He drew the whip back to arm's length and whistled it through the air. It cut like a knife into her belly. She howled in agony as a thin line popped up on her flesh to commemorate the switch's visit.
He snapped it viciously across her thighs and a duplicate welt appeared. Again and again he snapped the cutting branch onto her bare flesh, making livid lines appear with each slash. He neglected nothing. He had lines criss-crossing her thighs, her belly, her tits, her back and her ass.
The excruciating pain battered at her brain with sledgehammer blows, and her anguished wails became a steady, unceasing siren song, a lament to all the pitiable souls that have been damned to hell.
Sweat poured from Ira's dark body as he rained the savagely stinging blows onto her flesh, purging his personal devil with each slash.
Then, miraculously, the pain seemed to reach its peak and level off into a dull ache, like the beginning of a toothache. Then it, too, subsided, and a rosy warmth pervaded her body, each livid line emanating a pulsing glow. She no longer felt pain. She became overwhelmed with tremulous pulsations. They raced pell mell through her body, invading her brain, her tits, her belly and her cunt....
CHAPTER ONE
Colleen Franklin maneuvered the MG Midget skillfully through the sharp mountain curves. She loved driving the car; the speed, the curves, the impending danger. She didn't give a damn what her psychology professor said about the red car being a phallic symbol, she loved it!
The road meandered upgrade as it skirted the edge of the Wasuka Indian Reservation. At last she was to get her final interview and complete the thesis for her doctorate in psychology. She called it "The Drifters, a Critical Evaluation of the Aimless Strata of Teenage Society."
A smile appeared on her face as she sped over a sharp rise and then shifted down for a hairpin curve. As she came out of the curve she saw the cafe-filling station where she would meet Ira Cody, a young Wasukan militant. He had smashed windows in the courthouse, slashed police car tires and torn up a cocktail lounge, all in the space of twenty-four hours. It was a manifestation of his personal rebellion against the white authority that had debased and swindled and massacred his ancestors.
He wanted changes, and he tried to bring them about in the only way he knew; by violence. And now he was holed up in the mountains, momentarily safe from the authorities.
This meeting with Ira was to be the final chapter of her monumental undertaking; a rhetorical tract that would earn her her doctorate, but would not advance society, teenage or otherwise, one whit. She was pleased with herself and smugly confident as she pulled into the dilapidated oasis, but she didn't show it. Colleen was not known as a demonstrative woman.
It had taken her two weeks to persuade Ira Cody, over the telephone, that he should meet with her and answer her questions assuring him that her thesis would help him and his people.
He finally agreed to the meeting, but he insisted that she must come alone and tell no one where she was going. They would meet at the roadside cafe, and if he thought that she had followed his instructions, he would take her back to his camp for the interview. She didn't approve of the conditions he put forth, but she acquiesced.
As she shut off the engine, she felt herself tightening up. Ira's reputation preyed on her mind. He was a youth given to sudden bursts of anger; impulsive and dangerous. But she felt confident that she could handle him. In her twenty-eight years of life she had learned most of the subtle tricks that women used to turn men on. And equally as important, she knew the subterfuges that turned them off. Some of it was learned by experience and observation, and some of it was learned in the psychology classroom.
She checked her appearance. The pure white blouse she wore was open at the throat and pressed tightly against her full breasts, with an inch of cleavage showing. The pale blue skirt she wore was hemmed two inches above her knee. Her figure was trim and taut and her legs were sleek. Her lipstick was pale, and her long blond hair was freshly washed and subtly scented. She wore new white deck shoes over her hose as Ira had suggested.
Colleen had read about his escapades but had never seen a picture of him. Would he be attractive, she wondered? A big man or a skinny youth? Would he find her attractive? Would he think she was a sexual pushover and try to make a pass, using the interview as leverage?
To her logical mind, the conditions that Ira insisted on seemed highly dramatic. And as a trained psychologist, the arrangements seemed to be a set-up for seduction. Teenage society seemed, to her, to be sex oriented; having to "get it" regularly and having to be "turned on" perpetually. Clinically, she found it intrigueing, but personally, she found it repugnant.
A set-up for seduction? She thought back to the three times that men had tried to take her by force. One of them became more frightened than she and ran away, the second turned out to be impotent, and the third was so clumsy and unsophisticated that she took pity on him and helped him out. But she didn't enjoy it, nor was she satisfied. Unfortunately, Colleen had never been satisfied with sexual intercourse, forced or accepted, and so she put her full efforts into her studies, pretending that sex didn't exist.
Before she entered the disreputable shack, she looked about. The wood building was built on the edge of a cut that the road crew had left years before. The gas pumps were covered with dust and looked as though they hadn't dispensed a gallon of gas in six months. The land behind it rolled away in deserted ridges and valleys, foreboding and barren, just as it had been for the past twenty miles.
The unpainted door squeaked open on its dry hinges, and inside she found one bare globe glowing in the middle of the room. It was more of a general store than a cafe, with a few racks of fly-specked cans, boxes of food staples and one small table for customers. She had to peer closely to make out the man behind the counter.
He had been sleeping on his arms, but now he watched her sullenly, appraising her through slitted eyes. When he stood up, she saw that he was shirtless and young, with hard muscles rippling on his arms and over a flat stomach that vanished into the tops of his cut-off jeans. His skin was many shades darker than her own, and his face was dominated by high cheek bones and dark flashing eyes.
He stared at her legs and then her breasts. He smiled appreciatively, making no secret of the fact that he found her womanly attributes stimulating.
In spite of the lecherous way that he stared at her, she felt no resentment. Rather, she empathized with him. He was young, over six feet tall, and his eyes, behind the obvious lechery, held a haunted, hunted look. It had to be Ira Cody. But he was so much bigger, stronger and somehow more sure of himself than she had imagined.
Certainly nothing like the eighteen-year-old rebel she expected to find. She smiled apprehensively.
"Hello. Are you Ira Cody?"
"A few people been wondering that, lady."
He sounded antagonistic, like an animal expecting a trap to be sprung. She would have to be careful not to frighten him away.
"Is Mr. Cody here?" she asked, firming her voice with a touch of authority.
"You the writer chick?"
She frowned, thinking that he had been misled. "I'm not a writer," she corrected him. "I'm doing research for a paper on psychology. My name is Colleen Franklin, and Ira Cody said he'd meet me here."
The man didn't react, physically or vocally. She waited a moment and then spoke candidly. "You are Ira Cody, aren't you? I don't blame you for being wary away from your peer group. But I'm not that much older than you. I'm still under thirty. You can trust me. I did as you asked. No one knows I came here and no one followed me."
He looked again at her legs and breasts. "You got too good a body to be a psychologist."
Colleen felt a fleeting thrill at the compliment. "Thank you," she said politely. "I'm thirsty. May I have a Coke or something?"
He reached under the counter and brought out two cans of cold beer. Bringing them to the table after he opened them, he turned a chair around and straddled it, his arms resting on the back. Then he motioned for her to take the other chair.
As she sipped the beer, she quickly appraised Ira; big, young, cocksure and sexually immature. His face was smooth and hairless, like his arms and chest.
Ira drained the beer. With one hand he crushed the can in the middle and then bent the two ends together. He tossed it behind the counter without looking.
"Ira, you know why I'm here. I want to talk about the plight of the Indian people. I want to know why you've conducted a one-man rebellion instead of trying to organize a peaceful mass demonstration to get social satisfaction. I want to know what it's been like hiding out from the police. And I want to know if you still think your cause is worth living like a hunted animal for."
She waited again, waited for some sign that she was getting through to him. None came.
"My thesis could help you and your cause. And I certainly can't hurt you."
He chuckled lightly. "I know sure as shit that you can't hurt me, baby."
"Then you will talk to me?" she asked, getting her pad from her purse. "Not here."
"Why not? There's nothing to fear." She tried to soothe him as she would a frightened child. "There're no police within twenty miles."
"This joint bugs me. I like it in the open. I like room to move."
She stood up. "Fine. Let's go outside and conduct the interview."
"Hell no!"
"Ira, I've come a long way, and you agreed to talk with me. I don't intend spending the whole day here. An hour's questioning will give me all the data I need. I do have other commitments later in the day."
"I thought you wanted to see my camp."
"After we talk, and if I have the time."
"You pulling some shit on me?"
Colleen took a tissue from her purse and blotted the perspiration from her brow. It was not going at all as she had expected it would.
"Ira, I'm not trying to trick you. You agreed to talk with me here at the cafe. Then, if I had the time, I said I'd like to see your camp."
"You really want to see my camp?"
"I said I do, if I have the time."
"Then let's go now," he suggested, getting nimbly to his feet. "It's cooler there, and I got a stream full of beer."
He was safe from the long arm of authority where they were. The old highway outside was used almost exclusively by the Indians, now that the new Interstate Freeway knifed through the heart of the state. She wondered why he insisted on going to his camp. Was he proud of what he had done in the wilderness, or did he have something else in mind? Could he, at age eighteen, have arranged the meeting so he could seduce her?
"How far is it, Ira?" she asked warily.
His eyes brightened. "Not far."
"Ira, 'not far' out here might be considerably farther than I have the time for."
"Come on, I'll show you," he said, ambling lazily toward the door. She followed; she had no choice if she wanted the interview.
"That's a great set of wheels," he commented as he looked at her car. "I sure wish I had one. Course it wouldn't make it back to my camp-too rough. We'll go in my Jeep." He looked around. "Should get that slick paint job out of the sun. Might blister."
It was as though she had said she would go along with him, and she was taken in by his confident attitude.
"How about under those trees?" she suggested, and before she realized that she was acquiescing to his wishes, he continued talking.
"Nope. Sun moves." He walked to the back of the building to where a small shed leaned against it. The door had broken off and he kicked it aside, along with some rusted tin cans.
"Drive her in here. Old Baldy owns the place, and he won't mind."
Ten minutes later they had the Midget put away and the door leaning in place. Ira jumped into his Jeep, a World War II veteran that was tired, patched and creaking with complaints, but operational. Colleen stood hesitantly beside the vehicle. Should she or shouldn't she?
"Which direction is your camp?"
