed to keep Faisal from disemboweling them.. . "
Karen's forehead wrinkled. She shivered. "Sounds familiar," she murmured under her breath, rolling emerald eyes at the ceiling.
"Abdullah reported that's exactly what happened to the conductor who tried to knife me and the two thugs who attached me in Beirut and the airport.. . all over a goddamned pair of underwear.. . makes you wonder what the world is coming to."
"And the conductor . . . what happened to him?"
"Hanged himself in prison. It's called Islamic honor. . . "
A knock on the door and Abdullah appeared, ready to drive them to the airport. Shelling attacks had temporarily halted and special dispensation had been granted Americans anxious to return to the States."
At the airport, the couple headed for the ticket counter, checked in their luggage and headed for the lounge for a quick drink before takeoff. Their flight was announced minutes later and scurrying toward the gate, Karen paused, a flush of excitation rouging her cheeks.
"Hello, my friends," smiled the Lebanese stewardess through raspberry red lips. "Welcome aboard our flight to Baghdad." If you will sit in the seat near the back, I can make your flight a pleasant one.. . "
Chet sucked in his breath and Karen's quickened. It was the French speaking Lebanese stewardess from the train.
