Liz didn't understand exactly why she treated Fred like a dog-or why she had to have a whip in her hand to reach the heights of excitement. "The disturbed woman," according to the Encyclopedia of Psychology "responds to frustrations through aggresive acts (such as) cruelty." Liz didn't understand what her frustration was, even when they put the punishment panties on her. It wasn't until she was writhing and squirming for a different reason, for the Maharajah, that she understood why she punished Fred. Poor Fred! But, of course, it was too late then to do anything about Fred-or, for that matter, herself!
CHAPTER ONE
The thongs cut brutally into her wrists and ankles when she tried to move on the stamped clay floor. They were strong, perhaps made of buffalo hide. She shivered as the thought occurred to her that the Cong probably knew how to braid whips out of the same material.
Of course that was nonsense. As a woman, she knew she'd be treated better than the male prisoners, wouldn't she? Maybe the Geneva Convention didn't mean anything to them, but certainly a female war correspondent was too important for them to torture. Probably they would treat her like a guest and then free her so she could go back to the United States and write about how humanely prisoners in North Vietnam were treated.
The sun began to force its way through the bamboo walls of the hut. So it was morning and she had been there all night. The massacre yesterday and the fear of what her own fate would be kept her brain working feverishly. It seemed so long ago that Ken Butterworth, the newspaper's publisher and editor-in-chief called her into his office.
"Liz," he began. He was fiddling with a pencil, so she knew it wasn't going to be news she'd greet with joy. "You're going to Vietnam."
"I'm what?" She put enough sarcasm into the what to tip him off that his latest brainstorm was really brain fever.
"You're going to Vietnam."
"And my aunt Tilly fucks the garbage man."
"Shut up and listen, Liz." Butterworth's knuckles were white from gripping the pencil. "For a year you've been bitching because you only cover weddings and funerals. Now, I'm giving you a chance, and you get snotty."
"Big chance to get gang-banged by a hundred Chinese, or whoever we're fighting over there. Not to mention all the cunt hungry GIs and our allies, whoever they are. No thanks, boss," Liz said dryly, "I read the papers too."
"It's the change you wanted, Liz...."
Liz snorted. "The change I want is maybe a Hollywood column or Washington, D.C., darling. Going from Colonel Case's funeral here to my own in Vietnam doesn't appeal." She frowned. "Besides, you can't just call me in here and say, 'You are going to Vietnam'. You might start by asking, 'Would you like to go to Vietnam?' And then-if I said yes-you could explain what I'm supposed to do, where I'm supposed to do it, and what I'm getting out of it."
"I knew you'd say yes," Butterworth soothed. "Of course, you have every right to say no. But you're ambitious...."
"I didn't say I'd take the job."
"How can you refuse?" Butterworth didn't smile when he said it and Liz had a chill in her spine.
"Well," she said reluctantly, "It is a big chance." Suddenly Liz was being drawn into the game. He was right. It was a big chance for her ... If only she could keep her mouth shut. Butterworth was human. Good old Ken, he'd see that she got hot and cold running water and a few of the comforts while she was over there.
"The war in Vietnam is being covered by newspapers in every big city. But the latest market research report showed that only 48% of the male readers and 11% of the female readers even glance at the war news. Something new, like a bit of American femininity might change those figures."
"Throw a bit of fluff into the machinery, Ken, and sell papers while it's being ground up." Liz' tone was biting sarcasm.
"That's enough Liz. This is business. And I know that sales of our paper would go up if we had a series of articles from Vietnam written by 'the girl next door', who went to the local high-school, a sweet, innocent girl who could be the pride of any family, who helps her mother-in-law with the dishes and mows the lawn for her father-in-law while he sits back and admires her tight Levi's."
She felt a little insulted. Apparently she could pass for any little American virgin who just sat and waited for her boyfriend to come back a war hero and take a job in his father's company as a junior manager. Her job made her familiar with the whole set-up. A big church wedding, a nice house in the suburbs paid for out of the father-in-law's expense account, two cars, and after two years two kids. Business friends for dinner, church on Sunday, and every Wednesday night a PTA meeting.
But Ken was right, this was business. If an actor had to play a role, why couldn't a newspaper reporter?
Ken's offer had been very tempting. Both the money and the prestige. She could hardly help imagining all the pictures in the paper: Liz among the boys on the front line while the bullets whistle over her head, Liz watching an interrogation of a captured Vietcong partisan, Liz at the officer's club, Liz shopping in Saigon.
As she was on her way home after signing her new contract with the paper, she suddenly thought of Fred. Unbelievable! They had known each other for two years, but she had not given him a thought during the past two hours of planning. And she was going to be separated from him for a whole three months.
Strange. What kind of woman was she? Why did she have such a dull emotional life? Fred, and for that matter, any of the other men she had known, had never meant much to her. She would not trade an evening at the movies for any of them.
And now she was to act the innocent American college girl. Aside from the fact that her earlier college friends were only "technical" virgins, the idea was so absurd that she grinned to herself in the middle of the street. A passing man took the smile for an invitation and turned to follow her.
She had to take a taxi to get rid of him. It didn't matter now. When she thought of the contract and the bonus promised her, a couple of dollars was nothing.
There was a sound behind her and blinding sunlight came through the open door. She did not dare to turn her head to see who had come in.
The first thing she saw was a wooden bowl of rice and bits of meat shoved beside her head. She was hungry and no one harmed prisoners while they were eating. The idea gave her the strength to look up.
Her gaze wandered up a row of military buttons until at last she was looking at the face of a young girl. She could hardly be more than 18, but it was difficult to judge the age of the local people. It was as though they blossomed until they were thirty, then collapsed in a mass of wrinkles and white hair. But even so, they were a beautiful people.
This girl was very beautiful. Her golden-brown smooth skin, her dark, almond-shaped eyes, and her sensuous dark red lips gave her a child-like loveliness. Liz tried to read the expression in her eyes. There was nothing. "Please untie me."
The girl just looked at her. Oh, why did she waste all her time in the officer's club instead of learning Vietnamese. She tugged her bound arms to make her meaning clear.
"You must eat now and I will help you, but I cannot untie you."
The sentence was in perfect English. Liz felt a little uncomfortable when she realized this. It had been a kind of protection that no one could understand her when she had been taken prisoner. No one had tried to talk to her, the soldiers had just gestured with their pistols and that had been enough to make her let herself be tied up and marched deep into the jungle until they had come to the little military camp.
Now it was as if she had been abandoned and must surrender her anonymity. "I can't eat with my arms tied behind my back."
"I shall feed you."
"Of course not. It is against the Geneva Convention to bind prisoners. I demand to be taken to an officer immediately."
The girl did not answer but picked up the chopsticks in her small, well-formed hand. She lifted a bit of rice and meat out of the bowl and held it to Liz's mouth. Liz felt the warm rice against her lips but refused to open her mouth. She looked defiantly into the girl's expressionless eyes.
The scent of the meat and rice made her stomach rumble and tighten in protest and it took all of her will to keep from opening her clenched teeth. But there was a limit to what they could do to an American girl. Was she to let herself be fed like a baby?
The soldier girl put the chopsticks back in the bowl. She began to unbutton Liz's blouse slowly. What was the girl thinking of? Liz began to sweat from anxiety. She felt the soft girlish hands along her back, loosening her bra. With a quick movement it was pulled out from the front of her blouse.
This piece of clothing which was so important for keeping her breasts and her self-confidence up was examined with an ironic smile. Liz had always been proud of her breasts. They were large, and when the bra lifted them under a thin, tight sweater there was hardly a man who did not give them a careful look. Most men were very cautious about it. During interviews their eyes were always carefully on her face, but if they had to pick up a cigarette or look at a piece of paper on the desk it took a devilishly long time for their eyes to get all the way down.
A flutter of white was the last she saw of her bra' as it was cast contemptuously in the corner of the hut.
The hands returned and spread her blouse until her breasts were exposed. She tried to curl up to cover herself but the cord that went from her ankles to her wrists held her.
She closed her eyes. Were there lesbians in the Vietcong army? She felt soft fingers grip her nipple. Harder and harder. Then it was twisted.
"Torture is forbidden by the Geneva Conven...."
"Bombing of the civilian population is also forbidden by the Geneva Convention. Will you eat now?"
Liz screamed with pain. It was as though a glowing cigarette were being pressed against her nipple.
"Yes, yes. Just stop."
The Vietnamese girl held her nipple for a cruel moment longer while her merciless eyes examined Liz curiously. Then she let go and picked up the chopsticks again.
When the meal was finished, she took the bowl and disappeared as silently as she had come.
Liz lay in the same position she had been thrown into last night. Tears of humiliation filled her eyes. To be fed like an infant by a native bitch from an underdeveloped country. When she got home again, she would ... If she got home again.
Suddenly she was no longer so certain that this would be a short, exciting adventure. The pain in her breast anyway let her know that this adventure could easily become uncomfortable.
Never before had she known physical pain of any importance, apart from the time when she had an infected tooth. Now there was no nice Dr. Wallace to give her an injection and to say "Now, now, it will all be over in a moment."
But even so, physical pain was not an unknown idea to her. Her relationship with Fred was mainly based upon it. At least as far as sex was concerned. She remembered the last evening before she left for Vietnam.
"Do you want a treatment that will be enough for the entire three months I am going to be gone?"
"Can't we just be satisfied with the usual, Liz? You completely lose your head when you are in this mood. Do you remember the time when I had welts for two weeks afterwards?"
"Yes, but I'm going to be away for three months and I want the stripes on your backside to last at least that long. Otherwise how can I be sure that you wiil keep away from other girls while I'm not here. But if your buttocks are covered with welts you will be a little more careful about taking your shorts down in front of other girls. Isn't that so?"
He looked at her standing there in her scanty clothing: bra, panties, stockings, and high-heeled shoes, everything black. Her bold costume made a startling contrast with her innocent-appearing face. With her blonde hair, blue eyes, and red, soft mouth she could have posed for a soap advertisement.
But even so, deep inside she was as depraved and as perverse as a streetwalker. Of course, he had only himself to blame for bringing out her sadistic tendencies, but it had been a surprisingly short time for her to accustom herself to his desire to be whipped before intercourse. It must have been lurking just under the surface of her mind and needed very little encouragement.
Now she had the upper hand. His masochistic needs were limited to playing that he had been a naughty little boy who came home to have a gentle spanking on his bare buttocks while he lay across his aunt's knees. They always began with this game, and it made him almost insanely excited to lie on his stomach across her long, nylon-covered thighs and to feel her small hands slapping against his buttocks.
But she was too good a pupil. On her own she had come up with new "scenes" in which constantly more painful means were used. One day she used a carpet beater on him, and not too long ago she bought a whip. It was her birthday gift to him, and he still remembered his confused thoughts when he had unpacked it.
They had tested it that very evening and he decided that this was enough. The decision had not been hard to make while he was lying bound hand and foot across her bed squirming under a beating that left his buttocks covered with swollen, tender welts.
But after she untied him and turned him over on his back, he was not so sure. Her long legs slid along his body and she gave him a climax such as he had never experienced before. He was almost unconscious with pleasure and barely noticed it when she reached her own violent orgasm, howling like a she-wolf at the kill.
"Well, should I help you keep away from other girls while I'm gone?"
He stood and looked once more at her calendar-girl figure. She had met him at the door in this state of undress and at that moment he had known from the nervous expression in her eyes that she had been looking forward to a very painful evening for him. He was terrified, he had to admit to himself, and he would much rather have laid her across his knees, pulled the tiny black panties down from her round buttocks, and begun to slap, bite, and lick.
"Don't you ever feel like trying the other way? I promise not to do it too hard. And just with my hand."
"Are you crazy, Fred?" She laughed musically, like a soprano in a church choir.
He saw that his suggestion was impossible and so began to undress slowly. He knew that he had to be immediately naked. Those times were, unfortunately, long past when he felt her long fingers with their crimson nails slowly unbutton his trousers and gently tug his shorts over his knees while he lay across her lap and waited.
She rubbed her long body against his.
"Do you love me, Fred?"
"Yes, of course, Liz. You know that."
"Do you love me enough to take a real going-over tonight. I need to really punish my little Fred and to give his little butt a spanking he will remember all the time while I'm gone."
Her need was so strong that she was willing to gamble everything. He saw the decision in her eyes when she said: "If you are not willing, you can go right now. And never come again. I must do it, and there are a lot of men who would enjoy it. Fred, I really like you in a lot of ways, but I cannot live without this pleasure."
Everything was already prepared when they entered her bedroom. The spankings were always done in her bedroom. Not because they concluded the evening in bed but because when he was a little boy he was always punished in the bedroom.
Now she did as his mother had done. Closed the window and drew the curtains. These preparations always aroused him and he felt his organ begin to stir.
"Oh, you have naughty thoughts, little friend. We will have to do something about that. Go get the whip. It's on the bureau."
He could not help but notice the collection of switches, whip, ropes, and other things. He took the heavy whip of plaited leather in his hand. For a moment he was tempted to bring it down in a whistling blow across these big breasts and round hips, but it was hopeless. Hers was the stronger personality, and if he succeeded in making her feel the whip, he knew that she would not rest until she had her revenge and saw him put in prison for at least five years.
Her cool, confident gaze was enough to make him hand her the whip with a sigh.
She sat on a chair and crossed one long leg over the other. There was a tempting glimpse of bare flesh between the stockings and her panties, but he stood quietly.
"I've always wanted a dog, Fred. But unfortunately the landlord does not allow animals, so I have to be satisfied with you. Down on all fours!"
He obeyed and she tossed the whip into a corner of the room. "Fetch the whip!"
On all fours with his prick in the air and dangling balls he crawled after the whip.
"No, don't use your hands. Take it in your mouth like a real dog. Yes, come here. Sit! Sit nicely!"
He felt ridiculous as he sat up like a begging dog with the whip between his teeth. He watched her well-manicured hand reach for it and felt her other hand force his neck down toward the floor.
He crumpled under the merciless blows across his backside. He heard her hoarse breath between her clenched teeth.
"Lazy beast! Faster. Now again."
Afterwards he could not count the number of times he had to fetch the whip for her, and he never knew how often the whip came down across his back. But the girl's will-power and her exciting body made him obey.
At last she stood up and caressed his hair. But the caress turned into a renewed beating before she pulled him to his feet.
She smiled a radiant, schoolgirl smile:
"And now you are Fred again, and you have just come home with a terrible report card. Lie down on the bed. No, on your back.
Relieved he stretched out on the bed, but he was puzzled that he had gotten off so lightly. But then he saw his mistake when Liz, in her high heels and with swaying buttocks, walked over to the selection of torture instruments.
With resignation he extended his limbs out to the four corners of the bed, without thinking that it was his front that was exposed. He felt the ropes around his wrists as they were tied to the head of the bed.
"Now lift your legs so that I can see your butt. Did you think that you were going to be whipped on your stomach? No, you are going to have it where you sit, and you will get enough to remember me every time you sit down for the next three months.
He thought that she had gone insane. But even so he allowed her to bind his ankles to the head of his bed.
She stood for a moment and looked at him with triumph in her glittering eyes. The sight of her luscious body stirred the blood in his organ until she began to bring the whip down upon his trembling, exposed backside. His loins, anus, and thighs convulsed under the rain of blows. Her long blonde hair flew as she swung the whip.
He began to howl like a wounded animal, and the sound seemed to bring her back to herself.
"Are you whimpering already? But I have just begun. But we can't have the neighbors complaining to the child welfare office."
He could not understand what she meant to do as she carefully unhooked her bra so that her breasts spilled out of their prison. He lay quietly and watched as she rolled her stockings down her lovely legs. Afterwards she put her shoes on again.
His organ began to rise again when she slowly and gracefully slipped her panties down so that her blonde triangle was exposed to his lustful eyes.
With her face close to his, she said:
"Close your eyes and open your mouth."
He did as she said. He did not know what to expect and was surprised at the feeling of cloth being forced into his mouth.
"Isn't it exciting to be gagged with my panties? And we will keep them in with my stocking which I will tie around your head. Well, now there is nothing to keep me from whipping until you are half insane."
She stood up, naked, with her hands at her side and slightly opened legs. He tugged and pulled at the ropes and mumbled indistinctly through the nylon that filled his mouth.
"What are you saying, dear? You must learn to speak distinctly. If you won't do it, then I guess that I must teach you."
She enjoyed every blow. He could see that. Every time she brought the whip down across his poor buttocks, she writhed with pleasure. Her long, light hair swung in circles around her head, and every time the whip smacked against his burning skin, her face was half covered by it.