"That way," he answered, pointing to the north toward a rising hillock that obscured the horizon beyond. "Just over the rise."
"Is it over a mile?"
Ira cocked his head as he estimated the distance. "Probably a mite over."
Colleen checked her watch. It was 9:30 AM. "I'd like to see your camp, but I must be back here by noon. I have a dinner date at five-thirty."
"No sweat, Miss Franklin."
He made no move to help her get in over the high sides. He grinned as she tried one way and then another to get in without hiking up her tight skirt. At last, seeing that she had no choice, she lifted her skirt to her crotch and stepped in. Sunlight splashed off her creamy inner thigh as she settled into the seat and pulled her short skirt down. Ira grinned and whistled softly.
If he said anything she would clobber him with her purse, Colleen thought, fuming at his obvious amusement at her discomfit.
He ground the Jeep into gear and they skidded out of the sand-covered lot onto a dirt road that angled away from the main highway. They jolted downward almost at once. It was so steep and rough in places that Colleen thought she would be bucked out of her seat. At last the narrow lane leveled off, and they wound through brush and greaseweed-covered hills toward the north. Dust, the stifling, permeating particles of fine sand was king. It billowed behind them and blew across them, boiling up through the floor of the Jeep to cover everything with a silty blanket.
Colleen looked at him and spoke sharply, "Ira, we've covered more than a mile already. Where's your camp?"
"Up ahead. I'm not too good at judging distance."
She accepted that with a frown, but she accepted it. They drove for another five minutes before Ira stopped the Jeep on a rise.
"Look over there. That's where we're going." As he pointed he leaned partway in front of her, pressing his hand on her thigh. She grabbed for his hand, and as she did her skirt was brushed up to her crotch. She quickly pushed it back down, turned to him and slapped him. Silence. His face froze, expressionless and inscrutable, and she cringed, not knowing what to expect in return. He smiled evilly, as though counting her mistakes, intending to balance the books in the near future.
"You got great legs, baby. And a snug-looking crotch. But that figures. Any chick with a set of tits like yours has to have a snug box."
Colleen slapped him again, the sharp crack echoing across the barren waste of land. "Turn this Jeep around right now and take me back to my car!" It was an order, a no-nonsense order that she expected to be obeyed immediately.
He looked at her, a smug smirk on his face, and scratched casually at his crotch.
"Why should I take you back? We ain't talked yet."
"Take me back, or I'll walk," she snapped angrily. She grabbed her purse and jumped out of the car not caring that her skirt flew up to her hips and exposed her plump ass.
Ira laughed and waited until she was at the back of the vehicle before informing her, "It's about five miles back to the road, and I guess there's about two hundred rattlesnakes per mile. Have fun."
Colleen became petrified. Snakes had always terrorized her, even harmless garter snakes. Just the thought of them made her stomach knot painfully and her flesh crawl. Her herpephobia was more intolerable than having Ira's hand pawing her thigh.
"How much farther to your camp?"
"Fourteen, fifteen miles."
"You told me a mile."
"So I lied. Call me a prick!"
Colleen pounded the side of the Jeep. She didn't know what to do. Five miles wasn't far, but she didn't feel brave enough to risk an encounter with a snake. She could go on to his camp, tolerate his increasing familiarity, get her interview and then talk him into bringing her back. The latter seemed more reasonable and infinitely safer. A grasshopper's beating wings made her heart pound frantically, and she leaped into the Jeep.
"I'll go with you if you promise to have me back to my car by one-thirty." She talked down to him as though he were a precocious child, and she was chastising him for some inconsequential mischief.
"Sure, Miss Franklin," he assured her solemnly. "Fuck, you didn't think I was going to kidnap you and hold you for ransom or something, did you? I was just having a little fun."
She thought about it. She had hit him and he hadn't reacted violently. He was just a boy, a wild, rebellious boy who thought it was masculine to spout obscenities. She could handle him.
"All right. But no more pawing."
He nodded agreeably. They lurched ahead into drier, more barren and dusty land. Ira kept silent, concentrating on making his way over the rutted, rock-strewn path that had become nothing more than a deer path. In the bottom land sparse green grass showed, but it was wilted, dying now that the winter moisture had been baked from the ground.
Near the end of a dry river bed, Ira skidded the rig to a stop and took a canteen of water from under the seat. He opened it and drank first, and then, after handing it to her, he bucked the Jeep forward so the water would spill as she put it to her lips. The cool water drenched the front of her blouse, and Ira laughed as she tried to dry herself.
"Don't worry, Miss Franklin. Those tits of yours will dry out real fast in this sun."
Colleen looked straight ahead. He was crude, coarse, foul-mouthed and becoming more and more aggressive. She should have walked when she had the chance, but now she was committed to see it through. It was much too far to walk in that oppressive heat. The sun bore down on them with greater intensity as it rose in the cloudless sky. The trail disappeared altogether as they entered a wild, sandy area, and he drove more by instinct than plan.
The dry, sandy stretch was a mile wide, punctuated by sand dunes. Hot breezes whipped the loose sand off the ridges and Ira had to blast across the edges of some of the dunes, never letting the Jeep lose power.
Once across the sand he headed up a long valley, the end of which was green, signaling water. Colleen eased her nervous-tight grip on the side of the car, telling herself that she could handle him. He was big and strong, but he was no match for her mentally. He was a headstrong youth who would react according to the book. And she knew the book backward and forward.
Progress was slow, and twice Ira had to get out of the Jeep to roll boulders out of the way. An hour after they had left the sand dunes the Jeep came to a stop under a cool screen of cottonwood trees. The leafy trees assimilated their water from a small stream that bounced and splashed from the slopes above. The water struggled through the dry land for a mile more before the parched earth guzzled it up.
Colleen climbed out of the Jeep, her body stiff and aching, and ran to the stream where she washed her hands and face.
"Water's good to drink," Ira called.
She scooped up a handful of the pure water and drank her fill. It was clean, refreshing and cold.
When she went back to the Jeep, Ira had slipped on a packboard that had a case of beer tied to it.
"Let's go," he said.
"Go where?" she asked. "Isn't this your camp?"
"Fuck no! It's up there, where you can look out and see the whole fucking valley."
"This is as far as I'm going. It's lovely and we can talk here. Besides, I'm tired."
"You'll want some food before we start back. It's all up there."
She looked up the trail. She had come this far, so she might as well struggle the rest of the way. She would garner a plethora of material for the last pages of her thesis. Reluctantly, she followed.
The trail was not hard, but he had to help her over a few spots, his hands invariably finding the flesh of her tits or her ass when he did. Her deck shoes proved their worth now, and she understood why he suggested that she wear them. As they topped the final rise, Ira's camp came into view. It nestled in a grove of cottonwoods, sprinkled with a few willow and pine. To one side a natural cave tunneled into the rock wall.
Ira went into the grove and dropped his pack. Nearby, two folding cots were on either side of a crude stone fireplace, with the stream running within ten feet of it. A large wooden box completed the campsite.
"Now I know why you wanted me to see your camp," she said, stretching her arms and breathing deeply of the crisp, fresh air. "Its' lovely."
Ira spread a blanket and pointed to it. "Sit down and I'll get some cold beer. He walked to the stream and fished two cans from it, returning to Colleen as she scribbled some ideas on her pad.
"Ira, how far did you get in school before you dropped out?" she asked as he sat cross-legged by her side.
"Dropped out?" he snorted. "Fuck. I was kicked out halfway through the ninth grade. White-eyes didn't wart a skulking injun fucking up the school."
"That's unforgivable," she said, sympathizing with him.
He didn't want her sympathy. He wanted her iuicy twat, and his hand began to slide along her thigh. She wriggled away from him.
"Ira!" she gasped. "I can't ask pertinent questions if you're going to allow your libido to get the best of you. Please, keep your hands to yourself!"
He moved swiftly and caught her from behind, holding her in a sitting position between his legs with her back to him. His hands moved up from her hips to her breasts, one huge paw crushing the whiteness of her blouse against the solid flesh.
"Stop!" she screamed. He didn't move his hands away, but increased his wanton massage.
"Ira, we're both adults. Your conduct isn't rational. I won't stand for it. Ira, I'm ten years older than you!"
"With tits like these, who gives a shit how old you are. You just fuck me, Miss Franklin. Fuck me good." His breath was hot against her ear.
Colleen screamed. It pierced through the grove of trees and bounced off the rock escarpment, echoing down into the valley.
"Go on, baby, scream your fucking head off. Think they'll hear you forty miles away?"
She dropped her head suddenly, and her teeth clamped hard into his wrist. She felt her teeth tear through skin and flesh, and she heard his painful yelp of surprise. He didn't let go. She rammed her head back, smashing it into the cartilage of his nose. He let her go and grabbed for his nose. She scrambled to her feet and ran for the far side of the stream.
Which way was the trail, she wondered in terror? Which way? She didn't know, so she just ran, without direction, without a plan, driven on by panic.
Ira licked his wounds. Then, growling in anger, he ran after her. As he neared her, she grabbed a stick and held it up threateningly. He made a move and she swung, the inch-thick branch smashing into his thigh with a dull thud, missing his balls by the width of his hand.
"You fucking cunt!" he bellowed, knocking the stick from her grasp. He grabbed her and held her tightly in one arm while he caught the bottom of her blouse with his free hand and jerked it fiercely. The thin blouse shredded and hung loosely from her shoulders.
"Motherfucker! What a set of jugs! he gasped. He pulled her along the trail and then pushed her down hard onto the blanket. Colleen gathered the torn blouse about her and tried to cover her upper flesh.
"You're insane!" she screeched.
Ira pointed his thick finger at her nose. "You ever whack me again with a stick and I'll bite the fucking nipples off your tits!"
Colleen felt sick. Somehow she had to reach him, to reason with him. Her only chance to keep from being raped was to outwit him.
"Why don't we reason this out rationally, Ira? You're angry with society and you want to take your frustrations out on any white person who's available."
"Bullshit. I want to get fucked. Society ain't got nothing to do with it."
"Ira, listen to me. You don't want me. I'm too old for you. I can help you!"
"You sure can help me, baby. I love old cunt. You can let me fuck your belly off. That's the only way you can help me."