Howls of pain boiled up into his throat, but only a small amount of the sound escaped through the gag. His buttocks felt as though someone had poured burning gasoline over him, and when the tip of the whip occasionally landed on his exposed anus his whole body stiffened and shuddered.
His face was drenched with sweat and the balled-up panties in his mouth were soaked when she finally stopped.
"Fred, oh Fred." Feverishly she worked at the knotted stocking around his head and her slender fingers pulled the cloth from his mouth. She stood on the bed then kneeled slowly over his face.
He lay and watched her round buttocks, her anus, her warm cunt moving gently down over his face. Did she intend for him to do it "French" fashion? He had never tried it before, but the sight and the warm scent of her drew him.
He felt hair against his mouth and two soft, warm cushions fitted against his cheeks. With the tip of his nose halfway into her tight, little asshole he began to let his tongue glide in and out between the lips of her cunt. Each time he thrust his tongue in he felt her give a little shudder as though an electric current passed through her and she clamped tighter against his nose.
Gasping for breath in her sweet stranglehold, he began to concentrate on her clitoris. His mouth filled with liquid, and he wondered how much was his own spit and how much had come from her.
If one of his friends had asked him whether he would be willing to lick a woman there, he would almost certainly have answered no. A girl's sexual organs had always seemed a bit shameful to him. He had, of course, seen pornographic pictures of girls with spread thighs showing everything they had, but these bits of wet flesh with their circles of hair had always seemed unappealing to him. For one thing he had always been amazed that he could never really see a hole. He had thought about it a few times while he lay with his prick far up into Liz. He had wanted to see her cunt while his own prick was in it.
But when he had suggested a position in which it would be possible, she had always refused on the grounds that his request was degrading and that she was no animal to be viewed for his pleasure. The truth was that Liz always felt superior to him, even during sex.
Now he could suddenly see the ceiling again. Liz turned to face him and sat astraddle him. He was surprised but happy to discover that his prick was stiff enough to push into her.
With half-closed eyes she tightened and relaxed her thighs with increasingly rapid movements. Each time his organ drove into her she let her entire weight fall upon him. It hurt when she came down hard upon his testicles, but he was almost at his climax and barely noticed.
She made a strange sound and he also began to groan with growing excitment.
Immediately she began to slow down and moved only the lower half of her body with slow, sensuous movements.
"Come on, Liz, he groaned hoarsely. He was at the bursting point but was so tightly bound that he was completely dependent upon her movements.
She did not answer but looked at him with contempt, almost hate. He realized that this was another torment. There was no doubt that she enjoyed it, for he could feel her cunt tightening around him.
But the ecstasy of her pleasure overwhelmed her sadistic torture and with violent, hopping movements she brought them both to a stormy climax of desire.
CHAPTER TWO
She was sorry now. Sorry that she had not married the boss' son and settled down to a boring, quiet life at home.
Lying there on a dirt floor in a bamboo hut she longed to be sitting bored in a little house in New Jersey. She had had offers enough. Even Fred. Even though his father was not very important, at least the future would have been secure. Sexually they got along well. Although he was too sensitive, she would have gotten her own way with him.
Around noon, the girl in the military uniform came again, this time with two soldiers. They untied her feet but she did not have the strength to stand up. Angry with her own weakness, she allowed the soldiers to pull her to her feet.
One breast was still hanging out of her blouse. "Untie my hands so I can cover myself," Liz demanded.
The girl looked at her and burst out laughing. She must have been in command of the soldiers because they joined in her laughter.
Liz blushed with shame and anger. The swine could just wait until she had her chance!
The girl's laughter died and her face became hard. The soldiers also took on serious expressions again, but they stared with interest as their female superior gripped the huge, naked breast and shoved it under Liz' blouse.
She spent the next few hours riding in a battered truck. The road was miserable and the wooden bench battered her buttocks as they bounced over the ruts. Her hands were still tied and it was all she could do to keep her seat.
The soldiers smoked the entire time and Liz would have given a lot for a good American cigarette. The girl lieutenant, or whatever she was, stared expressionlessly forward.
"You, you are a woman. Why do you allow them to treat me this way."
The large, dark eyes looked at her for a moment. "You are being treated better than you deserve, American bitch."
No need to let yourself be frightened. Just think a little bit. Try to get a reasonable conversation started. Even though these people are underdeveloped, they must have some sort of primitive feelings.
"Why do you hate me?"
No answer.
"Perhaps you, yourself, do not know why?"
The dark eyes flashed, and the pretty, girlish face twisted in a hate-filled grimace.
"Your countrymen killed my little sister and my father with their bombs."
A chilling fear enveloped Liz. There was no mercy to be expected here.
"But I am not a soldier. I work for a newspaper in the U.S. and I just write about the war. I have never killed any of your countrymen."
"You have done worse than that. You have written home to your country about your noble war. Your newspaper has printed it and all of your people have come to believe that they are right to have their war and so they give more money to buy bombs than can kill children and old people."
Liz was silenced. It was true. She had sent inspiring articles home. She had praised the fighting will of the soldiers. These honest boys with open faces were fighting an army of dirty, sneaky cowards. Sometimes she had laid it on pretty thick, but what the hell, all the journalists did.
She had not written about how the South Vietnamese treated Vietcong prisoners. She had attended a couple of interrogations and they had both disgusted and excited her. But this was not interesting to the Jones family in Kansas. The major in charge of the press office had made that quite clear to her.
Did the North Vietnamese treat their prisoners in the same way?
Even though she had been called an "American bitch" she was careful to be polite in the way she spoke. She could not decide whether it was because she was afraid of the girl or just to show that she had not lost control of herself.
"May I have a cigarette?"
"I do not smoke. I am not a slave of dirty habits."
"But the soldiers...."
"Why should they give their cigarettes to their brothers' murderer?"
"Where are you taking me?"
"Shut up!"
"I demand to know...."
A small, golden-brown hand smacked painfully against her cheek.
"We do not have the time or energy to waste with your idiotic talk. If you do not keep quiet until we reach our destination, I will stop the truck and find a bamboo whip to use on your fat ass."
Liz shut up. The girl meant it seriously. "Fat ass." Of course, it was rounded, but no more than it should be for a real woman. The girl was not very tall, so it was obvious that her derriere was not so well developed.
The threat of a bamboo whip kept Liz quiet for the rest of the trip.
When they finally arrived at the main camp, she had been pounded black and blue on the hard, wooden seat. The camp was well camouflaged and at first glance resembled an ordinary country village with ten or twelve straw huts and tiny rice fields all around.
It was only as the truck came closer that she saw the radio station, the barracks, and the storerooms. Loyally she tried to remember everything for the time when she was returned to the Americans. She would be able to give valuable information to headquarters when she was released.
If she was released.
The truck drove under a large area covered by a camouflage net disguised with grass and leaves. It would have been invisible from the air, for the supporting posts were living trees whose branches spread out over the net.
She had to be lifted out of the truck by the two soldiers. It was frightening to feel their hands grip her and to be so close to their slanty-eyed faces.
After a short walk through a clearing in the jungle, they came to the entrance of a tunnel. Two guards watched her closely while the girl explained their mission. One of the guards disappeared inside. The entire group stood and waited.
Liz noticed that the tunnel was lighted with electric lights. She was surprised to find everything funcitoning so efficiently in the middle of the jungle. Another girl appeared in the glare of the tunnel lights. Liz had had some bad experiences with women in uniform and would almost rather have seen a top sergeant.
After a short exchange of words the girls saluted each other and Liz's first evil spirit disappeared with the two soldiers.
"Please come with me." A different woman stopped in front of her.
At last. This was an entirely different tone, and too, she even smiled when she said it. Finally I am back in civilization, Liz thought as she willingly followed along. The small attractive figure led her through endless tunnels. Her courage returned, and if her hands had not still been tired behind her back she would almost have been brave enough to throw herself on her single guard, take her pistol, and try to escape through enemy lines.
The chance came when they stopped in front of a door.
"This will be your room. I hope you find it endurable. Of course, you must realize that everything is a little primitive here in the jungle. Turn around and I will free your hands."
To gain time while the strength came back into her arms which ached unbearably after being held behind her back for so long, Liz tried to stretch out the conversation.
"What will happen to me now?"
"We must ask you some questions about various things, and we hope that you are not opposed to giving us the information. But that is not my job. We are expecting the colonel from the security service sometime today."
"I would like to complain about the inhuman treatment I have been subjected to."
"You may say something to the colonel."
Liz now felt strong enough to try to attack the small woman in front of her. She had thought furiously while they had talked and now she began to collapse and to roll her eyes.
As soon as she felt two helpful hands supporting her, she lunged out with her fist.
Instead of sinking into unguarded flesh her arm was gripped by two vice-like hands. She was twisted around and trapped in an unbreakable judo hold. A soft, calm voice made her realize that resistance was hopeless.
"You must understand that we are all experts in self-defense here, so I hope that we can avoid little episodes like this again. Be reasonable and go into your room."
Again humiliation. Tears of shame and embarrassment filled Liz' eyes. She felt that she had made herself ridiculous.
The room was far from the prison cell she had expected. She was pleasantly surprised to see the comfortable bamboo furniture, a grass rug, and even a small shower cabinet. When she finally calmed down, she began to consider the daily problems of life. She had not bathed for two days, and the excitment and the damp hot climate left her feeling dirty and sweaty.
Did she dare take off her clothes and take a shower. Perhaps there was a hidden spyhole or a microphone. But the sight of the clean towel and a piece of soap dispelled her hesitancy.
When she finally stepped out of the shower, she saw that her clothing had been removed. In its place was a white silk blouse and a pair of white trousers of the same kind as worn by Vietnamese peasants.
Well, this is the way things are, she thought as she dressed herself. It bothered her that there was no underwear with the clothing, but on the other hand, it was just as well in this heat. And it certainly would be useless to ring for the maid.
While she was checking the door to see if it were securely locked, she noticed a small plastic button. Obviously it was a signal button for one of the guards. She already had her finger on it when her hopelessness and exhaustion overwhelmed her. She barely made it to the bed when she collapsed into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER THREE
The chief interrogator rose with a smile from behind his desk in the underground room. In front of him sat a uniformed girl at a typewriter. She stared straight forward like an impersonal military machine.
There was no indication of the colonel's rank. No insignia, hardly even what one could call a uniform. He wore a high-necked Chinese shirt with two breast pockets.
"My name is Tram Phu."
"Liz White," was her hesitant reply. Wasn't it just one's name and rank that one was obliged to give to an enemy captor? But nothing more. And they would get nothing more out of her.
"Please sit down, Missus-or is it Miss?-White. A cigarette?"
No one could blame her for taking a cigarette. She saw that Colonel Phu took one from the same pack, so there were no tricks with the tobacco. He politely offered her a light and she inhaled greedily after twenty-four hours of nicotine starvation.
"Miss White, in what capacity do you find yourself on the front lines in Vietnam, so far from your own country?"
He spoke perfect English with a slight British accent. How old was he? Had he studied in England? In any case she was relieved to discover that he seemed to be a cultivated man.
"I am a reporter for the Los Angeles Chronicle," she admitted. She did not know if a captured reporter was also obliged to give the name of his newspaper, but it was best to be as helpful as possible within the permitted limits.
"And I just want to add," she continued, "that I have been subjected to inhumanly brutal treatment by one of your women soldiers. Physical torture and violation of my decency."
"I am very sorry to hear that, Miss White. Of course, you probably did not think to take the name of the offender or her rank, but I will try to find the guilty party and see that she is suitably punished. As a partial explanation, however, I must point out that there is a war on, and war changes a person's outlook so that one does things that one would never dream of doing under normal circumstances. Most of the young people at this base are students who have volunteered for front line duty and I would guess that your tormentor was a quiet, diligent medical student in Hanoi. Ah yes, O tempora, o mores, one must say in agreement with the great Cicero."
Liz began to relax in the company of this pleasant man.
"Perhaps you yourself come from the university," she guessed and his answer showed that she had hit the mark. "Just get people to talk about themselves, and they will begin to like you," her editor had once said when she was a cub reporter on her first newspaper in Winchester, Connecticut. She was grateful to him now, although then she had thought him an old fool who had nothing better to do than to look at her legs.
Colonel Phu was beaming with good-will.
"You are a student of human nature, Miss White. Yes, you now see Professor Phu before you. Professor of Western culture. If it were not for this terrible war we could have met on better terms. I would have invited you to the best restaurant in Hanoi. It would have been a great pleasure for me to be seen with a young, beautiful, and intelligent woman like you. Alas, what can I do now?"
He shrugged apologetically. Liz was charmed by more than just his smile, and under normal circumstances would have welcomed his company. But even now it seemed that a few womanly wiles would not be totally ineffectual against the colonel. It was too bad she did not have a mini-skirt which she could accidently on purpose allow to slide up a bit higher.
"But Miss White, let me hear a little bit about what you have written for your newspaper. You have almost certainly pictured us as blood-thirsty barbarians, isn't that so? Now don't try to deny it!"
He gestured with his index finger and smiled confidingly. But even so Liz felt a serious undercurrent and a sense of danger made her alert.
"I would not say that, Colonel ... or may I say Professor Phu. Of course, I tried to be objective in what I wrote. That is not to deny that I was closest to my own countrymen, but I feel that I avoided the worst cliches used by some of my colleagues."
"As, for example, 'In a small village we saw three bodies, tortured beyond recognition. At the sight of them our boys were angry and anxious for revenge, and I saw several of them turn away and wipe their averted faces.' "
"Yes, just that...."
She suddenly felt alternately hot and cold. She recognized the words. Less than two weeks ago she had sent that article home to the paper. How could he know? She blushed with shame.
"We also read the newspapers here, Miss White." His voice was not so friendly now, and she realized that she had lost her advantage. She saw him open a drawer and take a newspaper out.
"Perhaps you have not seen your article in print? In that case you may borrow it and take it to your room to read. There are also some very flattering pictures of you in it."
Angrily she accepted the paper and put it on her lap.
She searched her memory to find something to convince Colonel Phu that she saw the war with a reporter's objectivity. The more she thought, the more she realized that she had not been so objective. She had heard that this was a "dirty war" and she also knew that both sides had committed atrocities. But the people at home never heard how their own boys behaved when they had the opportunity to express their primitive instincts.
And it would not have been printed if she had written about it. Even if the editor did believe it, he would never allow it in the paper. She could almost hear him say: "Dear Liz, are you crazy? What kind of thing is this to write? Yes, it may well be that it is true and that you yourself have seen it, but do you really think that this is something for the Sunday papers? Come on, be a little realistic. If I printed this, there would be a bomb through the front window the same night. Have you ever heard of the John Birch Society?"
That was why she had not written about the invitation Major Frost had given her. There had been a strange expression in his eyes when he had said:
"If you want to have a true picture of the way these yellow bastards think, you ought to come along while we interrogate one of the Vietcong we have captured."
"Of course, I would like to. Is this an invitation?"
"Yes, if you think you can take it. It gets pretty rough at times. Of course, we obey the rules for interrogation of prisoners of war, but sometimes the Vietcong's own countrymen, the South Vietnamese, feel a little hampered by the rules. And because we sometimes get valuable information, I do not always intervene, even though the interrogation becomes a little ... well, painful at times. All in all, these are primitive people, and I have seen some of them go through the questioning with real Stoicism. You can come along tomorrow morning, but for God's sake not a word to your paper, O.K.?"
His eyes had a strange gleam, and even she was not able to suppress a little shudder of anticipation at the thought of what must take place during such an interrogation.
The place where the prisoners were questioned was far out into the countryside, and as soon as she arrived she had noticed a barbed wire compound where a dozen or so prisoners lay on their stomachs with their hands tied behind their backs in the blazing sun. The guards were South Vietnamese. They had hard-looking faces, and she wondered if they had been especially selected for this purpose. The entire atmosphere of the place was disturbing, and she almost regretted that she had come. But war was war.
They entered a small room with a desk. A Vietnamese officer sat there looking through some papers, and a couple of soldiers were hanging up barbed wire. The two American sergeants got strange looks on their faces when they saw her. One of them exclaimed after he had saluted the major: "But, Major Frost...."
"What is it, Burke?"
"A woman!"
"Yes, and what about it? Please do not meddle in my affairs. Bring the first prisoner in!"
"Major Frost! I want to report that the first prisoner is...."
"You heard what I said!"
Apparently the major had not expected the first Vietcong prisoner would be a girl. It was obvious that he regretted his decision, but that he would lose face among his South Vietnamese colleagues if he changed the order of the hearings just because the prisoner was a girl. The Vietnamese did not seem bothered by this, and immediately began to fire a long string of rapid questions at the girl.