He lunged at her and ripped off the rest of the tattered blouse. She was on her knees facing him, and she tried to cover herself with her crossed arms, but he held his arms apart.
"What's the big fucking deal? You agreed to meet me and you knew fucking well that I was going to try and fuck you. Shit, baby, you've been dicked lots of times. I can tell. You get a big cock in you and your legs go up high and never come down. Why fight it, cunt? Just spread your legs and take it."
"You're disgusting. You're an animal with a foul mouth and a diseased mind. If I had a gun I'd shoot you, just as I'd shoot any sick animal." She knew that she shouldn't aggravate him, that it only incited him and stimulated his sexuality, but she couldn't help herself.
He laughed, and rolled onto his back. Colleen jumped to her feet and ran, this time down the trail toward the Jeep. If she could only get to the Jeep! She didn't notice the brush scratching her arms or the jutting rocks scraping her legs, she was too intent on reaching the car. When she rounded a rocky crag, Ira was standing in the trail waiting for her. She froze.
"If you touch me, I'll kill you. I know karate."
"Bullshit," he snarled.
"I'll find a kinfe and cut you to ribbons!"
He laughed. "All fucking talk and no action." he said tauntingly. He pulled his knife from its sheath and tossed it to her feet.
"Let's see if you got any balls, cunt."
Colleen snatched up the knife and ran at him. She slashed wildly at him, but he expertly parried the frantic thrust, grabbed her wrist and twisted the blade from her grasp.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as Ira pushed her up the trail. When they reached the blanket, he backhanded her across the jaw. She dropped like a chunk of lead, her head swimming dizzily. He kneeled beside her and lay her back, his hands exploring the firmness of her tits. When she realized what he was doing, she sat up and swung her fist at him, but the balled hand never reached him. The heel of his hand exploded on the point of her chin and she fell backward, her mind barely clutching to consciousness.
"You keep trying, don't you, cunt?" He slipped his knife under the center of her brassiere and sliced upward. The lacy garment fell apart, revealing two perfectly formed breasts, heavily tipped with bright red nipples.
"Motherfucker. What a pair of tits!" His hands flew over her tits, squeezing, massaging and kneading them with salacious enthusiasm.
"Maybe you came here to talk, baby, but I hauled your ass up here for a better reason. I'm gonna spread your white legs and give you a fucking like you only dream about."
Colleen flew at him, kicking and screaming, spitting and biting. She raked one hand down his cheek and saw four scratches turn deep red. She tried to kick him in the balls, but missed. The sudden, fierce attack drove him back and he lost his balance, falling heavily to his back.
She ran again down the trail and he raced after her, finally tripping her. She rolled over and over in the grass. Her skirt whipped up around her waist and he fell on top of her, ramming his hand up to her crotch.
"I think I'll fuck you right here, fast and hard!"
She spat in his face and he smashed her across the jaw. Her jaw felt like it snapped, and the pain battered her brain like pelting rocks. She wailed her sobbing response, tears popping from her eyes in salty drops.
"Knock off the fucking crying, cunt."
Colleen tried to control her tears, but they wouldn't stop flowing. She was exhausted and hurt and fear-ridden. Ira meant to rape her, to stick his dirty prick in her, and she had no way of stopping him. All she had done so far was to delay the inevitable.
"You sneaky fucking cunt!" he roared. "You just don't give up, do you? But this time you almost got yourself wasted."
He reached for a string tied to a young pine and pulled it gently. He stayed well back from it and pulled hand over hand, slowly drawing the end of the string onto the trail. The string was tied securely around the middle of a four foot long rattlesnake. When the tension of the string slackened, the snake coiled, rattled and struck at a stick that Ira held out to it. Colleen leaped back, shrieking in panic.
"I got fifteen or twenty of these rattlers tied along the trail, Miss Cunt. So if you want to try and slip off, go on."
She took a cautious backward step in the direction of the camp, and then another and another. Then she turned and ran, her hands trembling with fright, and she didn't stop running until she fell exhausted onto the blanket. She cried as she hadn't cried since her father, whom she adored, had died.
Her body was still shuddering with heavy sobs when he sat next to her, his hand touching her shoulders almost tenderly. She shook it off.
"Go away!" she pleaded. She wriggled away from him, and he followed. She sat up, rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand before looking down at her bared titties. Then she looked up at him defiantly.
"What do you want from me?" she asked weakly.
"You got to be the most stupid cunt in the world if you don't know by now. I want you bare-assed and on your back with my cock in you."
"Will you drive me to my car after?" she asked. She was willing to accept the inevitable, but she had to have some hope that that would be the end of her ordeal.
He moved in front of her and unzipped the fly of his cut-off Levis. And very slowly he pulled them down to show his rock-hard penis and up-tight scrotum. The throbbing rod was like a muscular arm, stretching nine inches out from his groin. He pulled the shorts off and removed his boots, Colleen's eyes staying fearfully glued to the massive weapon while he did. It was as though she expected the wicked-looking lance to suddenly attack and impale her if she took her eyes from it.
"I might drive you back afterwards," he finally answered.
"Promise me that if I don't fight you, you'll drive me back."
"Keee-rist, cunt. How the fuck do I know how I'll feel after I fuck you. Maybe I'll want more. Maybe after I drop my load, I'll be too fucking bushed to drive."
"Promise me," she demanded.
"Fuck you," he shot back as he rested on his heels, waving his huge pole at her.
She had doubled her fist in her lap, and with a suddenness that caught him off guard she thrust at his balls. She missed the vulnerable zone, but richochetted into his cock. He whelped, more in surprise than pain, and then grabbed her by the wrists and jerked her to her feet.
"You filthy cunt! You cocksucking cunt! You tried to smash my balls!" He dug his fingers into one of her tits and squeezed until she screamed pitifully, tears again streaming down her face from the agonizing pain.
"You ain't never gonna get off this mountain, you fucking cunt. You hear me? You ain't never gonna need no clothes again."
He jerked her skirt down to her ankles.
"You're gonna fuck and fuck and fuck and do anything I want you to do. I'm gonna keep you up here till I fuck your cunt into raw hamburger. If you want to split, remember it's forty miles to your car-forty miles of waterless dust and coiled rattlers."
Colleen looked down. All that remained on her body were her panty hose and her shoes. Her eyes rose up to his genitals. His cock was bulging like the entrapped blood was trying to burst through its fleshy confines. It was huge, flushed and menacing, and she wished that she had an axe in her hand so she could chop it off.
He reached for her. He was two steps away, but it seemed an eternity before he touched her. She felt icy fingers race along her spine as his hand neared her, and she knew that she had to do something, anything. She sprang away from him and ran toward the fire ring, reasoning that there must be some kitchen utensils there, maybe even a knife. She saw a small paring knife and scooped it up on the run, and then another item caught her eye; a spray can of insecticide. She grabbed it and darted behind the large wooden box.
Ira had become impatient with the game, and he dashed after her. He was a big man, but he was blessed with a cat-like quickness that would give him the ultimate advantage. As he rushed her, her arm came up and she sprayed the insect repellant in his face. He screamed and stumbled backwards. Colleen leaped after him, spraying the insecticide and jabbing at him with the paring knife. She felt the knife dig into his upper arm. She saw a rush of blood and felt momentarily sick.
Ira recovered quickly and roared after her, swinging at the can but missing. His second swipe hit her arm, and the knife flew into the brush. He could hardly see as Colleen moved behind a tree, spraying the mist as he rushed past. He spun around and pinned her against the tree, stripping the can from her hand and rubbing the spray from his eyes with his free hand.
"Okay, cunt-that was your last shot. After I throw a fuck into you, I'll dream up something nice and painful to get even."
He pulled her to the fire ring and tied her hands behind her back with a piece of quarter-inch line. Then, pushing her ahead of him to the blanket, he tripped her so she fell heavily on her belly, the air whooshing out of her. He rolled her to her back, pinning her arms under her body. Then he pulled her panty hose down, snaking them over her ass and peeling them off her legs.
"Beautiful," he cried. "Looks as tight as a virgin snatch." He licked his lips as he looked at the vee of delicate blond curls at her crotch. He brushed his palm across them and snickered wickedly as she squeezed her legs together. He pulled her into a sitting position and watched her luscious breasts bounce. He cupped the upright globes in his hands and massaged them gingerly.
"Man, what tits," he sighed. "I'm a tit man. Some dudes like asses, some like legs, some like bellies. Me, I go ape over a set of big tits!"
His dark face came past her and his tongue licked her nipples, causing the pulpy berries to puff up with excitement. It was the last thing in the world she wanted, but she couldn't control the tremors that began invading her libido.
He chewed on them, nibbled on them, and sucked on them until they became engorged with blood and rose tautly erect. She was being stimulated to passion, and she hated him for it. She struggled desperately to stifle her burgeoning lust, but in vain.
He pushed her down to her back, and his lips burned kisses into her tits and neck and cheek. He then covered her mouth with his and nibbled on her lips., while his hands massaged her bountiful mammaries and his torrid phallus rubbed into her belly.
She knew that she would lose the ultimate battle, but he would know he had been in a fight.
His hands kneaded her tit-flesh and then worked down to her belly, fingering lightly over the quivering flesh. Next to feel the touch of his thick fingers was her pubic area, as he stroked through the blond curls and pressured the flesh below. He massaged and caressed her thighs just inches from her pussy-lips, but she held them tightly locked. She tried to roll over, but his weight held her crushed to the blanket. His rough fingers explored the dainty hairs and slowly moved closer and closer to her labia. She wanted to scream, but his mouth was crushing and she could scarcely breathe.
His knee drove suddenly between her legs and pried them apart. She was now bared and at his mercy. But mentally she still fought on. That was one thing he would never do; seduce her mind.
His probing digit traced the length of her slim labial slit and then abruptly poked its way into her vulva, his fingernail scraping painfully across her delicate tissues. The searing pain brought tears to her eyes and torture to her brain.
"At least you ain't no fucking virgin," he said. "I thought sure you was when I first saw you, but with them tits it'd be mighty hard to keep your box from being opened. When did you get plucked-fourteen, fifteen?"
He snickered and wetly kissed each elated teat. "Man oh man! Them tits almost makes a man forget pussy."
His finger kept exploring her pussy, searching for her clit. "Damn! You're gonna be as tight as a baby sheep. But I'll loosen you up with old Johnny Reb here."
He pulled both his legs up until he was sitting on her hips, his knees beside her breasts.
"You met my friend, Johnny Reb, yet?" he asked, pulling her head up so she could look at his pulsing shaft. Her eyes widened and her breath balled in her throat.
"You eat cock? Sure you do. All cunts eat cock. You might not think so now, but in a couple of days you'll be begging for it."
Oh, God, she thought, he had no intention of letting her go, even after he had raped her. He meant to hold her a prisoner and torture her.
He dropped her head and she bucked with her hips, trying to unseat him, but it was a vain effort.
"You do have balls, Miss Franklin. I like that. It's a hell of a lot better'n ramming your prick into some dishrag twat."
Her legs were locked again and her ankles were crossed, but with his feet he uncoupled her ankles, and with his knees he pried her legs apart. It was as easily done as if she were a small child beneath him. He grabbed her tits and supported himself on his knees and elbows, dropping his hips until his cock slid down her pubic hairs and grazed her labia. She gasped, uncertain if the feeling she experienced was pain or pleasure. She gritted her teeth and tried to toss him off, but she had no leverage and he had too much strength.
He pushed his hips forward until his cock-head nuzzled tightly against her pussy-lips. She whimpered fearfully.
He reached between her thighs and used his fingers to part the petals of her plump twat. He then eased his glans into the opening, making sure that it was solidly seated in the snug orifice before pulling his hand away. Latching on to her hips, he rammed ahead viciously, tearing tissue as the massive cock screeched along her lightly used vagina.
She could feel the bloated pole spreading her cunt with its ungodly thickness, and excruciating pain ravaged her brain. She screamed hysterically. She wasn't a virgin, but she might just as well have been, the agony was so debilitating. There was a pillar of fire in her cunt and it wouldn't abate, even though her vaginal walls oozed a copious flow.
Ira pulled his meaty spear gradually back, and she thought the movement would never stop. When it finally did, he rammed savagely into her again up to his crinkly black hilt, and their pelvic bones ground like rasping files against each other.
He repeated the agonizing stroke three times in rapid succession and Colleen cried openly, her cunt feeling like it was being packed with embers.
Ira was oblivious to her enervating agony. He knew only that his gigantic cock was ensheathed in an exquisitely tight cunt, being pulled and squeezed with velvety vises. He pumped harder and his breath came in raging gasps. He rutted and rutted, faster and faster into her smoldering pussy, trying to bring about the burgeoning orgasm that boiled in his testes.
The length of her vaginal chamber burned with fire as each wanton stroke seared raw flesh. Then, mercifully, the explosion came. With a gutteral groan, he rammed totally into her and held his swollen prick immobile as it spewed its milky load. Then, drained and exhausted, he toppled to his side, his dying tool slipping from her come-filled twat with a lewd slurp.
The blanketing pain was gone, replaced with a dull ache, but it allowed her brain to function again. A minute or so later he got to his feet and grabbed his shorts, looking down at her with a quizzical look.
She lay unmoving, but her eyes glaring at him defiantly.
"Miss Franklin, as far as ass goes, you weren't too good. But don't fret, you'll come around. Me and Johnny Reb are gonna work on you." He turned and headed for the cave.
CHAPTER TWO
"Run, run, run!" she thought. She struggled to sit up. Her arms were numb under her, but she had to sit up. She rolled to her side and pushed with her elbow, finally getting into a sitting position after a prolonged struggle. She crossed her legs and pushed herself up slowly, torturously, until she was on her feet.
Her ravaged cunt ached and throbbed, but all she had on her mind was escape. But where would she run now that she was on her feet. Not past the snakes; that would be too terrifying. Upstream seemed to be her most promising avenue. She ran, splashing into the stream and fighting her way upcurrent. She didn't try to be quiet, she only tried to put as much distance between her and her tormentor as she could She ran as far as she could, then the narrow stream came to a jumble of boulders that she couldn't climb without the use of her hands.
"Run! Get away!" she muttered, almost incoherently. The words ran around in her fevered brain like scampering mice. She knew she had to do something, but her arms were tied behind her back and her pussy burned like hell. It was on fire! She sat down in the stream and the cold water shocked her back to some measure of lucidity. She shook her head and looked around.
How did she get there? Slowly, her full senses returned. Her mind cleared and she recalled the horrible experience that she had just gone through. She had just been raped by Ira Cody, and she had run away in a hysterical frenzy. But now that she was rational again, she decided that she would go back to camp and demand that he drive her to her car.
She was surprised to find that she had only gone two hundred yards from the camp. Ira was sitting beside a small fire with a frying pan, dressed only in his denim shorts. She came out of the water and stood by him, her body shivering from the cold.
"Untie my hands, they're hurting," she said.
"Say please, you fucking cunt."
"Please." It was sullen and reluctant.
He cut the ropes with a sneer and then watched as she rubbed the circulation back into her wrists.
"You get your kicks ordering men around, don't you?" She ignored him. "A career girl, all brains and no pussy. You tried it once and put it down. I seen a lot of chicks like you. They get dried-up twats and shrunken tits and then get bitchier and bitchier as time goes by. But not you. Not yet, anyway. You still got too much cunt and too much tits for that."
"If that's supposed to be a compliment, thanks for nothing," she snapped icily.
"Oh, you tried balling, But mostly you get your jollies by fucking men around, not fucking them. If you got more dick, you'd be a lot better off."
"Is there something I can eat?" she asked, pretending that she didn't hear a word he said. But she did hear him and he was right. She did lord her mental superiority over men, and she did reject sex.
"Sure, Miss Franklin. You're a pretty good piece of ass."
She hated the smug bastard, but he was more rational now and she could use psychology on him. It might possibly work if she wasn't too obvious.
Colleen pulled on her skirt and what was left of her blouse. She used a scarf from her purse as a bra. At least she was covered, however tenuously, and she didn't feel so vulnerable. She looked at her watch, which was miraculously still running.
Two-thirty. Was it still so early? She felt as though she had been in that wooded glen for a week.
"This is a lovely spot, Ira," she began casually, as though she had just finished an interview. "But now I've got to get started if I'm going to get back to town in time for my appointment."
He looked at her with a sneer. "You jiving me? Sit your ass down. You ain't going no place."
"Ira, you said that you'd have me back to my car by one-thirty."
"Bullshit. I said I might take you back. But I like your pussy. You're staying!"
She screamed, stamped her foot and threw a tin plate at him. He ducked it and slapped her hard, leaving the imprint of his fingers on her cheek. She started crying, and her casual attitude drained away.
"Shut up! That's all my old lady ever did. Cry, cry, all the time, till I thought I'd crawl the walls!"
She sniffled her tears to a standstill and then became angry again. He was an eighteen-year-old deliquent, and he was getting the better of her, physically and mentally.
"Grow up, Ira," she spat at him. "Did you really think I'd come up without telling anyone? I told my professor, and left a note with him for the police. I also phoned my father, who's expecting a call from me by five-thirty. If he doesn't get it, he'll be looking for me with a rifle."
Ira laughed uproariously. "Miss Franklin, baby, you're so full of shit it's coming out of your ears. You didn't tell anyone you was coming up here. You know it and I know it. So knock off the bullshit. You got fucked-so what? Big deal. Cut the crap and get some chow ready."
"Ira, I do have an appointment tonight. And they know what I'm working on. They'll come looking for me if I don't show up. Do you want to lose your hideout? Is my body worth that?"
"You got a point there. I'll think about it tomorrow."
"If you can think about it tomorrow, you can think about it now!"
"That's enough cunt. You said your piece, now move your ass and get me some food."
His face was flushed with anger, and he was an impulsive animal; she had to remember that. She was a captive, a slave, with only her mentality as a weapon, and so far she hadn't put it to good use. Ira wasn't dumb. He was perceptive and cunning despite his foul language and fouler manner. But she had to out-smart him, and she would if she could only keep from getting emotional.
She looked inside the wooden box and found dried beef, canned butter, bread, rows and rows of canned fruits and vegetables. As she rummaged through the box, she thought of her Nembutals. She had been working hard and worrying about her thesis, and her doctor had prescribed the pills. She had six left and she had to get them into Ira.
Lunch turned out to be a total disaster. She cut her hand on the Spam can, burned the Spam and then dropped half of it into the dirt when hot grease spattered on her arm. Ira ate it anyway and then opened a can of peaches, stabbing the halves with his knife. He drank steadily until the fifth of whiskey in his fist showed only an inch of liquid left. If she could only get two of the pills into the bottle.
Colleen washed the dishes in the stream and then put them away as Ira sat by the fire, pushing a column of ants into the death trap of the embers.
She approached him, still wondering how she could get the pills into the bottle. Ira grabbed her skirt and pulled her down beside him, nuzzling his face between her breasts. As she tried to push him away, one of the three Nembutals she carried in her hand fell to the ground. He saw it and picked it up.
"What's this?"
"A vitamin pill. I take three every day."
"If they're good for you, they're good for me." He snatched the capsules from her hand and gulped them down, chasing them with a swallow of whiskey.
He grinned at her, and she could see that the whiskey had taken greater effect on him than was obvious. "I got it made," he said, his speech slurred. "Got a big-titted cunt, good food and booze and no rent to pay." He pulled her blouse from her shoulders and then ripped the scarf from her tits.
"Titties. Beautiful titties," he sighed. He nuzzled the beauteous globes, and his tongue came out to lick them. Colleen tried to pull back, but one big arm circled her waist and pinned her to him.
"Let me comb my hair and put on some perfume," she said, hoping to stall away the fifteen minutes that it would take for the pills to work.
"Okay, Miss Franklin, you get prettied up." He let her get to her feet and then immediately changed his mind. "No! I'm not gonna fuck your face!"
She shook free of him and ran toward the trail, but a protruding root tripped her and she sprawled along the path, scraping one breast on the ground. Ira had her before she could scramble to her feet.