The girl's mouth was clamped shut, but her eyes flashed contempt for the man behind the desk. Even when two soldiers grabbed her and led her to a water-filled barrel she did not show the slightest sign of fear.
"What are they going to do?" Liz whispered nervously to the major.
"Well, this is just their way of doing things. We cannot interfere. Remember South Vietnam is an independent country, and there could be diplomatic difficulties. But you can see how the natives think. We cannot begin to imagine what goes on in their minds."
But Liz could easily imagine how the poor girl must feel when the two soldiers began to force her head and shoulders into the barrel. The sharp edge cut into her hips and only her two round legs could be seen. At first they were completely still, then after about thirty seconds she began to kick and squirm. Liz glanced at the two American sergeants who stood chewing gum and watching carefully, as though they were seeing a cowboy film on television at home.
At a sign from the officer behind the desk the girl was drawn up again. Her face was blue and she gasped for breath. But not a sound came from her lips when the officer began firing questions at her again.
Again she was thrust into the barrel, and this time the two Vietnamese soldiers drew her long trousers down so that her little round buttocks were exposed to the air.
The sergeants forgot about the gum in their mouths and an interested look came into their eyes, especially when the two soldiers began to bruise the girl's naked loins with long bamboo sticks. The movement of her legs became weaker and weaker.
"My God, they'll drown her! Major Frost, do something!"
"Wha ... What did you say?" The major seemed to awaken from a trance. "You understand that there is nothing I can do, and ... besides the girl has important information. These natives are very hard to convince."
Liz barely heard his last words. Neither did she see the girl scourged, tormented, whipped until the blood flowed and her cunt was scarred ... Liz had fumbled her way outside and was busy vomiting.
Of course, she could not write home about such things.
Colonel Phu's voice had taken on a friendly tone again: "But we can afford to be generous," he said. "Especially if you would tell me a little of your impressions of Vietnam. Preferably something you have not read in the newspapers, because I have already read them."
He laughed, and Liz's stomach turned over. Now it was to come.
"Unfortunately I cannot tell you anything other than what I have already done, and according to the Geneva Convention...."
He waved in dismissal and said, still with a smile on his face: "Good, good. No hard feelings. I will be here a week, and we shall see each other in the morning. And just remember that a professor of Western culture would of course be interested to hear how the U.S. conducts its wars. But I will not force you. Now you can go back to your room, where your hostess, Miss Chu, is awaiting you with a little surprise. She was just a little bit angry when you tried to hit her today ...!"
He stood up and at that moment a guard came in who led her back through the underground passages.
Two soldiers opened the door of her room. She stepped in to see Miss Chu sitting on a bamboo chair. Another girl sat on the bed, a bigger, stronger-looking girl. When Liz saw the riding crop in her hand, she quickly turned and tried the door, but it was locked.
The two Vietnamese girls stood and came toward her. Miss Chu had an inscrutable oriental smile on her beautiful, doll-like face.
"I cannot forget how you abused my trust this afternoon. Therefore I would like to ask you to accept your punishment so that our relationship can be more comfortable once again."
Liz stood with her back pressed against the locked door. Her eyes flickered from Miss Chu to the other girl, to the riding crop and around the room, searching for rescue.
"I would prefer for you to co-operate, and I would be more than happy to send my companion away if you are willing."
"Co-operate? How?" Liz asked, to gain more time, for she knew that she was trapped and that all of these politenesses were just the introduction to a frightful beating.
"First I would like you to undress. Then you are to kneel on the bed so that I can give your backside a few taps with this riding crop."
"Are you crazy? Not on your life...."
Shortly after she was on her knees on the bed. Miss Chu's companion was sitting astraddle her neck and shoulders and held her hands in an iron grip tightly against her shoulder blades.
The two slender gils had worked as a team, and Liz had no chance to resist. Now she lay completely within their power, while the white silk trousers stretched over her exposed buttocks.
She felt fingers grip the waistband of the trousers and draw them down. As she felt the air flow unimpeded across her naked skin, she gathered all her strength and tried to throw off the girl on her shoulders, but she could barely move.
She was completely exposed and she tried to curl up to avoid exposing more of herself than was necessary. But her position prevented her from hiding the vertical dark cleft between her glimmering white full-moons.
"I am very sorry that my colleague must be present for your discomfort. I would much rather that you and I could have been alone for your disciplinary treatment. Then I could have punished you a little more elegantly. But there's nothing to do about that now."
Miss Chu sighed and let the riding crop whistle across the trembling buttocks. Liz's cry of pain was muffled by the bedding and the thighs of the girl sitting over her.
Miss Chu regarded with interest the lone welt that was slowly growing prominent on the white loins.
"Really, I think the white race is more thin-skinned than we are. Welts appear surprisingly quickly. And now it will be exciting to see how long it takes for the blood to come."
"No, No! You mustn't! What do you want to know? I'll tell you everything I know."
"Why, I don't want to know anything. But you put me in a difficult position by trying to attack me today. You know that we orientals talk about losing face. Today you abused my confidence and caused me to lose face. The only way for this to be rectified is for you to lose face also. And I must say that you are not making a very good impression right now."
Liz had to concede her point. To lie with her ass in the air in front of two young girls was a very obvious way to lose face. She felt that she no longer even had a face, just a big, naked ass, which for the moment was the most important part of her body.
"Well, I don't think the welt will get any redder or bigger. It was a very interesting experiment, Miss White."
Ah, thank God, it's over, Liz thought. But her relief was disappointed by a humming sound as the long, slender riding crop fell again. And this time there was no more talk about the interesting effects of a single blow.
The air was filled with the whistle and hum of the whip. Miss Chu hit the trembling balls systematically, and afterwards Liz showed an entire spectrum of colors from white to pink to bluish-violet.
Liz wept and slobbered until the bedclothes under her were soaking wet. A burning pain in her young American tail gave her unrealized strength and Miss Chu's companion found it more and more difficult to hold her, especially since her finely turned form did not weigh a great deal. But her lack of weight was made up by her training and her ability to bring pressure to bear at exactly the right place at the right time.
Liz was helpless until Miss Chu decided that she had had enough, and that took a while yet.
But even this nightmare came to an end, and when Liz finally sat on the bed with her legs drawn up, rubbing her stinging bottom, the two Vietnamese girls stood before her, crossed their arms as a gesture of politeness and bowed to her smilingly.
Then they were gone and Liz could begin to think about other things than her tender backside.
She was angry and embarrassed, but the very polite and formal manner in which they had behaved puzzled her completely. Would she ever learn to understand the natives?
It had been almost as though she had been invited to a party. Of course she had been served whips and striped flesh, but these had been served on a silver platter.
And they had not tortured her to make her give information about the American army. If that had been the purpose of the merciless riding crop, she could have understood it. Then she could have ... how did that go?...."Closed her eyes and thought of God's own country".
Because she did have some information that could be of interest to the enemy.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lieutenant General Blominger had been very informative when he had taken her on an introductory tour of the front line positions. She was a good listener while he rambled on about artillery ranges, troop build-ups, and battle tactics.
Now she wished that her memory was not so good.
Her male colleagues had been annoyed over the attention that Blominger was paying her, and it was true that she had been given a better picture of the total war than many of her harder-working fellow reporters had been able to gather over many months of attending press briefings. If she had followed the usual channels, it would have taken her the full three months just to have become fully familiar with the menu at the officer's club.
Well, the officer's club had been her springboard. With true feminine intuition she had known that to really find out anything, she would have to use her youth and her good looks.
Each evening she had carefully chosen her next victim. When she had written her article on the bomber crews, it had been Colonel Lewis that she entertained the evening before. Vice Admiral Langdon had arranged a visit to an aircraft carrier, and on it went.
She knew how to use them and how to avoid paying the price. Sometimes it had become a little hectic in the car when they were driving her home.
"No, John, you mustn't! I'm attracted to you, of course, but you know ... my fiance ... was wounded over here ... and I don't know if he's going to live. Please tell me that you respect me."
They all believed it. All of these little boys in soldier suits. They had all been satisfied with a kiss on the cheek and were happy to get it. She wasn't even very certain that they would have dared to go to bed with her if she had invited them.
But Blominger was different. Of course, he was also older and more experienced, but most of all he knew how to demand payment for services offered.
After the tour of the front lines which had cost her no more than an evening in the club, she had become obsessed with the idea of going along on a helicopter patrol.
"That's nothing for a young girl."
"Come on, Ernest. Be nice. I'll not disturb the boys."
She had kept after him during the entire tour, and he had not given a direct no, but had finally said, "It's against regulations, Liz."
"Of course, but you're high enough to break regulations, aren't you?"
"Sometimes, but you are still a child. In any case I must consider that."
She realized later that he did not have anything against her showing him that she was no longer a child. The price of a helicopter tour was simply a tour in bed.
That evening she had prepared herself especially well before she left for the officer's club. Her diaphragm in her purse and Chanel No. 5 at strategic spots. She had dabbed on the seductive and slightly vulgar perfume while she stood naked before the mirror.
She was proud of her body. It was young and firm. Her breasts were heavy and full. Her waist was so slender that it made her hips and thighs look larger than the measuring tape revealed them to be.
The triangle of hair between her legs seemed to have grown wild during her stay in Vietnam. She took her electric razor and trimmed off the hairs that seemed too long and those that grew down the insides of her thighs. A quick run with the razor over her armpits and she was finished. She ran her long, slender fingers across her body.
It had been a long time since she had had a man, and her hand stopped at her pussy and seemed reluctant to move on. One finger moved slowly between the lips of her cunt. Ah, if she could only have her willing slave with her now. The next time she would whip Fred while he was tonguing her. Whip, whip, until her climax forced her to cast the whip away.
Now calm down! Don't waste energy. Save it for Lieutenant General Blominger. It was difficult for a correspondant to get permission to accompany a helicopter patrol. But if she was successful it would give her an article that the readers would lap up and would make Butterworth reach for his checkbook.
And if she played her cards right, it should be an easy matter to get the necessary permission from Blominger. About an hour before the club closed that night, the bargaining began.
"I've just bought a little place in the country here, just outside of Saigon. Right by the sea. Wonderful setting."
"It must be beautiful. Just think, to be able to go swimming after a week's work in this climate. It has been a long time since I was in the water."
"You're more than welcome to visit me."
"I'd like to. The air is so humid here that one should go swimming every day."
"What about going out there now?"
"Now? At night?"
"There's a full moon tonight. The beach is beautiful in the moonlight and the water is warm and clean."
She would have liked to have drawn it out a bit longer, but he was obviously eager, and a few minutes later they were sitting in his car driving at an insane pace along the coast highway. Liz was nervous, especially because Blominger rather often looked away from the road and down at her legs which were barely covered by the short skirt she wore. She tugged her skirt down, not out of modesty, but in order to survive the ride.
The house was luxuriously appointed. There' were ten or twelve rooms and several native girls acting as maids. God only knows whether he....
"What about a welcoming drink. A martini?'
"Yes please. So this is your lair where you hide your war loot?"
"I paid for the house and furniture myself. But this is where I bring my women captives. But most of the time I am a very humane master, so you have nothing to tear. Cheers!"
"Cheers. Tell me, how many female prisoners have passed through this terrible dungeon?"
"Alas. I cannot lie to you. I am a rotten general in that respect."
He moved closer to her. So it was begun. She forced herself to stand up to his look. His face was gray and worn, and there were large bags under his bedroom-eyes.
"I don't believe you, noble knight. I have a feeling that many a virgin has been sacrificed in this cruel castle."
His kiss was soft and wet, but she responded eagerly. The sooner it was over, the better. His hands slipped further and further down her back. When she felt his fingers pressing the material of her dress into the cleft of her buttocks, her immediate reaction was to stall him off.
"You promised me a swim, and you need to cool down a little bit too, lover."
He reluctantly loosened his grip. She gave him a light kiss on his flabby cheek.
"Shall we go? You lead the way. Come on now, Ernest."
It was a magnificent setting on the beach. The moon and the waves. But the conflict between her desire for the helicopter tour and her loathing for the idea of going to bed with this man occupied her thoughts entirely. There was also something else that she had forgotten to consider.
"Oh, Ernest. I don't have my swimming suit along."
"The hell with it. I'll try not to be too shocked to see you in the nude."
He was at her again and was trying to pull her dress up. She struggled and clawed at his wrist.
"Lovely Liz. I will do everything for you. Everything that it is possible for me to do."
Her professional instincts won and she let him undress her. When she was naked and felt the warm salt air from the ocean caress her bare skin, she saw that he had begun to undress. No, she did not want to see this old man's body. She turned and ran out into the water. It was warm and salty, and almost seemed to wash the touch of his filthy hands from her.
She heard him swimming after her. She was not a strong swimmer so she turned toward shore again. When she splashed up out of the shallow water she could hear his harsh breath just behind her. She ran down the beach. The air felt colder on her wet skin. She knew that he was just behind her, and felt his eyes glued to her bouncing buttocks.
She ran faster in the hope of exhausting him, but stumbled and fell on her stomach on the soft sand. He dropped down over her. She felt his teeth at her loins. His tongue tried to force its way into the crack between her buttocks. She tried to protect herself. This was disgusting. Better to-have-his prick in her now and be done with it. She turned onto her back and lifted her arms to him.
But she let them fall again when she saw his rod. It was unbelievably large. It was like a swaying telephone pole rising up from the black forest of hair between his legs. There was no place for that inside of her. But it must be possible, for she was certainly not the first girl he had fucked. She closed her eyes and waited for him to spread her thighs.
Instead she felt something smooth and damply warm touch her lips, and when she opened her eyes, she saw that it was his fearsome ... Terror forced her to turn her head away.
"Come on, take it in your mouth. We're not playing any longer. I know what you want, but this is the price, and if you refuse me, I'll see to it that you are on the next plane home."
There was no doubt that he meant it. His eyes burned with lust, but there was also a gleam of determination behind the lust. She turned her face up and lay with her mouth open and her eyes closed.
"Take it. Look at it. Do something with it!"
She pulled herself together. Let her finger tips glide up and down the smooth rod, held it and knew that it was so thick that her hand could not go all the way around it. His balls hung like two bowling balls in the sack underneath. Her nails scratched lightly and she saw how the skin drew together.
But this was not enough. It had to go into her mouth. But how could she know when he was ready to come? She didn't want his loathsome sperm in her mouth.
Hesitantly she brought her lips closer to the head of his huge prick, which was so smooth that she could see moonlight reflecting from it. Now it was between her teeth, and suddenly he groaned and forced it deep into her. His organ was so long that it pressed against the back of her throat and she was afraid that she might gag.
Her mouth was a vagina for him, and he rode his penis in and out. At times he twisted so that the soft head thrust against cheeks and tongue. She swallowed her own spit. She felt his organ grow thicker and thicker until she had to breath through her nose. It was almost time. She threw her head back and to one side to free herself of this cylinder of flesh that filled her mouth.
"Ernest, do it the right way with me." She looked at him kneeling over her head, and to tempt the terrible pole away from her face, she spread her legs herself. Lifted them high so that he could see everything she had.
He let himself be tempted and threw his heavy body over her. She heard rather than felt the slap when his heavy prick fell against the smooth young skin of her stomach. Her pussy was dry, but his limb was self-lubricating and worked slowly between the overly-stretched lips of her cunt.
She thought she would be split open. She whispered with pain, but his heavy body held her firmly to the sand. She could feel her pussy becoming wetter now that it was stimulated by his warm flesh, and the tip of his prick was battering at the entrance to her womb.
The diaphragm! She didn't have her diaphragm in. She twisted desperately to escape, but the only thing her movements did was to make her aware that this massive filling of her vagina also had its good side.
The pounding organ rubbed constantly against her clitoris. She had no control over herself as she became steadily wetter and more excited. Waves of desire began to fog her brain, and soon the diaphragm was forgotten. Each time the curved tip of his penis drove over her erect clitoris, a shock of overwhelming pleasure ran through her. When his frantic jerks between her legs told her that his climax was near, she also surrendered herself to an orgasm. Her long, naked legs wrapped around his white, sagging buttocks, and she forgot her disgust over the rest of his body in pleasure over the part that she now felt spurting and thrusting into her.
The next morning the hotel porter brought her an envelope with headquarter's insignia on it. This was it. Permission to accompany a helicopter patrol in an area where Vietcong forces had been seen. She was gripped by excitement and forgot her worries over the chance that she might have become pregnant from the previous night.