"You still too frisky, squaw," he said, affecting a stereotyped Indian accent. "When squaw run from brave, she get Indian medicine. Now, squaw, I show you big medicine, make you tame."
It took him five minutes to tie her with the wet strips of leather. He drove four stakes into the ground and then tied a foot or a hand to each stake. She was spreadeagled on the ground and naked.
"When leather dry, it shrink and pull arms and legs, but then squaw no run away again."
She hadn't time to think of the consequences as Ira dropped his shorts and kneeled between her spread legs. He bent over her and kissed each breast, then cupped them with his hands and nibbled each delicate nipple with his lips. A moment later he reached between her thighs and parted her labia, inserting his steely pole as he did.
His hot, whiskey-reeking breath rasped the sensitive lining of her nostrils as he rammed his enormous cock into her. She shrieked in pain. The shock wasn't as great as the first time he had reamed her tight pussy, but the raw tissue burned with every movement. She tried to avoid his deepest penetration by pulling herself up with her hands but his weight and her tied feet stopped her.
"I loathe him," Colleen kept repeating to herself. "He's an ignorant animal. I loathe him. I loathe him!" But even as she thought of him in denigrating terms her anger seemed to thaw. She could feel the lubrication flowing from her vagina to welcome the meaty visitor and gentle its path. The rape became bearable. His huge, stroking prick struck responsive chords now and then, and she tried to relax.
She knew that if she relaxed it would hurt her less. But it was difficult to relax in her spreadeagled position, so the hurt continued to plague her.
Ira was building to a climax, but his movements decreased to slow motion as the pills began to take effect. She swayed her hips gently beneath him, attuning her gyrations to coincide with his. And then she felt the hot semen spurt into her. Ira was almost in a stupor by then, and he barely had the strength to pull his cock out of her tightly holding cunt-meat.
When he rolled off her, the moment of sexual cooperation was past and she thought again of her hate for him. She watched him as he staggered three feet toward his cot, sat down heavily and then pitched forward onto his face. In a moment he was snoring, completely under the influence of the pills.
All she had to do now was get the keys, run down the hill and be on her way to freedom. She lunged forward to sit up, but was pulled back painfully. She was still securely spreadeagled, and the leathery bindings were getting tighter. The pills were wasted.
The hot rays of the sun were burning into the thongs and into her body. It warmed her body and soothed her hurts, but it also shrunk the leather, and by now her arms and legs were being pulled snugly. There wasn't any pain yet, but she could tell that another inch of shrinkage and there would be.
She forced herself to think clearly, to avoid panic. She tugged with her feet, exerting an even strain against the stakes. Nothing! The deeply driven stakes didn't budge. The leather grew more taut and she began to feel the pressure in her joints.
She tried pulling again, but all she got for her effort was spasming knots in the muscles of her stomach. She stopped her futile efforts and tried again to relax, but now the tightening thongs wouldn't let her. The pressure at her arm and leg joints was becoming increasingly painful, and sharp, jagged shocks began stabbing at her brain. She twisted her head and looked at Ira's inert figure, realizing how her ruse had diabolically backfired. She was sure that it was Ira's intention to cut her free when the leather drew up tight, but she had incapacitated him and she would have to suffer through indescribable pain because of it.
Tighter and tighter the leather became, and more and more acute became her agony. It felt as though her arms and legs were being torn from their sockets, as indeed they could be.
"Ira! Ira!" she screamed. "Help me!" But she was wasting precious breath and strength. Ira was in a comotose state, and not even an exploding bomb could rouse him.
Tears welled up in her eyes and she almost wretched her lunch up, the pain became so agonizing. It felt as though blow torches were being applied to her joints, as though her appendages were being held in place by taut skin.
"Oh, God, help me!" she wailed, the tears gushing from her eyes. Her pitiable cries echoed through the valley, but her pleas went unanswered. The excruciating pain was numbing her mind, and then she lost consciousness.
A buzzing noise close to her ear woke her, and her eyes flickered open to see a wasp circling about her head. Then she thought of her bindings and wondered why the abominable pain was no longer present, even though she felt a dull, throbbing ache in her joints.
The sun had dipped behind the hills and no longer bore down on the leather, and the binding straps had slackened as a result.
The wasp circled and then lit on her breast. She lay motionless as the striped insect walked over her fleshy mountain and came to rest on her nipple. It skittered about fitfully for a moment and then flew away.
Colleen, relieved, tried again to pull the stakes loose. The sky was beginning to take on the purple of impending darkness and she knew that she would be uncomfortably chilly as the sun sank from the sky. She increased her efforts to get free, but the stakes were no looser now than when she had begun her efforts. Her ankles and wrists were stingingly raw, so she decided to conserve her energy and wait for the chill of the night.
The desolate glen became black, and the chill of night began to make her shiver. She looked once more in Ira's direction and called for his help. She cursed at him and wished him dead, even if it meant that she, too, might die. And she dozed off thinking of attending Ira's funeral.
When she awoke the next time, her body was shuddering with cold and goose-pimples covered her flesh. Her back and ass were sore from being in the same position for so long, not to mention the throbbing ache in her joints. She tried to relax as best she could, and tried to fall back to sleep. The more she slept, the faster the agonizing night would pass.
She gave up counting the number of times she awoke during the night to be reminded of her agony. And she greeted the first pale light in the east with a shout of pure, unadulterated joy. The first true happiness that she had experienced since meeting Ira Cody. When it was light enough she glanced in Ira's direction, but he wasn't there. She looked as far as she could on each side, but she couldn't see him.
"Ira!" she called out. She waited a moment, fear rising in her guts like a billowing cloud. She called out again, louder and more urgent.
"What?" The gravely voice came from directly behind her, out of her line of sight. Ira, still naked, walked to the front of her and stared sullenly at her naked body.
"They say a little loving in the morning gets the day started right. I want to have a nice day."
"Untie me, Ira. My whole body aches like I've run a hundred miles. I'm freezing and I'm starved."
He dropped to his knees between her legs. "You ain't ever gonna learn, are you, cunt? Still giving orders. Well, Johnny Reb gives the orders," he said, swinging his flaccid prick in a circle.
"Ira, not yet. Let me get cleaned up a little and have a drink."
"Want to see the Reb get hard?" he asked, ignoring her suggestion. "Look!"
In spite of her intolerable condition, she watched. His penis, which had been lazing next to his scrotum, stirred and then jerked and elevated slightly, and then it gradually stiffened and raised up, engorged with blood. It stood erect and rigid, almost majestically purple. She shuddered. She knew that she was going to suffer another cock reaming, and that, added to the misery she was now enduring, it would probably have her screaming like a banshee.
Ira blanketed her body with his and she welcomed the warmth, even if it was given selfishly. He suckled hungrily on her tits as his hands caressed and teased them. His fingers kneaded and rolled her nipples, goading them to stiffness. Then his tongue laid lanes of fire across her pliant globes, and she responded with breathy sighs. His teeth chewed gently on her ripe teats and his hands searched gingerly at her crotch.
She gasped erotically as his finger dipped into her sodden cunt-flesh, brushing by her tautening clit. Then his hand edged further under her, gently massaging her puckered asshole.
"Ira!" she squealed. "Don't do that. That's ugly."
"You think so, huh, cunt?" He circled and probed the sensuous orifice deliberately, and Colleen experienced a strange new feeling, a warmth and tingling sensation that made the cheeks of her ass quiver.
"So you never been cornholed. We gotta do something about that." He pulled the knife from its sheath and cut the leather thongs holding her left foot and hand. Quickly he turned her onto her stomach and pushed her legs apart.
"You're gonna lose your asshole cherry right now!"
He dipped his finger into her cunt and then moved it back to her anus. The circular motion began again, his finger edging into the tightness of the opening. The sphincter muscle was firm and hard, but as he worked and massaged it, pressing his long, thick finger back and forth, the muscle began to open. He jabbed a second finger into the relaxing hole and probed deeper. While digitally manipulating her rectum, he edged in under her and pulled her hips up, wetting his cock-head in the moistness of her labia. Then he brought the musk-coated prod up to its new target.
He eased it into the puckering opening gradually, using his fingers to further widen the entryway. He pulled her ass up as far as it would to and the head slipped in. Colleen screamed in pain as the solid rod burrowed deeper and deeper into her stretched anal canal.
"My God, Ira, stop that! You're splitting me in two! God, Ira, stop! Ooohhh, Ira, that hurts. It hurts and feels good. Stop, stop. Pull it out. Pull it out!"
Ira ignored her pathetic pleas and pushed deeper into her until his nine-inch shaft was fully imbedded in the tightness of her contorting asshole. Then he eased it out and slammed back in. He reached under her and grabbed a tit in each hand, tearing savagely at the pendulous globes while he pumped his dick. He rocked back and forth and as the pressure built up in his balls. He pumped harder and faster with each frantic lunge. Colleen cried out in agony, but his aching prick was deaf to her anguished pleas. It kept on pounding into her slickened hole, driving, driving, driving relentlessly like a diamond-tipped drill probing for oil.
Colleen felt as though she was going to faint as a suffocating blackness swept over her and Ira's ass-filling prick ballooned grotesquely. The pain was like an acetyline torch cutting through her flesh. She could feel the warmth of her blood trickling thickly from her ass. And then she felt his body tense and she felt his seedy package mixing with the blood.
He withdrew slowly and turned her over, still kneeling between her legs. She was limp and in pain; not only in her ass, but from every muscle and joint in her body. The burning, stinging sensation in her rectum was bittersweet, and she couldn't understand it. Was it ecstasy or agony? Was it good or bad? She couldn't tell anymore. Her body was numb and her brain was numb, and she was only dimly aware of Ira's nearness.
She was surprised when he kissed her, his tongue sinking into her mouth to slither about her teeth and tongue. She welcomed the thick organ and sucked on it and chewed on it with nibbling teeth.
She wasn't sure when he entered her again because of the pooled juices in her twat, but she knew he was fully in her when she felt his glans poking into her cervix. She welcomed it and began working her vaginal muscles.
"I only come halfway in the asshole, he said, taking short, shallow breaths. "I need a twat to really crack my nuts."
He panted and rooted and pumped his turgid trunk into her with the ferocity of a maddened bull. His enraged tool smashed through tender tissue and his bones ground against hers with every pelvic clash. His hands clawed frantically at her tits and tightened with each inward thrust. His face contorted into a carnal mask as he pistoned harder and faster.
Colleen felt the juices of her passion flow as his pounding shaft struck responsive areas deep inside of her. A soft glow began swelling in her guts that couldn't be ignored. When she moved just right his cock would abrade her clitoris and send shimmering tremors through every nerve in her body.
She felt herself giving in. She felt her hips begin to sway with his driving force, and she lifted her ass to meet his shattering lunges. Waves of erotic emotions surged into her guts and groin, and she cursed herself for being so weak. She didn't want it to happen. She wanted to fight it, but she couldn't still the aching lust that lashed at her libido. She wanted to have an orgasm, to satisfy her pent-up desires.
Suddenly Ira gasped in a rasping voice and shuddered spastically, his sperm rushing heatedly into her grasping cunt. She hadn't reached a climax and she wouldn't. Ira, spent and tired, fell on her, mashing her into the blanket with his weight.
As she struggled for breath, her passion dissipated and her cold reason returned. She flailed with her hand and felt something hard and cold. It had to be a knife. But he was laying uneasily on top of her, so she couldn't turn and look. She fingered it, felt the sharp edge and then moved her fingers to the hilt. If she could get a little room, she could raise it high and plunge it into his back. She could hurt him terribly as he had been hurting her. She might even kill him. It had to be done quickly-and now!
Without hesitation, she brought her arm in, aiming the point at his back, but at the last second his hand shot out and smashed against her wrist. The kinfe fell from her grasp and spun into the grass. With an unearthly howl, he pulled out of her and sat up, his black eyes smoky with anger and his mouth contorting jerkily.
"Squaw bad medicine! Squaw loco!"
She watched in terror as his face contorted grotesquely and spittle dribbled from the corners of his mouth. He waved his arms in circles and his head bobbed and weaved loosely, as though held in place by a rubberband. It seemed as though he had lost touch with reality.
"Ira! Ira Cody," she called, trying to cut through the mental haze. "Cut the leather. Set me free!"
He looked at her, his black eyes glowering angrily. And then he began waving his arms again, his eyes narrowing to thin slits. "You narma! Squaw Nimguma!"
"Untie me, Ira. Cut the bindings," she pleaded urgently. She was terrified that he might suddenly strike out at her in a maniacal rage.
"Narma, narma, squaw narma!"
"Ira! Your name is Ira Cody. You're not in the wild west. You're in the twentieth century. Ira! Ira! Talk to me!"
He burst into a gale of laughter, pointing his finger as he did. "You should have seen your face. I had you scared shitless."
"You son-of-a-bitch!" she blurted out.
"Me good actor, huh, narma?"
"You're a bastard!"
He smashed her in the face with his palm and she fell back on her ass, a dazed look in her eyes.
"That was for calling me names." He got his knife, cut the thongs and pulled her to her feet by her hair. He yanked her head back and brought the knife across her right shoulder, slicing a thin line from her shoulder to the top of her breast. A lane of blood bubbled up and Colleen screamed.
"That's for trying to stick me." He shoved her down on the blanket and walked away, saying, "Make breakfast."
She looked at the bloody shoulder and her stomach convulsed. She ran to the stream and threw up. Then she washed the blood from the wound and appraised its severity. The cut wasn't deep, but it might leave a scar. She watched the thin line turn red as the water dried, and she saw the blood begin to coagulate.
She looked at Ira as he rummaged in the wooden box, and she knew that she wouldn't have to make breakfast for him. He was a depraved animal, capable of any bestial perversity, and without the slightest hint of human compassion or human decency.
As she looked at him, it reminded her what he had done to her. He had committed anilingus on her. It was wrong, it was dirty, it was heinous. But her mind also flashed back to those last few moments when his thick penis was ravaging her vagina, and she remembered it as the most sexually satisfying experience she had ever known.
But why, she wondered in mental torment, with an animal like Ira Cody? Why?
Her shoulder hurt. The initial shock had worn off and the knife line burned like a string of fire. She hurried back to the blanket and slipped into her skirt and scarf-bra. She wanted to comb her hair, and she dumped the contents of her purse out. Her thirty-five dollars were gone, but her comb was still there.
As she pulled through the tangles she tried to formulate some strategy, some plan. The Jeep key was what she needed, but how could she get it? Slip up behind him and hit him on the head? It was ludicrous. You don't slip up behind an Indian.
The Nembutals? She could try the rest of them. She searched for the small bottle, but it wasn't there. She had lost them or Ira had thrown them away. She decided, once more, to try a frontal approach, using honest persuasion.
Ira was finishing a second can of peaches as she approached him. He threw the can into the brush and cleaned his knife on the grass.
"What do you want to stick in me now?" he snarled.
"Ira, you've had your fun," she began. "You raped me four times and slashed my shoulder, but I'm willing to forget about it if you'll take me to my car, right now."
"A good piece of ass always makes me hungry. Did you know that?"
"Ira, you're not listening to me. I won't press charges against you. I'll forget the whole thing. Just take me to my car. Isn't that fair?"
"Fair?" he snorted. "What the fuck do you know about being fair? Your word is probably as good as your ancestors' word was to my ancestors."
"Ira, look at me," she pleaded. "Have I lied to you? Have I cheated you or done anything wrong to you? Why take your hatred out on me?"
"I don't hate, baby, I make love," he answered with a lecherous smirk. "You should know that."
"You don't call your perverted sex acts love, do you?" she replied angrily. "You're a degenerate animal, wallowing in self-pity and eroding with hate!"
Almost before she finished speaking, Ira scooped up the bucket of water that sat beside the wooden box and poured it over her head. "Maybe that'll cool you off, cunt." Ira laughed as she sputtered, her hair hanging like a wet mop about her face.
The shock of the icy water stunned her for a moment, and then she grabbed the first thing she saw and threw it at him. Luckily for him, the hatchet hit flat on his chest, without breaking the skin.
Ira screamed at her, an age-old war cry he had heard his grandfather emit years before. The cry started high, and swooped into the low ranges and wailed high again, ending in three sharp barks. As he whooped, he leaped across the fire ring and caught Colleen with one large, hairless arm, holding her tightly across her tits. He dropped her to her knees and dug his fingers into her hair. After snapping her head back and holding it back, he pulled his knife from its sheath and pressured the tip into her temple. It drew a drop of blood, but Colleen was too terrified to utter a sound.
He whooped again, the traditional war cry of the Wasuka warrior before he claimed a scalp. Colleen's eyes rolled up in their sockets, straining to watch the knife as it hovered at her hairline. And she waited, her breath like fire in her throat, for the knife to slice into her scalp.
Ira held her there, suspended in her agony, letting her suffer through the interminable wait. And then he sneered and relaxed his grip. With a yip and blinding speed, he snapped her head to the side and sliced another gash into her flesh, from shoulder to tit.
The pain of the knife slicing its thin line into her flesh was a welcome contrast to the horrendous pain that she expected, and she almost laughed with emotional relief. But then the air hit the raw flesh and a thousand nerves sent stark, agonizing messages to her brain, and in a split second she was weeping softly with relief and pain. She moved away from Ira and lay on the cot, beaten and helpless. It was without doubt the nadir of her life, an emotional low that would haunt her forever.
She lay there for long moments, contemplating self-destruction as Ira amused himself by throwing his knife at a tree. As she watched him throw the flashing blade, insensitive to her suffering, she became revitalized. Her depression was forgotten in the overwhelming feeling of hate that welled up in her guts. She wanted revenge for the brutality that she had received at his hands. She had to get away from him, to get back to civilization and start the wheels of justice turning against him until he was crushed beneath their ponderous weight.
"Ira, can I have a beer?" she asked, trying to hide the venom she felt for him.
"Playing Miss Nice Cunt now?" he asked with a disdainful sneer. "Shit. Why not. Get your ass out of the sack and get them. Bring me six of 'em."
She sipped her beer while he chug-a-lugged his six without hardly taking a breath.
"Haven't you anything stronger?" she asked.
"Shit yeah. I got some stuff that'll melt your pussy."
"That's what I need, a stiff drink."
Ira looked at her for a moment and then raced to the cave, returning with three bottles of cheap whiskey. She got a cup from the food locker and filled it half with water, then Ira added the amber liquid.
She lipped the cup, and said, "Here's to something." She took a swallow and almost gagged on the breath-taking alcohol. Ira chuckled and then tilted the bottle, taking huge draughts with each swallow. Three quarters of the bottle disappeared before he came up gasping for air. He sat next to her on the log she was using, slipping his arm about her waist, his fingertips coming to rest on the side of her tit. She didn't try to stop him. She wanted him cozy and drinking.
He tipped the bottle again and finished it while Colleen took another drink from her cup. If she was going to get past those snakes along the trail, she needed Dutch courage.
Colleen listened as he began talking, rambling on about his early life; all bad. He had a drunken father, a tired, beaten mother and a whore for a sister. The second bottle was nearly half empty, but he still showed no sign of becoming drunk. He was drunk enough to loosen his tongue but not enough to pass out, and that was what she needed to make her escape.
He pulled the scarf from her tits and nosed into the deep cleavage, fondling the solid globes of flesh.
"I love your tits, Miss Franklin," he said, his speech becoming slurred. He continued drinking and sucking, alternating between her tits and the bottle. His hands caressed the lovely mammaries, working up each steep slope to the top to gently rub the puffed-up nipples.
Colleen permitted the caresses without protest. As long as he kept drinking she could tolerate anything, because the means justified the end. He finished the second fifth and tossed the bottle aside to concentrate his attention on Colleen.
"Beautiful tits. Gotta suck them. Gotta wrap my lips around them."
His mouth sought out the nearest mound of pliant flesh and he climbed it orally, scaling it with hot kisses and a tongue of fire until he reached the summit and sucked in her taut nipple. He assaulted the slopes with his lips and tongue and then laved back to the upright nubbin at the apex, nibbling on it until he elicited a mournful cry of ecstasy.