He had asked her afterwards if she had protected herself. And she had told him yes, for she still did not have this important piece of paper in her hands. Then too, her period was due any moment, so the risk was not that great.
God! The other reporters will be so envious. Of course, they will guess the connection, or at least Ted from the Detroit Herald would, because he had seen her leave the club with Blominger. But that didn't matter. If she really succeeded with this series, her fame would completely overwhelm any unflattering rumors about her.
That same afternoon she reported to the helicopter base. They were a little annoyed to be loaded with a girl, but the magic pass from Blominger had opened all doors. And soon she was sitting with the crew in the ready room, waiting to take off at a minute's notice.
She was dressed in a battle uniform, which she had been told was the only proper dress under the circumstances. The blouse fit well enough, but it embarrassed her that the trousers were so tight. Apparently they had been sewn for a young man, for every square inch of her bottom strained against the material, which was forced between her buttocks and showed the lower part of her body as if the pants had been painted on.
The boys in the ready room stared at her swinging ass each time she had to go to the toilet. And she had to go often, for she was trembling with fear. But otherwise they had been very attentive and had given her much good advice and instructions.
When the siren sounded she ran with them to the waiting helicopter, already warming up. When she came under the rotors, the air pressure almost knocked her down, but a helpful hand placed under her tightly covered buttocks lifted her into the cabin. She was too excited to be embarrassed about giving the soldiers on the ground such a good view of this part of her body. Apparently the boys had agreed that she would be the first one to climb in so that they could enjoy the sight.
She had never been in a helicopter before. It was so strange to fly without wings. She turned to the soldier beside her and asked bravely: "Have you had many accidents, aside from being shot down?"
"Naw," he said and chewed his gum placidly. "Is a helicopter a safe means of transport?"
"Yep, as long as the engine doesn't stop."
"What happens then? I mean, if the engine stops?"
He looked at her strangely. "Nothing happens. You just fall straight down, like a piano from the fourth floor."
She gasped. But she remembered to note the phrase for use in her next article.
She listened as the machine guns began to fire.
"They're cleaning the edge of the jungle around the area where we're going to land," explained the soldier on the other side helpfully.
One after another of the whining birds alighted and men and weapons streamed out. The tall grass was pressed flat by the wind from the rotors. She ducked her head as she ran, even though there was more than enough room under the swirling blades.
She ran crouched over along with the men she had been assigned to until they reached the edge of the jungle. Here they spread out and lay flat in the grass. She was beside a radio man who began to send in his report.
"Group E ready and waiting. Group E ready. Everything A O.K."
She knew that such an action could last for days, but even so she was a bit nervous to see the helicopter fleet lift noisily off and disappear until they were just specks in the brilliantly blue sky. She felt abandoned, and it did not look as though the men had time to talk with her.
Their faces were tense and alert as they crept into the jungle. There were twelve men in her group, and three or four would alternately take turns covering a ten yard circle in front of the others. Liz had heard of the Vietcong's booby traps. Deep holes in jungle paths, covered with branches and leaves, and with bamboo spikes on the bottom. Supple trees, bent toward the ground, which at the slightest touch of a wire stretched across the path could snap knives and spears at the unlucky victims. Primitive, but uncomfortably effective.
Liz watched the path carefully. She saw almost nothing except for the boots of the man ahead of her. She ought to look around. A description of the jungle would make a good introduction....
The thunder of an explosion made her look up. For a moment she thought she was alone until she saw that the others had dropped flat and were signaling to her to do the same.
With a hammering heart, she watched two of the men crawling toward a lifeless figure ahead on the path. A few minutes later the signal to proceed was given and she passed the corpse which had been covered with branches and laid to one side.
"Jones should have known better than to be tricked by a hand grenade on a string," the man behind her said. "Just write in your paper that booze and girls are a soldier's worst enemies."
"Why?"
"He was out on the town last night. Sneaked into camp early this morning. It would have been better for him if he had been caught and gotten two weeks in the stockade."
Later the order was given to rest. She had looked forward to the pause and had hoped to get a few good interviews with some of the soldiers. But she saw from their faces that the earlier accident had destroyed any desire they might have had to talk. None of them said anything. She wondered if they were superstitious and blamed her for what had happened? Wasn't there something about sailors not wanting to have women on board? Or was it a corpse in the cargo that brought bad luck?
The sound of shots interrupted her thoughts. Everyone got a tense look and the radio man was busy. After a little while she crawled over to the platoon leader, who gestured for the men to gather around him. Liz tagged along.
"The other platoons are in contact with Vietcong forces. A withdrawal has been ordered but it looks as though our path is blocked. We'll have to circle to the left to get to the landing field. Help is on the way. Come on!"
They left the path and began forcing their way through the jungle. A couple of men had long machetes and hacked the worst of the vegetation away. They sank into the swampy earth and Liz began to appreciate the heavy, clumsy combat boots. She shivered at the thought of snakes and leeches while the thorns tore at her.
After an hour of hard work they came to a small clearing. They waited while the platoon leader studied the area with his binoculars. The safest way would be to circle the clearing, but it would be quicker to cross. Time was also important. The enemy forces were vastly superior, and it was obvious that the promised help would only be helicopters for an emergency evacuation.
Liz watched the platoon leader's face. She knew there were problems. She saw him put the binoculars to his eyes again. For the second time he swept the clearing. Then he made his decision and stepped out into the open.
He had chosen the quickest way. Whether it was also the right way it was impossible to say, but at least he and his men would die in the quickest way.
Half-way through the clearing, Liz stumbled over a root and before she hit the ground she heard the first of the shots.
Later she realized that the Vietcong must have had each of them in their sights before they fired, and that she owed her life to the root that she had cursed when she stumbled. She had heard her bullet whine over her.
As she lay there, she knew that the others were finished. Not one of them had had a chance to fire.
She had enough self-control to remain lying quietly as though she were dead, although she almost lost her grip when she heard footsteps in the high grass. She kept her eyes clamped shut and felt a hand take her shoulder and turn her over.
There was a shout in a foreign language. Her cheeks were slapped and she realized that the game was up. As she opened her eyes the first things she saw were the yellow, Mongolian faces.
CHAPTER FIVE
She awakened and at first couldn't remember where she was, until the pain of her tortured loins brought back the memory of yesterday's beating.
Of course there was no mirror in the room, it would not do to give their prisoner an opportunity to cut her wrists. But if she turned her head enough she could see her own backside. Bluish-violet stripes were drawn in a regular pattern across the white skin. Just wait until she got hold of Miss Chu! Today she would report her to Professor Phu.
She couldn't tell how long she had slept, and perhaps they would come soon to take her to her conversation with the colonel-professor. Professor sounded more comforting. She decided that from now on she would only think of him as a professor of western culture.
She slipped out of bed and into the shower. The water was warm and perhaps not especially clean, but it did her good anyway, and the tiny piece of hard soap made her feel clean again. But she quickly found that the piece of soap was too hard for her tender backside.
The sound of the running water prevented her from hearing the soldiers who had come to fetch her. She first became aware of their existence when she stepped out of the cabinet, mother naked. Puzzled she covered her triangle of hair with one hand and moved her other arm across her breasts. She saw their greedy glance and turned her back to them in shyness. Their excited, laughing talk reminded her of the display of color on her exposed backside. Unhappy and embarrassed she pulled on her clothing, but of course she stumbled when she tried to stand on one leg to draw her trousers on. As she lay sprawled on the floor, her lack of underclothing made her feel that her deepest secrets had been exposed to these undisciplined and brutal soldiers.
She arrived in Colonel Phu's office in a combination of embarrassment and anger.
"Good morning, Miss White. It is a pleasure to see you again in my humble office. Please sit down."
Liz sat but stood up immediately. She had forgotten that she was in no condition to subject herself to hard chairs.
Colonel Phu looked up in surprise at her sudden hop.
"I must complain again about your subordinates' treatment of me. Yesterday, just after I left you I was beaten by Miss Chu and one of her colleagues. I demand that you punish them immediately!"
"But of course, of course. This is regrettable. I will investigate the case, but first I must have your exact, detailed account of this ... well ... punishment."
"Yes, well, first they put me on the bed then drew...."
She looked at the colonel. Did he know this already? Had he given Miss Chu permission to do it? Or was it even done by his orders? Under any circumstances it would be humiliating to tell of how she had lain with her ass in the air so that both of her holes could be seen. How she had been beaten with a riding crop like a schoolgirl. She knew that it would be no use. This punishment had been, after all, well planned, otherwise why did no one come to help her when they heard her screaming?
"No it doesn't matter. As long as I have your word that it will never happen again."
"I give you my word that this incident will not be repeated, Miss White."
Was she being too sensitive? Didn't he put too much emphasis upon the word "this"? No, she must keep control of herself and not be hysterical.
"Well, Miss White, you remember that yesterday I was very interested in any impressions you might have gathered during your stay with our enemy. During the night you must certainly have come to the conclusion that you should satisfy my curiosity in exchange for the better treatment we can hopefully offer you."
"Good treatment? I must say! I cannot even sit down."
"Well, yes. But you must regard that as a little accident. A little loss of temper on the part of Miss Chu who could not forget your lack of co-operation."
Lack of co-operation. How would Professor Phu lose his temper if she refused to tell about the American's military secrets? She could not imagine this gentle little professor swinging a whip over her.
"I apologize, Prof. Phu, but I cannot tell you anything more than I have already done. It would be...."
She saw a new expression on his face.
"And not only that, we reporters are not permitted to see military secrets. I hardly know anything more than you yourself do. You might just as well send me back to my countrymen right now."
"Yes, yes, Miss White. I am sorry, but it cannot be done. At the moment you must expect to be kept in your room for a while yet, until the necessary formalities are completed. There is no need to waste more time with this interview, because I can see that you are a patriotic and strong-willed young lady."
He stood up and smiled politely to indicate that the interview was finished.
She felt proud as she walked through the long corridors with the two soldiers. She had not let herself be frightened into committing treachery. She imagined the reception she would have when she came home. Heroine Liz White. And the things she could tell the paper's readers. Of course, her sore buttocks would not need to be discussed thoroughly. She only needed to say that she had been whipped so that the readers would imagine her bound to a post and being beaten across her back-with her clothes on.
The key rattled in her door. Before she went in she looked around the room carefully to see whether any uncomfortable surprises such as yesterday's were awaiting her. But the room was empty.
Before she had time to react, the soldiers stepped into the room with her.
She drew backwards against the wall terrified, while they slowly undressed. It seemed that they had plenty of time, because they carefully folded their uniforms and placed them on the floor.
The two naked men moved toward her. Her eyes stared in fascination at their two swaying, stiff organs. They resembled two snakes that came steadily nearer while they hypnotized their victim. The little slits in the ends of their pricks resembled two evil eyes.
The soldiers did not use judo holds on her. Their brute strength was enough to have her lying on the bed naked within five seconds. Her long, slender legs beat the air violently, but they concentrated upon her hands. They tied them behind her back with a rope which they then led up to her neck. Her hands were pulled high behind her shoulder blades. The rope was led around her throat so that she would be choked if she tried to struggle.
One of the soldiers rolled her toward the wall then lay down beside her on the bed. He reached out for her. She kicked with her legs, but his friend came to help and she felt her body lifted into the air and then placed on top of his thin, brown body. A pair of iron fists gripped her ankles and forced her legs apart.
The stiff organ banged against the entrance to her cunt. He twisted his hips until he was in just the right position. Then he thrust, and her own weight kept the position right as his swollen, expectant prick bored into her as far as it would go-She had turned her face away so that she would not have to look at the yellow, grinning face under her. His mouth was just by her ear and she was surprised when he said something in Vietnamese.
She wondered why he did not begin to rock in and out of her, and she was completely confused when the other soldier lay down upon her back.
She felt his hard club of flesh against her sore buttocks, and she suddenly knew what perversion she was being subjected to when she felt his strong hands forcing her bruised buttocks. She tried to tighten up, to curl away from him, but this only succeeded in making the prick in her front hole drive itself in even further.
Then something round, warm, and moist was pressing against her anus.
"No, no ... you mustn't, no, no!"
Of course, the soldier could not understand English, for all he knew she might have been begging for it. But even if he had understood, it is doubtful that he would have drawn back from that little, pink, wrinkled hole in the young woman's backside.
He drove brutally in and Liz's intestines slipped over his pulsating organ like a glove that was two sizes too small.
She lay like a slice of pink ham in a rye sandwich. She had always been told that oriental penises were small, but these two must have been exceptions, for she felt as though her whole lower half was filled with these two rods of flesh. The one in her front hole could fit because she had just come from Blominger, but the pressure and pain in her anus was unendurable. She groaned and whimpered to herself.
Every time she tried to reduce the pain in one hole by twisting and humping, it only made it worse in the other. But neither could she lie still because of the ache in her guts.
After a few minutes she realized that the soldiers were not moving. She heard them joking with each other and suddenly knew that she was making all the necessary motions. But it was the only way she could relieve the pain in her virginal anus.
She could feel the prick heads bumping together at the thin wall between her intestines and her cunt. While she humped and begged the two organs grew steadily larger and larger. At that moment she heard the soldiers begin to breath more and more deeply. The sound of the men about to ejaculate consoled her.
But now they were no longer lying still. In their passion they began to thrust and turn within her. It was as though there was a huge balloon inside of her. Now it was ready to explode, now....
When she regained consciousness she was still lying naked on the bed. The soldiers had disappeared. The fact of her double rape did not seem so important as the fact that she was dirty, polluted, and probably infected with some dirty disease.
The shower was her only consolation. The only way she could regain some self-respect. She stood up, but her first step make her almost shriek with pain. Her anus and intestines felt as though they have been cut with knives. She sank down upon the bed again.
Finally her American instinct for cleanliness overcame her, and with tiny steps she tripped over to the shower cabinet and sat down on the toilet.
She felt something moving inside of her and was relieved to feel the slimy sperm leaving her body along with her urine and defecation. But it took a long time, and it was a painful experience forcing all of the foreign infection out of her intestines.
She was enraged at her dirty body. She had to get clean. She sat on the edge of the toilet seat and thought wildly. There was no bidet, of course, but what about the shower?
Yes, the shower head could be removed from the hose. The pain was almost more than she could bear when the hose slipped up into her abused anus. But she had to rinse herself. It was with a sense of masochism that she opened the faucet. Ouch! She had turned it on too hard. She was almost ready to faint again, but she staggered to the toilet and felt the water rush out as she sat down. Each time she tried to rise again, the need to defecate forced her down. Would it never stop pouring out of her. She must have forced several gallons up inside of her.
At last it was finished and she could lean back to flush out her vagina. The warm water soothed the ache of the brutal invasion of her cunt, which had been dry and unprepared.
After her internal cleansing, during which she had used the last of the soap, she felt a little more human. She tried to think of other things every time the pain in her body and the tenderness of her buttocks reminded her of the events of the past two days.
Exhausted, she pulled on her clothing and fell upon the bed. Before she fell asleep, she considered the possibility of blocking the door. It could be that Colonel Phu had other surprises in store for her, but even so she could not gain much time by blocking the door.
She was certain that all that had happened to her was part of Colonel Phu's plans, a plan to make her tell everything she knew. What would the next torment be? She sobbed, but her physical exhaustion won over her growing panic, and she slipped into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER SIX
She dreamed that Susan, her roommate at college was shaking her to wake her up. It happened almost every morning. Susan never had any trouble getting up-but then she sat in her room and studied every night until 10, then went to bed like a nice little girl.
Susan was shocked every time Liz came crawling through the window at 3 o'clock in the morning after a heavy petting session with her boyfriend. Poor Susan. But with those looks .
"O.K., O.K., that's enough. I'm awake."
And suddenly she realized that she was. It was pitch black in the room and she sat up in bed. A strange hand was being held over her mouth.
"Easy. Don't scream. I'm a friend."
The voice was a man's, and it had an unmistakable Texas accent. First she was shocked, then her heart leaped with hope. She knew that someone would come to free her.
"Finally...."
"Shhh! Just whisper. I knocked the guard out. Will you come along? It will be a rough trip. And dangerous if they get us again."
"Yes, but how...?"
"We don't have time for explanations. If you want to take the risk, come along now."
She jumped out of bed and put her feet in the sandals. There was nothing else to take along. She saw the big pistol in his hand and gave an involuntary yelp. But then she thought of the articles she could write about being held prisoner. She would describe what swine these orientals were, and she wished that she also had a pistol.