His hand tugged at her skirt and she lifted her hips so he might more easily pull the garment from her body.
She was allowing it to happen, she reminded herself, because it was all part of her plan to escape.
Nevertheless, she felt a warm glow invade her loins as each kiss and caress added fuel to the fire that had begun to flame in her guts.
His hands swept down from her tits and coursed over her belly, scratching lightly on the quivering skin. He fingered into the blond patch of pubic curls and brushed them gently. Her legs edged apart. His fingers circled about in the golden mat, and then one of his fingers slipped over the steep embankment of her venus mound and traced the line of her labial slit. Her hips began to move in time with his finger and her legs slipped farther apart.
His whole hand covered her pulpy pussy lips and she gasped ecstatically. Her breath was coming fast and shallow as she reached for his cock. Her hand followed the naked sides to his hips, around his flat stomach and then to his rigid phallus. How big it was! Her fingers encircled it and stroked over its immense length. How hard it was! She remembered how much pain it had given her. But as she slid up and down on the silk-textured pole, it didn't seem nearly so fearsome as it once had.
He pushed her off the log and onto her back in the grass, sprawling beside her. His finger toyed with her cunt-lips, and again she gasped and moved her hips to his digital tune. His finger slid between her puffy labia and snaked into her vagina. She moaned softly, writhing her hips to enhance the joy she was getting from the probe.
"Oooohhh, Ira," she purred. "OOOOhhhh, that feels so good."
She wrapped both of her hands around his wildly throbbing prick and flagellated urgently. He nestled into the vee of her widespread crotch and the nose of his scathing rod brushed over her furry patch. She shivered. She still held onto his tool tightly and guided it toward her weeping twat. The massive glans poked into the soft meat of her cunt-lips and then pulled back. Colleen emitted a squeaking cry of anguish. She suddenly wanted his tool in her, wanted it slithering back and forth in her slippery slot. She pulled him back to the very center of her passion and rubbed the sniveling nose against her delicate petals. It wedged between them for a brief moment, and then Ira eased it back, teasing her with the fleeting glimpse of ecstasy.
Again he teased her with the meaty warhead and pulled away, but the next time that he levered into the eager slot, he rammed forward and buried his thick prick right up to the hilt. The screeching pole incited a fleeting jab of pain which was immediately replaced by a startling surge of raputre. Her arms locked around his back as he began to piston his muscular extension. He powered his rod into her for a short period and then withdrew to tease her labia again. Again he rammed into her, and he convoluted his hips as he did.
Colleen squealed ecstatically and humped her ass frantically, pressuring her clitoris against his pulsing tool. She moaned and sighed and sobbed as the titanic shaft worked its wonders in the depths of her cock-hungry cunt. Traumatic shocks battered her guts and blissful tremors invaded her brain.
She pulled her legs back and pressed them into his sides as she ground her hips under him and lifted up to meet his every forceful thrust. Soon his movements became fast and hard, his hips acting like a pile driver. His passion built, and her passion followed a parallel course, both of them racing frantically for the orgasmic pot of gold at the end of the licentious rainbow.
He crushed his mouth to hers and she pulled his tongue in, sucking on it as though it were a cock. His breathing became labored and his prick swelled still more as the rampaging sperm rumbled through his urethra. And then she felt him explode in her! She felt the spurts of his milky seed, hot and vibrant against her sensitive membranes, and it triggered her climax. It was fantastic, and she finally knew what sex was all about.
She was ready to forgive Ira all the degrading and debasing and agonizing things that he had done to her. Her body was being buffeted by the most exquisite sensations that one could possibly endure.
Colleen was still in the throes of her monumental orgasm when Ira, depleted and drunk, pulled his cock unceremoniously from her, trailing a seminal string across her thigh. Her satisfaction was aborted midway, and she hovered in a tremulous limbo for a moment before settling back to earth and her hate for Ira.
"Motherfucker. That was one hell of a fuck, he growled in his drunken stupor. "When you try, Miss Franklin, you're as good a piece of nooky as anyone."
He cracked open another bottle and pulled two huge draughts from it.
"Here's to tits and pussy," he toasted. He tipped the bottle up and swilled the booze.
Colleen watched him closely. He was ready to pass out, and she held her breath, coiling back like a tigress ready to spring to the attack. He slumped to his side, the bottle slipping from his grasp. She picked it up and called to him. He didn't answer. She shook him roughly, but got no response. She peered into his face and saw that his eyes were tightly shut and that a contented smile was on his lips.
She got to her feet quickly and looked for his denim shorts. They were on the box, near the food. She snatched them up and jammed her hand into one of the pockets, her heart beating wildly. Nothing! She tried the other pocket and her fingers closed around the ring of keys. One of the keys had "Jeep" stamped on it, and tears came to her eyes.
CHAPTER THREE
Fifteen minutes later Colleen was at the Jeep. She slid into the driver's seat and looked at the gearshift. She had never driven a Jeep, but it couldn't be too hard. After all, the gear positions were on the knob. She could put it into second and leave it there. It kicked right over and she checked the gas. Over half full, plenty of gas.
She checked the odometer as she shifted into reverse. She turned the vehicle around with no trouble and then shifted into forward gear.
According to the diagram she was in second gear as she rolled down the long gentle slope of the valley. It was easy driving. She quickly adapted to going slow, missing the biggest rocks and working around the washouts. If she was to have any trouble at all, it would be at the sand dunes.
The valley was almost four miles long, and as she made a big left turn around a jutting hill she saw the dunes dead ahead. There was not a trace of their incoming tracks, so she would have to rely on her instinct for direction. She knew that she had to move west, and then almost south until she got through the dunes, then the trail would swing west again. But it was getting through the sandy tract that worried her.
She took a long drink of water from the freshly filled canteen and then snapped the idling Jeep into gear. Her plan was to weave through the center, between the dunes, keeping an even pull on the engine. It went according to plan for the first five minutes, but then the ridge line forked ahead and there was no indication which way she should go. She tried the one that led due south. After driving a hundred yards, she knew that she had made a mistake. The high dunes closed in on three sides of her, hemming her into a pocket. She stopped, shifted into reverse, and used the throttle gently.
The left rear tire spun on the loose sand and then caught. She rolled back two feet, then three, then four. Then the wheel spun again, and she could feel the tire digging itself into the sand. She turned off the engine and went back to look. Driving on sand was a new experience for her, and she hadn't the slightest idea of what to do next.
Power was her only thought. She got back into the Jeep and tried to rock it back and forth the way she had been told to do in snow. She dug deeper into the sand.
Frustrated by her inability to get loose of the holding sand, she shut off the engine and wondered what she should do. She could try and walk out, but she knew enough about the high desert to realize that she was far better off staying with the car. The stalled vehicle could be more easily spotted by a low flying plane than a person on foot. But the Jeep offered her no protection from the blistering sun, and it was at least twenty degrees hotter there than it was back at the camp. She looked in the back seat and found a burlap bag. It was coarse, scratchy and dirty, but she wrapped it around her bare shoulders to ward off some of the sun.
The sun moved slowly, blazingly across the sky, and she tried to get some sleep, but it was impossible. If Ira didn't come by sundown, she would have to try and walk back to the camp on her own. How far had she come? She checked the odometer and found that she had only covered four and a half miles. It was a long hike, but not nearly as long as the sixteen miles that lay between her and the highway.
She thought back and wondered what Ira would have done if she had started to walk back after the first five miles of their trip in. The question was academic now, but she had the feeling that he would have trussed her up and taken her to the camp against her will.
One other thought occurred to her. She had been almost two days in the camp and on the road, and she still hadn't seen one rattlesnake, except for the one tied along Ira's trail. Somehow she knew that that was the only snake for miles.
"Waiting for a bus, Miss Franklin?"
Colleen screamed in reflexive reaction. The voice seemed to come from all directions at once. When she looked around and saw Ira, he was standing beside the left rear tire, a sour expression on his face. He had on his denim shorts and his boots, nothing else. He was sweat-streaked, sandy and obviously angry.
"Stupid cunt!" he muttered. He kicked some sand into the hole that she had dug, pulled the burlap bag from her shoulder and stuffed it in back of the tire. He got in, kicked the engine over and shifted into four-wheel drive, backing out of the sand trap smoothly. When they cleared the dunes, he stopped. He took the canteen and drank his fill, then emptied the rest into the dry ground.
"Get out!"
"I won't!"
"Get your ass out or I'll throw it out! You can walk like I just did! I don't give a good fuck what direction you walk, but walk, cunt!"
"Ira, I can't. I'd die!"
"That's tough shit."
"I'm not as tough as you. I'd never make it back to camp." She untied the scarf around her chest and pulled it free. "Do you want these to die and shrivel up in the desert heat?"
"Fuck them and fuck you. Get out!"
"No!"
He got out of the Jeep and pulled her from her seat. She tried to get back in, but he grabbed her arm, whirled her around and smashed her across the jaw. She staggered backward and then fell on her ass.
She was still trying to clear the cobwebs from her brain when Ira pulled away. She scrambled to her feet, shouting after him, "You fucking bastard! You dirty fucking cocksucker! Come back! Come back, you dirty motherfucker!"
She had three options opened to her. She could try for the main highway, sixteen miles away. Or she could try for the camp, four and a half miles away. Or she could sit down and die in the desert heat. She started walking toward the camp, following the dust of Ira's Jeep. He was out of view beyond a hill that jutted out, but she could see the ball of dust billowing up beyond it.
A half hour passed and her throat felt as though she was gargling with sand. The fiercely hot sun beat at her with fiery fists, and she could feel her strength leaving her body with the perspiration. It became increasingly difficult for her to put one foot in front of the other, and the path she walked became erratic. Fifteen minutes more of the blistering heat and she was too weak to continue. She sat down on a boulder and lay back, resigning herself to a agonizing death. Her only regret was that she wouldn't live to see Ira suspended from a tree by his scrotum.
Her eyes closed and she waited for death to end her misery. She didn't know how long she was stretched out on the boulder before she felt herself being lifted into the air. At first she thought it was her guardian angel coming to carry her to heaven.