They closed the bamboo door carefully after them so that its creaking hinges would not betray them. Liz remembered that the first time she had come from the left, and her saviour turned in that direction. She cursed the electric lights on the ceiling of the tunnel. If a guard appeared now, they would be shot down.
Every time they came to a turning in the corridor, her man from Texas waved her behind him while he stuck his head around to see if there was any danger in the new section.
There was nothing to stop them until they could feel fresh air from the exit. There was almost certain to be at least one guard.
At the last corner before the door he indicated that she should lie flat and not move. He lay on his stomach and began to crawl carefully forward.
It was quiet for a long time. Her heart was hammering, and she began to think of what would happen if their flight was discovered. She knew now that Colonel Phu was a cynical and unscrupulous man who would get what he wanted at any cost. Any cost! She felt a cold shiver run down her back when she thought of what she had heard about oriental tortures. Wasn't there something about a cage divided into sections in which a victim was strapped, then hungry rats were put in. First at the feet. Then up to the knees, then ... How long would it take before a person died?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a muffled sound ahead in the tunnel. She held her breath until she was dizzy. It must be him. Boldly she peeked around the corner, when he saw her he waved her forward.
At the exit she saw a lifeless body lying with its face to the ground. A thin stream of blood flowed from one ear. She was about to take his pistol, but was afraid to touch the corpse. Her protector was already on his way across the small clearing toward the first hut that could give them cover.
They ran zigzag from one hut to another as they avoided those where there were guards. They heard voices from some of the huts as they crept by, and had to be careful not to step on the dry twigs that lay everywhere on the ground.
Finally they reached the protection of the jungle. They found a small path and ran and ran until Liz gasped.
"Wait, I ... can't go any farther."
"We can rest five minutes here, but then we have to go on. When the first alarm is given, the yellow ants will swarm over the whole area, and we have to be as far away as possible."
It was only now that Liz had a chance to study her companion more closely. While she smoked a cigarette he had given her, she examined his tall, muscular form in a leather flight jacket and saw the mud of the corridor on his knees.
"Joe. Joe Kane from the 5th Fighter Squadron." He put his hand out.
She smiled. "Liz White. Reporter for the Los Angeles Chronicle."
"I would have prefered to have met you under different circumstances, Liz. But I'll buy you a drink when we get to Saigon."
His optimism and boyish smile gave her confidence in him.
"You said 'when' and not 'if."
"We'll make it. If only we can find which direction we should go. I've got a map, but I've been in prison for six months, so I don't have any idea where our forces are."
"Oh, well, I have only been a prisoner for three days now. I think that ... come here with your map."
In the light of a pocket flashlight whose batteries were almost dead, she explained as well as she could from memory. And now her good memory was paying off. During her tour with Blominger she had been told a great deal.
"Here is the 151st Infantry Regiment, and a little farther along are five batteries of 92 millimeter artillery. I saw everything while I was on tour with Blominger.
"Do you mean Lieutenant General Blominger?"
"Yes."
He whistled in amazement. "You've got good connections. But is it possible that the lines have moved toward us? Was there any special activity that might indicate an offensive in this area?"
"Yes. But it won't come until later in the month, so we cannot hope that it can help us very much."
"God, now explain to me where all the units are, so we can plan our route."
At last they agreed to try to force their way through the jungle for a while. If they could get a glimpse of the stars now and then, they could hold a pretty accurate course and reach an inhabited valley where they could steal a chicken and some rice.
Disappointment made her moan when after another hundred yards of hard progress through the jungle, they found themselves staring into ten or twelve rifle barrels.
A couple of hours after their flight, Liz was again lying on her bed and staring at the clay ceiling of her underground prison. It had been a hopeless idea to flee into the jungle filled with Vietcong.
Even if they hadn't been surprised by this patrol, they would not have made it without water and food. The question was whether it might not have been better to have died out there of hunger, thirst, the mosquitoes, ants, or snakes?
The light of dawn filtered slowly through a small air hole in the ceiling. She must be far underground, for she could only see the mouth of the hole as a tiny prick of light.
Would the offensive free her? She should not have told Joe about it. If he were tortured, would he tell? In truth it had been an indiscretion on Blominger's part, and he realized it immediately when he threatened her with dreadful accidents if she wrote or said anything about the coming offensive.
But in the situation she had been in, it was not such a terrible indiscretion for her to tell, and no one could blame her for helping to plan an escape.
Her thoughts ran in circles, and she could not reach any conclusions. The excitement of the past few hours had exhausted her and she did not bother to try to stay awake.
Half-dozing she heard the key in the door. Now she would have her punishment for trying to escape. And for the murdered guard. But they would see that she could not have killed him. Poor Joe. She was ashamed of thinking only of herself when she thought of what they would do to Joe. Was she such a sadist?
"Joe!"
It was Joe who entered her room. Were they permitted to be together before they were executed? But he had a strange expression on his face, and why didn't he say something? Why was he beginning to take off his clothes?
"Joe, what is it? Answer me. What have they done to you? Why...?"
"Shut up, you capitalist bitch. Now you are going to be thoroughly screwed by me before the others have you."
"What is wrong with you, Joe? You can't...."
"I'll show you what I can do. Ah, I'll fuck you from one end to the other. In your cunt and up your ass, you filthy imperialistic whore."
"Imperialistic...?"
"Yes, and why shouldn't I tell you everything before I stick it up you. I was shot down and taken prisoner. They reeducated me and now I can see the rottenness of the capitalistic system. I can see how your writings keep this war going, so the weapon makers can make their profits at the cost of the ordinary soldiers' lives."
"But you were going to help me escape," Liz stammered in terror over this sudden change. "You killed a guard...."
"Killed? No, that was just the juice of some berries, you idiot. It was just a big act to make you talk. And I can assure you that I learned something from you out there in the jungle."
Liz's world broke into pieces. She put her hands in front of her face and began to sob as though her heart would break. She had only her naivete and trustfulness to thank that she was now a traitor.
"Get your clothes off and your ass up. I don't have all day. It will be great to have a white girl again. These yellow whores don't have any buttocks at all. I'm looking forward to getting hold of your big, round...."
"Don't touch me, you swine! Traitor! Turncoat...!"
The naked man was on her with one jump. She fought as though she were insane. Her patriotic feelings gave her renewed strength and she clawed like a wildcat. But the muscular, combat-trained soldier made an easy game of her, and she heard the sound of her clothing ripping.
"Delicious. Fight me. I love to fight first, you upperclass whore."
She was completely naked except for one leg of the trousers draped around her ankle.
"Ah, what an ass. First I think that...."
He turned her brutally onto her stomach and began to spank her already bruised loins. His large, leathery hand cracked like a pistol shot against her bare skin.
Liz squealed bke a stuck pig. She kicked the air with her naked legs.
"Spread your legs a bit more, so I can see your dirty American pussy."
She did as he said for the burning pain in her backside prevented any feelings of shame. He took the opportunity to let fly a rain of slaps against the especially tender skin of her inner thighs. Her buttocks and thighs were now a violet-blue surface of sensitive skin. She could not take any more.
"Joe ... ahhh ... no ... I'll do anyth ... ouch."
He laid a few more slaps against the abused buttocks and then said:
"Kneel on the edge of the bed. Face against the wall. Put your head down. Now you're going to get an end full to last the rest of your life."
Shaking with fear she did as he said.
"Spread your legs more and stick your ass up high!"
She did it without hesitation.
"And now you're going to get this nine-inch prick right up your little cunt, and while I fuck you, you are going to tell me what you are, isn't that so?"
She shuddered as he drove up into her. She sweated in agony as his huge prick slid in and out of her. She felt as though she were being raped with a piece of sandpaper.
"Now, tell ... tell me what you are."
The command was reinforced by a couple of hard slaps against her right buttock. She immediately began to repeat:
"I am a capitalist whore ... an American bitch ... an imperialist tool ... a whore ... a bitch ... a...."
He groaned and hammered away at an insane speed. His hands gripped and squeezed her tender buttocks until she screamed, while she wracked her brain to find new words to curse herself.
"I'm coming. No, wait. You're going to get the whole load right up your ass!"
She was still sore from the Vietnamese soldier's invasion of her anus and she whimpered aloud as his fingers forced her anal muscles open to give free access to his stiff organ. She began to shake.
"Hey, are you going to hold still?"
His rough hand began to slap her discolored loins again. To escape more blows she lifted her rear as much as possible so that the rosy red hole stood out like a tempting mouth.
"That's better. And now it goes in...."
"Oh ... it's too big ... ahhh...."
But his rod of flesh pumped in and out of her unmercifully. As his excitment grew the tempo increased, and Liz felt him draw out and pound home time and time again.
At last she heard him gasp for air and felt her intestines flooded with a warm fluid.
When he had drawn out, she fell onto her stomach on the bed, sobbing with shame and self-disgust. She listened to him dressing, but lay as though shattered without looking at him.
A final slap on her backside made her jump up and run howling about the room holding her hands against her loins.
He stood at the door and looked at her with eyes filled with hate.
"Just wait. This was nothing," he said, before he disappeared.
Again she had to go through the difficult and painful process with the shower hose in order to wash all traces of him out of her. She felt apathetic. Was this the beginning of an infamous brainwash? At the moment it was other parts of her body she was washing, but her mind had also suffered under her brutal treatment.
What had happened to her modesty? She would not even react if a man came into her room and saw her naked. She would even stretch out on the bed for him. The only thing she wanted was to avoid another beating.
She twisted around and looked at her poor, bruised buttocks which were showing all the colors of the rainbow now. She would have to sleep on her stomach tonight.
If they would permit her to sleep....
"Ah, good morning, Miss White. Back from your walk in the woods? Will you sit down? No? Well, I understand."
She remained standing before Colonel Phu's desk with bowed head. The girl al the typewriter looked at her in disgust. Apparently she knew what had happened to Liz. But then, of course, she was Colonel Phu's private secretary.
"Yes. Well I had to give our friend Joe a little reward for the great contribution he made to our war against our country's enemies. The only thing he wanted was a little relaxation time with you, and it was a modest wish so I couldn't deny him. I hope you enjoyed it as much as he did."
Liz said nothing. What could she say to his ironic pleasure in her pain?
"I would like to thank you for your valuable information. Thanks to you, we will be able to defeat the coming offensive in a very effective way."
Suddenly Liz had a hope. A last flame of hope and self-respect burned in her.
"You are wrong, Colonel Phu. Headquarters knows that I am sitting here with this information. They know that I'm your captive and that you might make me talk. They will change their plans."
Colonel Phu smiled behind his dark glasses.
"They will hardly change their plans. First because you only have your information because some brass hat chattered to you in the hope of impressing you. And this talkative person will certainly not tell anyone what he said. And another thing is that you are officially registered as dead. We have enough corpses that have been left unrecognizable. Your countrymen assure us of that when they bomb our towns. We placed such a corpse with the rest of the platoon. With your identity tags on it. Gf course, a thorough examination of the dental work and so on would show the difference, but I doubt that anyone will be that interested.
Liz saw that he was right. They would have no reason to doubt that it was her body they found. With a trembling voice, she asked: "And now you are going to have me shot?"
"No, no, no. Why should we let a beautiful young woman go to waste. I mean a beautiful woman's body, of course, for we are no longer interested in what you might have in your head."
"Am I to be placed in a whorehouse for soldiers then?"
"We have no military whores. We do not regard the pleasures of sex as comparable with going to a movie or a dance. Our soldiers have amusement enough fighting the enemy who has invaded our country. Every one of our soldiers can wait until he meets the girl with whom he can establish a home and raise children to be good citizens of a socialist society."
"But apparently the two who forced their way in and raped me couldn't wait?" She regretted that she had said that. She could not afford to be sarcastic. She also saw a new expression in his eye. "Are you going to reeducate me, like you did to Joe?"
"That would be too difficult. You see, Joe came from a very poor family in your country. The whole time he was growing up he was experiencing what the capitalistic system means to those who have nothing. It was not difficult to make him see that socialism and communism are the paths to the future."
"And what did you do to him to make him see?" He continued without answering her question: "You, however, Miss White, are a product of the capitalistic system. You have been economically protected all of your life. It would take years to reeducate you, and we do not have time for that."
She was becoming desperate. This uncertainty was the worst part.
"But what are you going to do with me?"
She saw the slightly embarrassed and ashamed look in his eyes.
"I have received further instructions from Hanoi on your fate. Perhaps I should not tell you, but I do have a certain amount of sympathy for you, and I think that you should know what is in store for you so that you can begin to prepare yourself for that. Your future will not be especially comfortable, but I beg you to realize that I have no influence on the decision. I have my orders from Hanoi, and I am just a small cog in a big machine."
If only he would come to the point. There was no reason to be diplomatic anymore. The case was decided, and Colonel Phu should not have had anything more to say.
"Yes, yes, but just tell me what you are going to do with me. You just sit there and talk, talk, talk." Now she just had to keep her composure. She would deny him the pleasure of seeing her break down.
"Well, look, Miss White ... I must tell you a little story so that you understand why the government is taking this ... uhm ... unusual step. Please sit down. Miss Liu, bring a pillow. And tea, thank you."
He settled back in his chair and offered her a cigarette. Liz took one automatically.
"Of course, you know from the newspapers that the so-called Ho Chi Min Trail goes through the territory of a certain foreign power. Most of our troops and supplies follow this trail which has recently been rebuilt so that heavy machinery can be transported along it. It is, if I may say so, our lifeline, and we must do everything to ensure that we have good relations with this foreign power. One of the most influential persons in this other country is the Maharajah of Lumbure. But this person has recently become a spokesman of the group that seeks to oppose our use of this trail."
"I do not see how this concerns me." , "Just be patient, I'll come to the point quickly. This maharajah has a great weakness for beautiful, occidental women, and our government has therefore decided to turn you over to him. That's the entire story."
"Are you ... but you can't mean it...!"
"Miss White! The thought is also offensive to me, but on the other hand I can well understand that compromises must be made when so much is at stake. An entire nation's fate hangs upon one man, and so this person must be sacrificed."
"I would gladly sacrifice myself for my country but ... you are a swine, a disgusting animal ... yellow pig...!"
The guard had to lead her away, but they were not brutal. Apparently they already knew that this girl was now an expensive piece of flesh and must be handled carefully.
Back in her room, Liz fell into a restless sleep. She no longer had any hope. She was officially dead, and she could expect no rescue force. Her obituary was already printed in the paper. And there would be no aroused public opinion calling for revenge upon her murderers.
Only the purest chance could save her now.
She lay on her bed and tried to think of all the fairy stories in which the heroine was rescued by a trick of chance. That was the way that Cinderella and Snow White ended, but....
But this was the year 1969.
CHAPTER SEVEN
That same afternoon the truck came to fetch her.
To add insult to injury the same girl soldier who had brought her to main camp and her two soldiers were to accompany her again.
"We meet again, Miss White. And I understand that you've suddenly become a very important person who can no longer be tied up. On the other hand I have orders to shoot you down if you try to escape. And I assure you that I would like nothing more."
They climbed onto the back of the truck. This time the benches were padded and a canopy had been spread to protect them from the sun. Liz thought bitterly that now it was only her body they were interested in. At lunch Colonel Phu had come to her room to say goodbye. She did not even have enough pride to refuse his cigarettes and the good French soap he offered her. As soon as he had gone, she had been shameless enough to take a shower using the perfumed soap. The scent was too strong for her taste, but it was wonderful to feel like a woman again.
For hours they had been bumping along through the jungle. They did not even stop to eat. The soldiers started a little gasoline stove and began to prepare the obligatory rice. Liz was amazed that they could keep their balance enough to move around and cook, while she herself had to hold on tightly to keep from falling from her bench.
She had become accustomed to the clump of gummy rice that passed for a meal and ate hers with good appetite. She saw a bowl passed forward to the driver in the cab of the truck. A little later it was passed back empty without the truck's losing speed. It looked as though they were in a hurry.
They drove all night, and when Liz awakened after a few hours of restless sleep she saw that they had come to a plain with only a few scattered trees. The pale light of dawn showed that they were again approaching the jungle.
The female lieutenant looked worried and kept shouting at the driver in an angry tone of voice. Liz guessed that they should have passed the plain long ago.
Then she heard the sound of an airplane, and she understood that there was no cover from the air in this open area, and that they should have been back into the jungle before light.
The truck stopped and they anxiously looked around for the enemy jet.
Suddenly the girl shouted an order and then again in English: "Hurry up, get down onto the ground."
They all jumped off the trick and ran in various directions as the whining roar of the jet grew to an inferno of sound.
Liz saw spurts of dust in front of her and threw herself flat. She didn't know if this was her salvation or her death.
The jet circled and came roaring down again with flaming machine guns. How many times he returned she didn't know, but now was her chance to run.
When she heard the plane streak overhead, she jumped up and ran toward the jungle. She didn't look back, but let her hearing guide her movements. When the sound of the jet reached a certain point she dropped down, until the noise began to lessen again.
The clear light of the morning sun had tricked her. It seemed that she was no nearer the jungle and she could not run any more. The jet had gone and she had to find a hiding place before the girl and the soldiers found her again. Then when it was dark ... yes, then what?
She lay panting in a small gulley and calculated her chances. She had no idea of where or in which direction they had driven during the night. If she was to be delivered to a maharajah the border must be to the west. But how far was it to the border? Her only chance was to reach the border, for to move south toward American lines was hopeless.
If only she had paid more attention to Vietnamese geography. She only knew that it was a long, narrow little country....
She turned to ice with fear when something soft landed on her body. She rolled sideways.
"Will you come voluntarily, American bitch?"
The girl threw herself over Liz. She was thin and not as strong as Liz but hatred and training won the battle and soon she was sitting on Liz' stomach holding her hands pressed against the ground.
Liz looked up into the tiny face. There was nothing she could do. She closed her eyes and a single tear of shame rolled down her cheek.
For a long time they lay there and nothing happened. Liz was too paralyzed with disappointement to struggle. The events of the past day had sapped her will to live, and now she did not care what happened to her.
Therefore it took her some time to realize that two soft lips were pressing against hers.
She opened her eyes. The Vietnamese girl was kissing her. She was given a moist, demanding kiss by another girl. This was too abnormal! She could not endure this!
At first she was too exhausted to resist, and later she discovered that she liked it. Against her will she found that she enjoyed the kiss of these soft, rounded, girlish lips. Her body, still bruised and sore from the brutalities of the man, needed tenderness and slow caresses. Her rational mind had to retreat as she returned the girl's kiss.
There was no hidden plan in what she did, she discovered. It was not to give her guard false confidence. Her body drove her on.
The girl's mouth moved to her neck and Liz felt her hands released.
"My name is Thi, she said softly and kissed Liz's throat.
Liz wondered what she should say, but could find no words. Her instincts told her to put her arms around the girl's slender back and to begin stroking.
Almost immediately Thi pulled herself loose and stood up. Liz blinked in amazement but remained where she was. Was this just another trick to break down her resistance? But she now saw that Thi had begun to undress. How did two girls do it when they went to bed with each other? Would it be disgusting? She remained lying passively and looked at the naked Vietnamese girl.
Her skin was smooth and golden-brown. Her small breasts were firm and their nipples turned up. Her slender, girlish trunk rounded down to womanly hips where her mound of Venus was almost hairless. Her legs were rather short, like all Asians, but as beautiful as two perfect ivory pillars which ended in a pair of tiny feet.
Liz did not know whether she should undress. But Thi kneeled beside her and began to draw her blouse off. Liz helped. She noticed that Thi's gaze rested the whole time on her breasts. It was probably because they were so large, even compared with American girls. And how must they appear to a Vietnamese girl? Liz remembered how Thi that first day had twisted her nipple and she groaned when the two small hands touched her breasts which they could barely cover.
But there was no torture now. Thi's hands began to stroke her gently and her breath began to come more quickly. Then the small fingers began to knead the soft flesh, to grip the nipples lightly, to press the great melons together and to separate them again. Her mouth descended over one nipple and began to suck it moistly.
A wonderful sensation of peace blended with pleasure spread through Liz's body. She put one hand on Thi's neck and moved the other hand down along the bowed back, down over one tense buttock, to the soft thigh. Thi's skin was amazingly smooth and cool, and even the touch of Liz's hand on her lower body made little thrills of pleasure shake her body. She felt her nipple become hard in Thi's mouth. The small pearly teeth nipped gently and gave Liz a strange mixture of pleasure and pain. Involuntarily her hand sought the tiny pears hanging from Thi's chest. She closed her hand over one and felt it grow to fill her hand.
Thi released her nipple and let her mouth glide down to her navel. Her tongue circled the depression a moment then moved further down. Here she was stopped by the waistband of the silken trousers.
Thi stood up and put one hand out. "Come, Liz."
Liz rose up trembling. "The others can see us."
"The others are dead."
The expression on Thi's face changed character for a moment until lust won her back. She went to Liz who had turned her back when she had heard the soldiers' fate. Liz had expected that the punishment would follow, but instead she felt Thi's erect nipples rubbing against her shoulder blades. A pair of small hands gripped her breasts from the back and then wandered slowly down to her trousers.
Excited fingers quickly undid the buttons and pulled the clothing toward the ground. A wet, soft tongue began to run tenderly down her back and stopped at her loins.
"You have been whipped very hard. There are still marks."
Liz blushed with shame over displaying her marbled tail, but she did not turn for now a stiff, little tongue bored between her buttocks. She tensed them together and held the probing snake captive for a moment. But it had been so lovely that she relaxed again and even began to press her buttocks against the seeking face.
She felt the tongue enter her anus, and suddenly she was glad that she had washed herself thoroughly with Colonel Phu's French soap. Her knees trembled as she felt the tongue return to the attack on her anus again and again. But it must be too tight, and she wanted so much to have the playful, little tongue enter her.
"Strain. Just as though you were going to the toilet." The voice was muffled and indistinct from between her two pillows. She was embarrassed for a moment, but obeyed and immediately felt something small and soft inside of her. Ah, it soothed and healed the pain of her backside. She closed her eyes and concentrated upon this delightful pleasure.
But now the tongue sought its way down and forward. Certainly Thi was not going to lick her...? The trousers which still lay around her ankles prevented her from spreading her legs more, and the hard-working little face could go no further. She thought about closing her thighs so that Thi could not lick her there. People didn't do such things! But it would be so wonderful to feel this wet, probing tongue just there where it felt the very best....
Liz stepped out of the confining trousers with blushing cheeks. Now she felt Thi's lips against the lips of her pussy. Small fingers spread her open and the seeking tongue shot like an arrow into the half-open hole.
Liz was about to faint with pleasure. She could hardly remain standing. It was almost too much of a good thing. Her clitoris felt almost too intensely. "You mustn't Thi ... it's too ... too ... much...."
She had never reached a climax so quickly before. She sank wetly toward Thi's questing mouth. Everything was spinning around her. She staggered as though she were drunk and fell to her back, and there gave herself over to the last delicious shudders of her orgasm.
When she came to herself again and opened her eyes, it took her a moment to realize what she saw.
Thi kneeled over her face. She was lying staring directly up into her moist vulva. Two small, protruding labia with a few curly black hairs on them. Between there was a pale pink cleft that glistened with moisture. Was she now also to...? How would it taste? Could she really bring herself to do it?
But the little pussy up there looked so sweet and clean. She noticed a strange, but not unpleasant scent, and saw with wonder that her hands had automatically gone up to caress the smooth, round buttocks. She herself began to direct this little Siamese kitten toward her mouth.
The hair tickled her under her nose and she had to press her face firmly into the cleft in order not to sneeze. She tried to find her way with her tongue. First it slipped along the inner side of the labia, and the sensitive tip of her tongue felt Thi's clitoris which stood erect and waiting at the entrance of her hole.
It was lovely to feel these smooth, wet surfaces against her mouth. She discovered that the best way was to suck upon the lips of Thi's cunt while her tongue played within the wet grotto.
From the sounds that Thi was making, she could tell that she was doing the right things. The girl almost sang and now and then Vietnamese words came to her lips. They sounded sweet and touching and Liz increased her efforts.
It was also exciting to have these two, firm half-moons in her hands. She took a better grip and let a couple of fingers glide into the cleft between them. She remembered her own pleasure at being licked from the back and with a finger she tried the tight opening. But it was too small and she had to probe several times before she found it.
Thi's song became almost an aria when Liz's long middle finger pierced her tight passageway.
She shuddered in pleasure and let her full weight rest upon Liz's mouth as she ground her crotch against her face while her orgasm raced through her.
The two girls dressed in silence. They were bashful and could not find anything to say to each other. Hand in hand they walked back toward the truck.
It was not an easy job burying the two dead soldiers. The ground was hard and Liz had to keep her gaze away from the corpses so that she did not vomit.
"Now we have to see if the truck will run and get out of here before more planes come."
"There are three holes in the engine covering."
"Take it off while I get the tools."
Soon Thi was lying over the fender with her head down and her little butt up in the air. "It's only an electrical connection that has been cut. There's a roll of insolating tape in the driver's compartment. Hand it to me."
Liz stood and watched. She felt so stupid and clumsy in comparison with this soldier girl who seemed to know everything. Even as far as sex went, she was clearly Liz' superior. Or maybe it was just because Liz did not like girls?
"Now I'll try to start the engine. Can you drive a car?"
"Yes, but I have never tried a truck before. Certainly you would be better at it than I."
"Of course, but I cannot drive and watch you at the same time."
"Watch me?"
Only now did Liz realize that she had not considered the situation she was in. Perhaps she had imagined that they would escape together. But where could Thi run to? And where could either of them run to for that matter?
The engine began to race. The doors were open and Thi scooted over out of the driver's seat. "Jump in and take the wheel."
"Where are we going?"
"The same place as before."
The dark eyes in the doll-like face were no longer soft and tender as they had been while they had been making love.
"I won't do it. You can take the truck, but I refuse to be sold to this maharajah."
Thi's eyes became like pistol barrels, but it was the real pistol she had in her hand that made Liz crawl up behind the steering wheel. She could see that Thi was not reluctant to pull the trigger.
Finally Liz figured out the gearshift, which was of course quite different from an American car.
She gave all of her attention to driving the truck so that she did not begin to weep with disappointment.
After they had driven for a long time and were finally back in the jungle, Liz collected herself enough to ask:
"Thi, I cannot understand why you are delivering me to this oversexed maharajah. Don't you feel anything for me now. Didn't it mean anything to you what we did back there?"
Thi turned away for a moment and looked out of the window. "Maybe, maybe not. It means nothing what I feel. I serve my country, and I have been ordered to deliver you there. I can do nothing else."
"We could run away together. You know that prisoners of war are treated well among us. I will see to it that you are set free immediately. We could have a wonderful time together. You could come with me to the U.S. We could live together. I ... I ... am in love with you."
"It doesn't matter what you say. I could never betray my country. It is important to my country that you are delivered to the maharajah, and you will be given to him as long as I have anything to do about it."
"Yes, but Thi...."
"Quiet. If you do not shut up, I will have to hit you and tie you up."
Liz drove on in silence. Her arms ached from trying to control the huge steering wheel. The truck roared and bumped over the rutted road, and now and then there was a large mud hole. It would have been an easy matter to get the truck stuck in one of these mud holes, but she knew it would mean that she would have to continue on foot.
She tried to take an ironic tone. "Would I be struck down if I asked how far we had to go?"
"We are almost there."
The voice was cold and unfriendly. Was this the same girl whose head had been between her thighs? Who had licked her unmentionable parts? She had to admit that she would never understand how an oriental thought. How could she at one moment make love to Liz-yes, and especially make love in that way-and the next mintue deliver her to a swine of a perverse maharajah? Would there be a chance to escape from this new prison? And what must she go through in his royal highness' bed?
The questions kept bobbing up, and the monotonous landscape was about to drive her crazy.
"Would you light a cigarette for me?"
"All right, but no tricks. You know that you have no chance against me."
Liz knew it all too well, and she did nothing more than to open her lips to take the cigarette. Its soothing smoke did her good. Perhaps it was still possible to talk with Thi if she avoided trying to convince her that they should escape together.
"I can't hold control over the truck much longer. Are we near the border?"
"We've already crossed the border. Did you expect a customs inspection and a stamp in your passport? We are driving directly to the maharajah's palace, and we should be there in half an hour."
Her voice became a bit warmer. "When we have thrown the Americans out of our country, we will come for these swine. Then I will put in a good word for you and we can be together again."
This little child was naive, but in such a touching way that Liz took one hand off the steering wheel and touched Thi's leg. She felt it tremble under the stiff cloth, and she herself had nothing against stopping for a farewell caress.
But a black limousine standing in a jungle clearing meant that they had reached their destination.
Two men dressed in a kind of uniform stepped out. The gold braid on their lapels showed Liz that she had left communism behind to enter an oriental princedom.
She brought the heavy truck to a stop and remained apathetically behind the wheel while Thi stepped out and talked with the two lackeys. After a few minutes of discussion she signaled that Liz should get down.
"Here our ways part. Until we meet again," she added tenderly. "Try to hold out until the liberation forces come. I will be the first to enter the palace."
The little face blushed modestly, and a small hand was thrust out. Liz took it with tears in her eyes. Now her only friend was leaving her, and Liz had to admit that her meeting with Thi had led to a change in her emotional make-up that she could only call her first, real love.
She stood and watched Thi as the tiny porcelain figure turned the huge truck. She watched her disappear into the jungle in a cloud of blue diesel smoke.
She felt the two men take her arms. Shortly after she heard a metallic clink and looked down at her hands.
Handcuffs.
Gold-plated.
She allowed herself to be led to the big private car. She heard the door being locked from outside and then saw the two lackeys climb into the front seat. How gladly she would have traded them for Thi, and how much more she would rather have been sitting with her on the hard wooden benches of the truck instead of the luxurious leather seats of this car.
The soft seats and her lack of sleep made her fall almost immediately into a deep sleep. She didn't awaken until she felt the car stop.
CHAPTER EIGHT
She looked in confusion out of the car window. Everything was blindingly white. They had stopped in a large plaza paved with white marble gravel, and to her right a palace of Indian architectural style rose high above her.
She had to squint against the harsh light as she was led into the building.
They did not enter the main door, but stopped at a small iron door in one wall of a wing of the palace. One of her guards pressed a button and a voice responded from a hidden loudspeaker. He explained their mission and with a buzzing sound the door swung slowly open.
Liz was already considering the chances of flight and tried to memorize every detail that could be of later use to her.
On the other side of the door there was a large garden. They walked along the marble paths between exotic plants. The sound of splashing fountains made Liz remember her thirst.
"I would like something to drink."
The two men looked at her blankly. At least now she knew that they did not understand English. She looked around as much as she could. Over the bushes and flowers, she could see the top of the wall that surrounded the garden. The top was guarded with barbed wire. The entire garden was a huge gilt prison.
The path curved and they passed a small pavillion. Liz did not notice the building so much as a young Japanese girl who sat naked on a bench sunning herself. From one ankle a long golden chain ran to a hook on the wall. The girl looked curiously after them. She seemed satisfied and well cared for, even though she was chained like a watch-dog.
They led her into the palace cellar through a small door. It was chilly, but furnished like an American home. Her guards stopped just outside the door and freed her from her handcuffs. They bowed politely and indicated that she should enter.
It was too soon to try to revolt so Liz obeyed, and the heavy door swung closed after her.
My God! It was better than the luxury suite at the Hilton. Real Persian rugs on the floor, soft pillows, closets filled with clothes, and a bathroom...! The bath was as large as an ordinary living room. Marble everywhere and ... yes, even the faucets were made of gold. The sunken tub was almost a swimming pool and could probably hold ten people comfortably.
She had not even explored the room completely when the rattle of keys warned her that someone was coming-and reminded her that she was still a prisoner in spite of her luxurious surroundings. Alert she watched the door.
Two lovely young Burmese girls entered. Liz saw with relief that the instruments on the small table they had with them were not thumbscrews but manicure supplies. Well, she was to be made beautiful before she was presented to the Maharajah. She considered what she should do.
One of the girls disappeared into the bathroom and she heard water begin to splash into the tub. The other approached with a smile and touched her clothing. Liz pulled away. She was not going to show herself naked to these two little dolls.
Still smiling, the tiny golden-brown girl put one finger delicately to her nose then stuck her bottom out and gave herself a couple of slaps.
Her meaning was quite clear. A disciplinary spanking if Liz did not obey. Could she deal with these two thin little girls? Of course, they might be judo experts like Thi ... or they might call for help, perhaps from the two servants who had brought her here. Liz was not amused by the idea of having the two silent men ripping the clothing off of her.
She allowed herself to be undressed, but tried to keep the girls from seeing her backside. Perhaps there were still marks from her last beating.
When Liz was finally sitting in the huge tub filled with lovely hot water, the two Burmese girls undressed and climbed in with her. She had heard of group bathing in the East, but ... They began to wash her with fragrant soap. She indicated that her breasts and more intimate parts she would wash herself, but a playful slap on her wet, naked backside changed her mind. Blushing, she allowed the four small hands to soap her.
Not a nook or cranny of her body was passed over, and when she clamped her thighs together, a probing finger made her allow room for the soap-smooth hand. No, they weren't going to reach all the way up into ... Or perhaps were these two tiny girls also lesbians? She had to admit that it was not an unpleasant feeling.
But the only thing they were interested in was a thorough washing of her body. She felt as naked as a newborn baby when they indicated that she should climb the gilt steps out of the tub. Now it was impossible to avoid displaying her bare tail right in their faces so that they could see the stripes, but there came no surprised outburst from them.
It was a bad sign, she thought.
But existence did not seem completely hopeless when she lay upon the massage table and felt four hands give new life to her exhausted and tender body. Her modesty was gone now, and she allowed them to pound and rub where they wanted. The oil that they rubbed into her skin smelled heavy and oriental.
Sitting back comfortably, she allowed one of them to manicure her finger and toe-nails while the other treated her face with warm cloths, massage, and make-up. She was getting the full treatment. This would have cost one hundred dollars in Los Angeles, she thought. At home, she could never have afforded it; here it was free.
And then the thought struck her that she would have to pay for it after all.
After dressing her in .the obligatory long, silk trousers and a loose blouse, the two beauty experts disappeared. Her clothing was light blue with gold trim, and when Liz looked at herself in the full-length mirror she had to admit that it suited her perfectly. She had tried to make them understand that she wanted some underwear, but apparently they did not know what she meant, and they themselves had on neither panties or bras. My God, her breasts were big, too big to go without a bra.
She forgot her womanly vanity now, while she began to consider the future. What was the smartest thing to do? Did she really have to go to bed with this maharajah? Maybe she could stall him off until she had an opportunity to escape? And maybe it would just excite him more if she held him off, since he was accustomed to having any girl he pointed at.
Yes, that was the way she would handle it. She would get the best treatment by defending her honor. She was reminded of an opera-was it "Prisoner of the Seraglio"?-in which the noble Arab prince was touched by the girl's determination until at last he sent her home, loaded with gifts. There might even be human feelings in a maharajah in Laos.
Now that she had made her decision there was nothing to do but wait.
It was really an incredable apartment she had been installed in. On a shelf of the bedside table there was a French fashion magazine. She began to leaf through it.
Her posture was proud and self-confident when an hour later, the two lackeys led her into an elevator and to the top floor of the palace. It was just like an adventure film. At all the doors there were guards in imaginative and expensive uniforms. There were huge, marvelous rooms filled with gold.
She had always imagined that an oriental palace would look like this. He lay upon a platform of pillows surrounded by palace retainers. There were also women in the classic costumes with bare bellies. A couple of them were even white. Her heart gave a leap of pleased recognition.
But then she saw the maharajah. His face was slack and apathetic. This was no noble sheik with flaming eyes. His body was fat and fish-like.
She stood before the crowd. Should she say something? No! It was she who had a right to an explanation. A couple of the girls approached her and one took the edge of her blouse. Liz knocked her arm away. The girl looked surprised and confused at' his highness.
One of the palace retainers spoke in excellent English. "Would you please undress for your master?"
Surprise and anger shook Liz' self-composure. Was she to be displayed naked before this collection of idiots? Never! With a clear, loud voice, she said: "In the future you will call me 'Miss White'. I have not been introduced to you. And I am the one to decide when I shall undress, and that will never happen in front of a crowd. I am an American citizen, and it will cost all of you your lives if I am not freed immediately."
The Maharajah's expression did not alter a fraction when she fired her broadside off. But she knew that he understood, because his servant did not translate but only looked inquiringly at his master. The Maharajah looked at her a long time before he gave his orders.
The lackeys stood beside her once again and signalled with their eyes that she should follow them. Proudly she turned her back on this absurd crowd with their peacock feathers and gilt furs. She strode through the corridors like a queen as they led her back to the elevator.
This was the first step in her plan. She knew how to twist a man around her little finger. The elevator moved slowly down. Even though its walls were of gold, it was ridiculously slow by American standards. These primitive natives and their need to imitate the West!
Or weren't they returning to her room? It seemed to her that the elevator took longer this time. And when they stepped out there were no gilt walls. Bare concrete mocked her in the glare of bare light bulbs. Was she going to be put in a dungeon until she was compliant?
But the little room they led her to was not unpleasant, even though it could not compare with her earlier quarters. She heard the door locked after the lackeys and noticed that there was another door on the opposite wall. She tried it, but it was also locked. It reminded her of a waiting room. What was it that she was awaiting?
She did not know how long it was before the opposite door opened and one of the Burmese girls came in. This time she did not smile servilely, but immediately began to pull her clothing off. Uncertainty and fear kept Liz from resisting, and she clung desperately to the thought that this was just the preliminary for another bath or something like that. But she knew it wasn't true when she followed the delicate figure into the adjoining room.
She gasped as she looked around. She had been brought to a torture chamber. A modern torture chamber. Behind the glass doors of the cabinets she could see whips, chains, and other strange instruments that hinted with terrible clarity of what went on in this room.
In the center of the room were padded tables and the straps attached to them showed that they were not used for massages. Hooks and pulleys filled the ceiling. It was a grotesque parody of a torture chamber from the Spanish Inquisition. Only the Great Inquisitor was missing.
But she was there. In one corner of the room was a desk, behind which sat a beautiful, young woman with glasses and a white smock who resembled a doctor's secretary. Did they also keep a case report of the torments. It all seemed a bit absurd. If Liz had not known what was in store for her, she would have laughed.
Now she knew that she should not have refused to undress in the throne room. She went quickly to the "secretary".
"It's all a big mistake. I was so surprised. I'll go up and undress now."
The girl smiled but said apologetically: "It is too late. I have already received your program."
"My what?"
"Your torture program. The Maharajah wishes to punish you for your impertinence and at the same time show you what will happen in the future if you do not recognize that his every wish is your command."
The girl looked down at a piece of paper with a remarkable signature.
"But I can see that the Maharajah has been merciful. You are to have a rather mild punishment. Even though it might seem severe enough at the moment it takes place. But I would suggest that you consider what might have happened to you. And what will happen, if you continue to disobey. When I came here, I had to go through the whole cure."
"Are you English?"
"Yes, Vivian Bryan."
"How can you do this? I mean as a European?"
"You will become cleverer, Miss White. It took me some time myself. But we do not have time for more explanations. Perhaps we can talk in the future, but right now my time is limited. I am expecting another client in two hours."
"Client? This will take two hours? No, no...!"
At a sign from Vivian two male assistants gripped Liz' arms. She felt their strength and forgot about trying to struggle. They led her to the center of the room where they tied her hands behind her back and ran a loop of the rope around her neck. She was familiar with this method and now knew that her hands were useless.
The one assistant held her while the other fastened a pair of wide straps around her ankles. Each of the straps had a solid-looking hook at one end. She speculated madly over what was in store for her until she saw one of the men pulling a wooden sawhorse toward her. They were going to make her ride a wooden horse!
She fought like a demon, but the two half-naked men lifted her as though she were a kitten and placed her astraddle the smallest part of the horse's back. She screamed as the cruel edge pressed against her pussy.
Vivian was standing facing her. She had a pencil and a stenographer's pad in her hand.
"Stop that shouting. I gave you the horse with the widest back. We have some backed with iron saw-teeth if you keep this up."
"No, no, Miss Bryan ... I'll be good ... I...."
Liz' own weight ground her pussy against the hard wood. Hesitantly she rocked back so that her anus could bare some of the pressure. It helped enough that her shrieks died to groans. She felt her jailers touch her feet and the pressure in her crotch became unbearable. She looked down through her tears and saw that great weights were now hanging from her ankle straps.
"I can't stand it ... no ... you're killing me. Oh, no, let ... me ... down ... Miss Bryan ... let me go."
"Shut up and listen to me. Do you recognize the Maharajah as your god and master?"
"Yes, yes ... let me get down."
"Do you acknowledge that he has unlimited power over your body?"
"Yes, yes ... I know it well ... ohhhh ... awww."
"Do you know that if he wanted he could have you killed?"
"Yes, yes, anything he wants ... yes, yes ... may I get down now?"
"Not yet. I have been ordered to whip you while you are sitting there."
Liz saw the white-clad form walk over to one of the glass cabinets. She stood for a long time trying to choose among the whips. Oh, if she would only hurry up and choose. Liz felt the wooden edge cutting into her. If only she could throw herself off, it wouldn't matter if she knocked herself out. But the sawhorse was solid and heavy, and the weights on her feet prevented her from moving an inch. And not only that, the slightest movement was excruciatingly painful.
Finally she saw Vivian coming back with a whip. It had a short shaft with many braids. A cat-of-nine-tails.
"I will be soft enough to use a relatively innocent whip because we are, after all, almost fellow countrymen. Promise me you will never tell anyone I have treated you so gently? Otherwise it will be my tail up there."
"Yes, yes, I'll never tell. Oh ... owww ... please start to whip me now? I cannot last much longer ... ah ... I think I am going to faint...."
"Nonsense ... don't be so cowardly."
Liz saw Vivian take her smock off. She was naked underneath. Her sex hair had been shaved off. Liz groaned at the sight of the strong, but well-proportioned naked woman who now stepped behind her.
The whip slashed down across her naked shoulders. Liz howled. But each time Vivian methodically brought the whip lower and soon the round womanly buttocks which were hanging over the edge of the wooden horse were being striped and bruised by the hard leather strands. Even though the wood ground and cut her aching pussy and anus whenever she moved, she had to writhe under the biting kisses upon her backside. She wailed like a child. She begged for mercy like a schoolgirl getting a spanking.
Just for a change, Vivian allowed the heavy whip to fall across the two huge, bouncing breasts. Liz bent forward to protect her protruding melons, but this movement made the edge of the horse cut into her vagina and against her tender clitoris. It was worse than the pain in her breasts and she threw herself back so that the narrow chair could rest against her naked anus.
Her round, soft breasts jutted forward into the path of the swinging whip as though they begged for more of these murderous kisses. The air was filled with Liz' whines and shrieks and indistinguishable words. By an especially loud cry, Vivian knew that one of the tips of the whip had landed on one of her rosy red nipples.
When the formerly white breasts had taken on the appearance of overgrown tomatoes, Vivian decided to stop. At a sign from her, the two guards who had been watching the punishment stepped forward, removed the weights from her feet, and helped Liz down. Her hands were also untied, for now it did not look as though she would try anything stupid. She could hardly stand, and her face was glistening with tears. Her eyes were clouded and all will to fight had disappeared.
"You are probably without feeling in your crotch, eh, Miss White?"
Liz could only nod miserably.
"Ah, yes, I remember it well from the time that I had to ride our little friend there. But we will get the blood flowing again. For we don't want to cheat the Maharajah in this important area."
Liz hoped the torment was over, and in the midst of her shame thought that Vivian meant to give her a gentle, healing massage. She let herself be led to one of the tables and lay down without making trouble.
She soon realized her mistake when the two guards bound first her hands, then brought her legs up over her head to touch her hands. They did not tie her legs, but each stood there holding her ankles. She blushed with shame that these two natives were permitted to stare unhindered at her exposed crotch. But Vivian was away for a long time, and all the while she lay there and watched them looking at her with lustful eyes. Could it be that they would be allowed to ... But no, of course the Maharajah would claim first rights to her.
Her pussy was completely without feeling from her long ride on the wooden horse. If only she were not permanently damaged. On the other hand, it might be an advantage if she were ever whipped there again....
When Vivian came back into the room, she had something in her hand that Liz recognized all too quickly.
"No, Miss Bryan ... not that! You mustn't. Please use the whip again. Oh, no. Please, a whip...."
"Stop trying to tell me what I should do. I have been in this department for three years now, and I know exactly what is best. We have to get the blood flowing again as quickly as possible, otherwise your delightful clitoris might never recover. Of course, this medicine is not pleasant at the moment, but you will thank me later. You want to enjoy your intercourse with the Maharajah, don't you? And also you must take this cure every week, so that you don't come too quickly every time your master shows pleasure in you. He has complained that European girls come too quickly, and therefore I have been ordered to make all the white women in the palace a little less sensitive in this area.
With gloved hands Vivian plucked a large nettle leaf from the bunch she had brought from the garden. Liz groaned and whimpered with fear when she felt two fingers spread her pussy open. But thank God she could not feel anything when the nettle leaf was wiped across her clitoris.
Vivian stepped back, took the bunch of leaves and began to wipe them over Liz's naked stomach, mound of Venus and anus.
At first Liz did not feel anything, but then a prickling began in her benumbed parts. It was just as when her foot had fallen asleep and then began to receive blood again. Along with the prickling, the poison of the nettles began to affect the tender skin.
"Stop, stop ... it bites so ... aaahhh it burns ... no...."
Now it felt as though some one had poured burning oil over her lower body. It prickled and burned, and fire raged in her pussy.
"Good, I can hear that no damage has been done," Vivian said with satisfaction as she brushed the bunch of nettles into every nook and cranny of Liz's lower half which was dancing wildly under the burning caress of the green leaves.
"Uhhh, aaaaahhhh, ihhhsss...." Liz sobbed uncontrollably. She didn't care that the two natives were gloating over her come-down. She noted with relief when the nettle leaf was removed from her cunt, but the burning continued.
"We have to have a fresh leaf in there."
"Oh, no ... please ... no more!"
"Well, all right. Perhaps we should not go too quickly. But during later treatments you have to expect that I replace the leaf up to ten times. Remember, you become used to it after a while."
The native men released her ankles and untied her hands. Liz rose, painfully bowed over. Her entire bottom half from the first crack between her buttocks to the triangle of hair in front burned and ached.
Vivian laughed. "You are standing just like a little girl who has to take a leak."
Liz gathered the remaining shreds of will-power and gave Vivian a look filled with hate.
"Well, well. I thought you would have been a nice, little girl now. Such a look. I can see that we must continue a little more."
"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I...."
But a wave to her two assistants made them take Liz' arms once again. Vivian tightened two broad straps around her wrists and soon after she was hanging from two hooks on the ceiling, her toes barely touching the floor.
"Please, I'm sorry. Forgive me...!"
The two men were making some sort of noise behind her back, but Vivian stood in front of the stretched out girl and smiled.
"My dear little friend, I am not personally annoyed. It is just my job to tame you so that our master will have no difficulty with you tonight. And if you make trouble for him, it means that I have done a poor job, and I am the one to be punished. I must, you see, therefore be completely sure that no trace of impertinence remains in you."
Liz could not resist the open friendliness.
"Ah, when I remember the time that I failed to make a Negro girl passive enough. She scratched and clawed the Maharajah. I have no idea of what happened to her, but I could not sit down for weeks after my round of smacks. The whole palace was brought out to see my poor ass whipped. I have no desire to risk that again, so we must take just an extra half-hour with the punishment panties on."
Liz now saw the panties she was talking about. They were made of thin skin-colored rubber. Inside two thick rubber pillars thrust upward and she knew to her great fear just which holes these massive rods were to fit into.
While one of the assistants held the rubber panties stretched between his hands, Vivian smeared the rubber posts with vaseline. It looked like a humane thing to do. But Liz soon saw that the vaseline was not only to help the rods slide more easily into her but also so that mustard powder would stick to them.
She tried to stop Vivian from drawing the panties up her legs, but the two strong men held her tightly.
The rubber panties were so small that Vivian had to use all her strength to press Liz' full buttocks into them, and for every inch they crept up her hips the rods also had to be led into the proper holes.
At last they were in place. Every square inch of rubber stretched over the firm young flesh, and it looked as though the punishment panties had been painted on. They creased deeply between her buttocks and up between her legs. The rubber cylinders were completely buried to the roots.
But if the panties compressed her flesh toward the middle of her body the massive pillars pushed in another way. She felt squeezed and split apart at the same time.
She closed her eyes in fear and pain, and when she opened them again Vivian's naked body was still before her. In her hand she held a long braided whip. "Another advantage of these rubber panties is that I can whip your backside as hard and as long as I want and the skin is never broken. You must admit that these panties are a wonderful invention."
Immediately Liz experienced this wonderful invention in full. The whip hissed down upon the stretched rubber over her buttocks. It was unbelievably painful and she gasped in agony.
Vivian struck calmly and methodically. Whistling, well-placed blows, and under the taut rubber, welts could be seen rising, one after another.
Liz howled desperately. It was not only the whip, but the mustard powder had begun to work in her intestines and vagina. It prickled and burned until her anus began to contract.
"I ... ouch ... I ohhh ... I have to ... I'm going to the toilet."
"A big one or a little?" Vivian asked in amusement without missing a blow.
"A biiig ... ahhh ... I can't hooold myself...."
"I don't think anything will happen, dear Miss White. There is, if I may say so, a cork in the hole, and not only that the panties will not let anything leak out."
She was right. Both holes sealed tightly, and Liz had to hang there and take the pain in three different places.
The whip slashed steadily against her tender buttocks.
The mustard burned and scalded her holes, and need pressed and rumbled in her as a consequence of the irritating influence in her intestines.
When they released her, she was a completely different girl. Like a child she was led by the hand to a door where she saw a water-closet. They did not close the door after her, but stood at a safe distance watching her.
"Pull your panties down so you can make a pupah, Little Liz."
The irony did not affect her. The main point in her existence was to relieve the pressure in her intestines. She ignored the curious stares while she heaved and pulled to get the tight rubber down over her hips. It was almost impossible, for the energetic work with the whip had made her buttocks swell to even larger dimensions. Red with shame and exertion she slid the rubber panties down inch by inch, and the red-striped flesh popped into view over the edge of the rubber.
She cried with frustration, but at last she had the bizarre piece of clothing down around her thighs, only the two rubber cylinders remained. With a loud "plop" she got them out and threw herself backward onto the toilet seat.
A splashing sound showed that it had not been a second too soon. With the pressure removed Liz became strong enough to be embarrassed by her three observers who enjoyed themselves loudly and commented upon the involuntary and frequent sounds that echoed from the porcelain bowl.
"Be a little quiet, Liz. We cannot hear ourselves talking."
Tears of shame filled Liz's eyes. She had never been so humiliated.
But after a while, Vivian sent the two natives away, and now her tone was different. "Dear Liz, you can understand that I had to do it. It was for your own good that I beat the temper out of you. You do not realize what is awaiting you if you displease the Maharajah. It is not only that he could have you killed, but I have heard of how he has it done."
A sob shook Liz's body.
"Thanks, Vivian. You must excuse me for being so stupid."
"Not to worry. The girls are often like that in the beginning before they become accustomed to life here. If you do everything you can to please the Maharajah, your every desire will be fulfilled. And, after all, he cannot use you that often. At first you will be called up rather frequently, but later on he will hardly remember you more than every other month or so. Are you finished now?"
"Yes," Liz mumbled modestly.
"Stand up and I will wipe you."
"I ... I can do it myself."
"No arguments."
So Liz stood up and exposed her backside so that Vivian's hand with a piece of toilet paper could approach her.
"Normally your bath girls would have made you beautiful again. But if you have nothing against it, I would like to do it. It has been a long time since I have heard anything new from the outside world."
As Vivian bathed and massaged Liz, the talk grew more and more lively. Vivian made a good listener, but Liz had the impression that most of her interest was just idle curiosity.
"Don't you want to escape from here?"
"No. Honestly, I live a comfortable life, and the two or three times a year that it is my turn-remember, there are at least fifty girls in the palace-that's not so bad."
"Yes, but how ... I mean ... the rest of the time."
Vivian grinned. "Oh, you mean, how do I keep my pussy from becoming hungry in the meantime? I had better warn you that it is death to go to bed with another man other than the Maharajah. I would advise you not to try, for it is always discovered."
"Yes, but how...."
Vivian looked intensely at Liz. "I can help you. I rather like you, and unless you disapprove...." Liz looked blushingly down. "Maybe you have never been with another girl before?"
"Oh, yes, the girl who brought me here."
"A Vietcong girl, eh? Oh la la! Did you like it?"
"Yes...."
"Be happy, for that is the only permitted method here, and most of the girls do it with each other. It is something one gets used to, and the few poor girls who cannot have to satisfy themselves with dildos that they make themselves. It is better with another girl, don't you think?"
"Hmmm ... and I think that I would like to be together with you, Vivian."
"That's good, my dear."
Vivian placed one cupped hand upon Liz's hairy, tender mound.
Liz closed her eyes.
"No, I do not dare to make love to you now, Liz. You must save your strength for tonight, but maybe tomorrow. I can warn you however, that the Maharajah likes shaved pussies. But tonight he will take you with hair, I have been told."
"But you have hair there?"
"Yes, but it has been a long time since it was my turn and I do not bother to shave myself every week. But we are always told the day before, so I have time."
"Thank you for being so good to me, Vivian."
"That's all right, Liz. Now I will take you to your room and comfort you so that you get your strength back. Your two girls will wake you and prepare you in good time."
A tempting meal was standing in her room when they arrived. Vivian was also hungry. She was a "hard-working girl", as she said. The two girls threw themselves over the exquisite cuisine, laughed and played until Liz had to yawn.
"It's time for you to get some sleep."
Vivian began to undress Liz. She felt no embarrassment, for Vivian had already become well-acquainted with her body, and it was a wonderfully secure feeling to have a friend who petted one and tucked one in, even if it was clear that the friend could also be unmercifully strict.
"Sleep well. I must hurry. "The customers" are waiting."
Liz thought briefly about this sensitive girl who was now going down to torture some unhappy sister, then she fell into an exhausted sleep.
CHAPTER NINE
The splash of water in the bathtub awakened her. It was unbelievable the number of times that one bathed in this palace. But she had begun to become accustomed to this luxurious existence with two personal maids. If they did not serve her properly, she would send them down to Vivian so that they could have their little rumps whipped.
The thought made her sit up. Would she be permitted to watch the punishment? Maybe even swing a whip herself? Or perhaps she could order the two little girls to lick her pussy. She would have to talk with Vivian about that, for it was a very tempting thought. She also came to think of the chained Japanese girl she had passed in the garden. She had had a lovely body.
A nodding and smiling figure at the door to the bathroom awakened her from her sweet revelry. Like a queen, she strode into the bathroom. Of course, she was a queen with stripes on her ass, but that was obviously nothing special in this house.
For the second time in one day, she had a complete beauty treatment. Enveloped in clouds of heavy oriental scent, she leaned back in a chair and leafed through a fashion magazine.
From the girls, she understood that she would be called soon. And then she would have some pillow time with the Maharajah.
She was ready to do her best to satisfy him. Of course this change from an independent female reporter to a willing oriental slave had occurred with the help of physical pain and humiliation, but of itself it was not an unnatural metamorphosis. The whip had simply brought forward a new aspect of her personality. Now she was a woman who was a man's inferior. When she thought back upon her earlier existence, it seemed inconceivable that she had behaved that way. She had played with men's feelings, tormented them, and had even had one as a slave that she could whip. Now she realized that if anyone was to be whipped, it was her.
She sat and discovered that her earlier desire for mastery over men had really been a kind of self-loathing. Or a kind of revenge, because Fred had not been man enough to put her over his knee and spank her until she had crawled at his feet.
Now she was clear-headed and calm. Now she knew herself.
When the lackeys came for her, she arose proudly and walked between them through the corridors. This time handcuffs and a firm grip on her arms were unnecessary.
Again the elevator rose. Again she walked through he long rooms where doors opened silently between beautifully uniformed guards. Finally they came to a small door of ivory and precious stones. With a respectful tap by one of the lackeys the door opened and a tall, dignified Indian girl received them.
The two servants bowed deeply and withdrew as the tall girl closed the door in front of them. She regarded Liz critically.
"I am Fatima, the Maharajah's secretary of the bedchamber. We will have a great deal to do with each other in the future for I choose in consultation with His Highness the girls who will have the honor of spending a night in his bed. I regret your disgusting behavior earlier in the day, but you are new and His Highness has forgiven you.
"Forgiven? But I was ... whipped for it."
"That is also forgiveness. If the Maharajah had not forgiven you, you would be dead now. Or at least within a few days. But I hope that you now understand your position, for if you make the slightest trouble, everything is finished for you. So if you think that you need a little more punishment before you are a real woman, say so now. So I can find another girl for the Maharajah tonight, and I will give Vivian a message not to release you until the last of your Western ideas are whipped out of your body."
"I am obedient and willing now." Liz was surprised when these words came from her lips.
Fatima nodded in satisfaction. "Take your clothes off."
When she saw Liz' confusion, she smiled. "You would not go into the Maharajah's bed with your ordinary clothing on, would you?"
While Liz undressed, she wondered what could be more sophisticated than the trousers and blouse of blue silk with gold trim. But now she stood naked before Fatima's critical gaze.
"You have a beautiful body, but we must fatten you up a bit. I shall give the kitchen orders to prepare extra nourishing dishes for you. Turn around. Oh dear, there are still welts, but His Highness has nothing against red stripes. They only indicate tamed pride. Stand still while I dress you."
Dressing was an exaggerated expression. The top half consisted of two hollowed-out rubies that fitted over her nipples, a gold chain ran around her neck and between the rubies to hold her breasts together.
A smaller ruby was glued into her navel.
A triangle of curved gold plate, set with precious stones, was fitted over her triangle. From its upper corners a gold chain ran around her hips and' another chain came between her legs.
"It suits you perfectly," Fatima said in satisfaction.
"Should I not have more on? At least at first?" Liz stammered shyly.
"No." Fatima touched up Liz' hair. "Now you can go in. Remember the price of annoying your master."
With a caressing hand on one of Liz's naked buttocks, Fatima led her up to a silk covered door. She opened it, urged Liz in, then withdrew, closing the door after her.
The room was immense, but Liz did not have time to admire the magnificent setting, for directly before her was the bed.
It was as large as a dance floor and filled with red silk pillows with gold braid. It also held the Maharajah. A huge, brown, fat man, clad only in loose silk trousers that hung around his ankles. His eyes were alert and penetrating.
She did not know whether she should throw herself on her stomach or fall to her knees, so she remained standing. He waved her nearer. The marble floor was chilly to her bare feet, but his hypnotic stare drew her like a magnet.
With a gesture he indicated that she should stop a couple of steps from the bed.
"Dance for me."
Dance? How could she dance? Without music? What could she do?
At that moment a clanging, oriental music sounded from a hidden loudspeaker and Liz remembered a film in which Rita Hayworth did a belly dance.
She did her best to co-ordinate her hip movements with the music and a Western man would have found something pleasant in the sight of this almost naked young body doing its best to be sexually appealing.
Apparently the Maharajah was not offended by her lack of experience, for Liz could see a bulge in the front of his trousers. She turned in confusion and presented her bouncing buttocks to him. The size of the bulge was frightening, but of course, she could not judge accurately....
The music stopped. She stood still and turned her head slowly back over her shoulder. He waved her nearer. Hesitantly her naked feet moved toward the silken bed. He gripped her arm and drew her down so that her stomach rested over his thigh.
Was she to have a spanking? No. His large, fat hands began to fumble with her buttocks. They kneaded and gripped the soft flesh which was still tender after many days of punishment. He parted the two full half-moons so violently that Liz groaned with pain.
His fingers dug into the dark cleft until they were stopped by the thin gold chain that ran between her legs. She heard him grunt in satisfaction and felt her pride return. Her master had found pleasure in her body.
She was rolled onto her back and saw her proud, swollen breasts with their ruby nipples thrust toward his greedy face. With a jerk that tore at her neck he ripped the expensive bra off and tossed it into a corner. He gripped the firm flesh of her breasts. She saw his face bend over her and felt his teeth. He bit and waves of pain poured through Liz.
But she stiffled her groan. A kind of depraved pleasure soothed the pain in her breasts. She could feel his hard organ through his thin trousers. She wondered whether she should do anything, but decided that it was best to lie passive and allow herself to be used.
He lifted his head and looked at her body. The fat fingers bored under the gold plate that covered her secret parts. He tugged and the chain cut into her crotch. She gave a little scream, but the next tug broke the chain and her million dollar G-string clinked to the floor.
With a strength that she would never have expected in such a fat man, he rose to his knees so that she rolled over and over across the bed.
"Come, undress your master."
On all fours she crawled over the soft bed toward the threatening bulge that pointed at her like a gun on a battleship. When she pulled, she could hardly get the cloth over the head of this fearsome pillar of flesh that swayed before her nose.
He gripped her neck and she knew what was expected. She opened her mouth and felt it fill with smooth, warm flesh. She breathed with difficulty through her nose and her cheeks bulged out. He too began to puff and groan. His movements were almost gentle, and his smile was friendly as he pulled out of her mouth.
The whole bed rocked as his colossal body lay back full length. Under the mountain of his stomach, the prince's flagpole stood at attention. Was she to lie on top?
"You will ride me, my new, white wife with the big buttocks that shine like full moons."
Liz blushed, but took it for the compliment it was. Trembling she knelt at his feet and began to crawl toward his totem pole. She had to rise slightly before she could come over it. Now she sat down and felt the head meet her vulva. The Maharajah lay with half-closed eyes and with his fingers set her breasts to swaying.
"Guide it with your hand."
Liz had to use one hand to support herself while with the other she led the massive prick to her pussy. Now it was at the entrance, but could not come in. It was too thick and she dared not think of its length. She looked him in the eye. Behind the lustful friendliness lurked cruelty.
She closed her eyes, sighed, and settled more weight upon his prick. To avoid the temptation to support herself with her hands, she put them behind her neck. This movement made her breasts jut out even more as her weight pressed her further and further down over the length of his quivering prick. Ah, now! Most of it was in. Another moment and it would be entirely in.
Slowly she lowered her body and the lubrication that came from both of them helped her.
It hurt, of course, but there was also something else. Something that became stronger and stronger. She rode him more quickly and realized that she enjoyed it. She felt secure. She could not fall with this support within her. She was sure that she would sway in the air if she lifted her feet. A sucking sound between her legs told her that her own love juice was coming to make it pleasant for her master's organ to be inside of her.
Now her pleasure was so strong that she could no longer think of either herself or her master. She rode in a gallop and the only thing that mattered was to make the rubbing hard and fast enough.
The Maharajah was an experienced lover and could come whenever he pleased. Usually he preferred to come at the same time as the girl but this time he would observe her climax while he was fully conscious. With excited interest and increasing sympathy he lay and regarded this well-built young white woman bounce herself to an orgasm on the prick.
Shrieking and jibbering, with her head cast back and a happy smile on her lips, Liz rode to the border country where everything whirled around and the stars exploded.
As she slowly came to herself again, she saw that her head was resting on the Maharajah's soft fat pillows. He was no longer a fat man for her. He was her bull.
She could only move the upper half of her body. The rest was still spitted upon his pole. She looked at him with passionate eyes.
"My master."
He looked at her with satisfaction. The change was now complete. The whip had opened the way, but his magic wand had completed the miracle.
Now he also felt the need to release the power of his massive prick and virile balls. He lifted her as though she were a feather. With a graceful movement he removed her from her impalement.
"Now I will sacrifice myself at your other and smaller altar. Prepare yourself."
The flowery language of the Orient had already become a part of Liz' manner of thinking, and without hesitation she knelt with her head down and her hips in the air. He knelt behind her and caressed her soft buttocks, let his fingers glide down the cleft between them until she trembled.
She was angry with herself because he had so much difficulty entering her. Wallowing in pain she forced the harbor of her anus open to allow his ship of state to sail into its haven. At last she was exhausted and beads of sweat covered her forehead. Oh, she was about to faint with this filling and overflowing in her intestines.
He mumbled and purred as he forced himself further into her. She felt that he was about to come, but it was not the increasing thickness or the terrible pressure inside of her that made her moan:
"Let me have it in my mouth, oh, please, let me have it in my mouth!"
He had enough self-control left to see the appeal in this suggestion. He felt the resisting suction as he drew his prick out of the tight hole.
With shining eyes and blooming cheeks, the she-wolf, nanny goat, whore, nymphomaniac Liz whirled around and gripped the slimy pole with feverish hands. She shook with passion and whispered tenderly to it as she led it to her mouth. The organ's head bumped her lips and chin before she could get it stuffed in.
She didn't stop to think that this flesh had just come from her bowels. She only wanted to lick, to suck, to nip this warm mouth-full. Her other senses had vanished. She was one huge mouth!
As she felt the first warm splashes against the back of her throat she knew that she had fulfilled her mission. She had made her owner happy, and she snorted with joy as she swallowed and gargled the salty, thick proof of her master's pleasure.
Her head rested in her master's lap. Against her cheek she felt his limp, still wet organ. Between her bps she had a small fold of his sack. His hand lay upon her neck.
Perhaps he was thinking of political matters. Maybe he was considering the girl he would have tomorrow to satisfy him.
She knew that another would take her place tomorrow. But no trace of jealousy darkened her happiness. If only tomorrow's girl could make her Maharajah as content as he was now.