Her eyes flickered weakly open when Ira deposited her in the Jeep.
"You came back for me," she whispered, her parched lips cracking as she spoke.
"You pull that shit again and I'll leave you in the desert until your fucking bones are bleached white."
Fifteen minutes later she was in the cool mountain stream, with Ira sitting idly on the bank watching her. When she was broiling under the scathing sun she had thought that she would never be cool again, but now, as she lay in the sparkling water, her teeth were chattering. She let the icy water wash the sweat and sand out of her pores, and even indulged in the luxury of washing her hair. Ira wandered off into the cave.
When Colleen finally got out of the water she spread a blanket in a patch of sun, put on her skirt and shoes, and soaked in the warming rays.
When Ira came out of the cave he was wearing his boots, nothing else.
"Come on," he said brusquely.
"Where?"
"Don't ask fucking questions, just move your ass."
She scrambled to her feet and was about to tie her scarf over her tits, but she changed her mind and tied it about her head instead.
She followed him up from the camp, through a stand of pines, past rocky ledges and then more pine. The trees thinned and they stopped to look back. The camp was a dot below, and far to the west they could see the sun reflect off a car's windshield as it sped along the old highway twenty miles away.
They climbed again, and although there was no trail, the route was easy. Soon they sat on a rock at the ridge line and watched the desert through the haze of late afternoon. They looked over the sprawling valley below and saw the deep mauves and magentas of the desert in the waning light. Far to the west they could see the flicker of city lights.
"Those lights are more than forty miles away, " he informed her. "It's a long walk."
"I won't have to walk out," she replied. "By the end of the week, there'll be over two hundred men scouring the desert for me. They'll find the camp."
"You better hope they don't, Miss Franklin. If the sheriff's boys poke their noses up here, they're gonna find you with your throat slit from ear to ear and me long gone."
An icy chill raced up Colleen's spine. Ira meant what he said; it wasn't an idle threat by some emotional high school boy. He was only eighteen, but he was an animal, schooled only in the strongest basic instinct-survival.
He sat beside her on the rock she was using and said, "Don't worry. They won't find us."
The moment of tension was past and they relaxed, watching the faint streaks of color tinge the fluffy clouds. The sun began its slow exit beyond the distant horizon.
Colleen looked at him, realizing how perfectly proportioned he was: wide shoulders, thick and broad chest narrowing down to slim hips, a flat stomach that flowed smoothly into his crinkly patch of black hair. His legs were strong and well-developed. He was a lot of man, even if he was only eighteen. She looked at his crotch, at his flaccid penis and low-hanging scrotum.
Two days ago she would have been outraged by the sight, but now it seemed the most natural thing in the world. His thoughts were far off as she reached out and took the limp hunk of meat in her hand.
He looked down at her and smiled. "Kiss it."
She looked into his eyes, not with anger, but with curiosity. She knew that fellatio existed, but she never thought that it would enter her life.
"Go ahead. The Reb won't bite you." He said it almost gently, and Colleen felt a sudden longing, a curiosity, an eager urge to do something that she had never done before, never even thought of before. She watched his face for a moment and felt his phallus stir uneasily in her hand. She looked back at it. It looked dejected, forlorn; so small and all alone, so pouting and droopy. She wanted to kiss it, to give it to her undivided attention, but she couldn't.
She turned her face away. But she had fomented an urgency in Ira's groin, and he wasn't going to let her dismiss it that easily. He took her hand in his and put it back on his swelling cock while he began to fondle her breasts.
She watched in fascination as the monstrous phallus swelled and stiffened. It arched upward as though reaching for the sky, and pumped to rigid erection. It was then that she remembered all the hurt that it had brought her, and even the pleasures of late seemed insignificant. It was the pain and the disgust that remained uppermost in her mind, and she let it fall from her hand.
"What's the matter, Miss Franklin? You never sucked a cock?"
The way he asked her the question made it sound even more disgusting. "Is vulgarity a compulsion with you?" she asked.
"What's vulgar? A cock is a cock, and when you suck it, it makes you a cocksucker. Just like when you eat a cunt, it makes you a cuntlapper."
"You're disgusting!" she blurted out, and got to her feet.
Ira reached out and grabbed her by the arm before she could take a step away from him and twisted it until she dropped to her knees.
"It's about time you sucked a cock, cunt. When you taste the cum in your mouth you won't think it's so disgusting."
"No!" she screamed.
Ira laughed. "You always say no, but you always wind up doing like I say. So why don't you cut out the bullshit and suck me off? You got me in the mood."
Colleen struggled valiantly trying to break free from his grasp, but it was like a baby trying to escape the clutches of a gorilla. As he twisted her arm he dug his fingers into her hair and pulled her head back. He rubbed his semi-hard prick over her bulging breasts, and she felt tingles of excitement rush to her loins as the torrid rod brushed over her tautening nipples. Mentally she was repulsed by what he wanted her to do to him, but physically she was being buffeted by rising desires.
His wanton cock grew hard again and poked into her pliant tits. He drew back and jabbed at them, using her turgid nipples as a target. Again and again he battered his hard pole into her tits, sometimes scoring direct hits on her teats and other times poking into the surrounding flesh. In either case, it was arousing him and stimulating her.
He let the lusting rod slip up to her face and caress her cheek with its heat.
"Don't it feel good?"
She didn't respond. She was too repulsed to even enjoy the skittering sensations that hopped around in her groin.
"Kiss the Reb," he coaxed, moving the massive head closer to her lips.
"No, I can't."
"Sure you can, Miss Franklin. Cocks taste real good. You'll love it. I got a load of cum that'll blow your mind."
She twisted her head to the side and pleaded, "Fuck me, Ira. Put it in my cunt. You said I'm a good piece of ass. Give me your load in my cunt." She found it revolting to even speak the words, but it was infinitely better than putting that urine-dispensing shaft in her mouth.
"I don't want your cunt right now. I want your mouth!" He twisted her head to the front and pressed his penis against her lips.
Colleen turned her head and spit. He slapped her across the face. It stung momentarily, but it was more sound than fury.
"The Reb don't like being insulted." He twisted her head back and poked his glans into her lips. She pulled her lips between her teeth and kept her jaws locked shut.
She kept trying to twist away, but his hands were like vises. "Suck it! It's your last chance to do it the easy way."
She kept her mouth tightly shut and shook her head adamantly. "Okay, cunt. You want it rough, that's the way you'll get it."
He took his hand from her hair and dug his fingers into her cheeks. "Open up." She didn't. He dug his fingers into the tender flesh more forcefully. "Open up, cunt!" She still kept her jaws tightly locked. He applied more pressure, and her inner cheeks were pushed against the sharp edges of her teeth. The pain was becoming unbearable, and slowly her jaws parted, giving in to the coercion of pain. He continued the steady pressure, and Colleen could taste the trickle of blood in her mouth as her teeth cut her inner flesh. It was too much to fight, and her mouth opened wide.
"That's better, Miss Franklin," he whispered in smug triumph. He continued the pressure as he moved his flaring glans into the gaping orifice.
Colleen's stomach convulsed as the bulbous knob slid into her mouth and filled it from tongue to palate. Ira put one hand on each side of her face and held her head immobile as he pushed the rock-hard tool deeper into her mouth.
He sank five inches of the thick shaft into her salivating maw, and he could feel with the tip of his prick that her throat was spasming. Five inches were all she could take without gagging and throwing up, so he decided to be content with that much penetration.
He slowly gyrated his hips, pumping his swollen rod into the wet heat of her mouth. Colleen, surprisingly, didn't find the satiny taste of his slithering phallus distasteful. On the contrary, she found it pleasant and erotically stimulating. What she found abhorrent was the thought of the abominable Indian fucking his dirty prick into her mouth. He hadn't even washed it since the last time that he had rammed it into her cunt. It was almost like putting her mouth to her own genitals.
She beat on his thighs and then clawed on them, leaving livid trails in her wake. Ira yelped and then popped her on the head with his fist. Her hands dropped to her sides and she almost collapsed in a heap, but Ira, his hands at her cheeks, kept her in a kneeling positon.
Colleen was in a semidaze as he continued to fuck his huge prick into her mouth, and her condition made her relax so that Ira could pound his tool into her at will. He drove seven inches of the nine-inch shaft into her hot hole and she didn't gag. Her tongue slid along the soft underbelly and her teeth dragged lightly over the thick circumference as Ira picked up the pistoning tempo of his dick. Her involuntary vacuuming was like a suction pump, inciting Ira's sperm to rage excitedly in his testes.
He was getting close to his climax, and he shortened his strokes so that most of the oral action concentrated on the head of his swelling penis. He thrust it rapidly in staccato bursts as Colleen's mind cleared and she again became fully aware of what was happening. She could tell from her past sexual encounters with Ira that he was about ready to deliver his milky load into her mouth. But she was almost relieved by the knowledge. It meant that the reprehensible act would be over shortly, and Ira would take that filthy organ from her mouth.
"Oh, yeah! Suck, suck!" he wailed, his legs and buttocks trembling. He felt the first chill of his rushing sperm and pumped wildly.
Colleen tried desperately to pull her mouth away, to escape the deluge, but Ira held her head immobile and rammed his cock all the way into her gasping mouth. A fleeting second later, the first gush of warm semen squirted out his pink slit and slithered down her throat. It disappeared so fast that she didn't have the time to taste it. But Ira backed up a little, and the next spasming wad splattered against her palate, then another and another and another, until her mouth was full of the viscous seed.
She let it gather in her mouth, unwilling to swallow it, intending to store it there until Ira pulled his prick out and then spit it out.
The amassing sperm was warm and salty to her taste and not at all offensive, but she wouldn't swallow it. She didn't want that hateful person's cum in her belly.
Ira was aware that she was allowing his come to pool in her mouth, so when the paroxysms stopped he kept his cock in the warmth of her jizm-filled orifice. "Swallow it, cunt!"
She shook her head. He kept her head in place, solidly attached to his prick.
"Swallow it or I'll never take my prick out of your mouth!"
It was becoming difficult for her to breath, and saliva was collecting in her mouth to further fill it. Trickles of saliva and sperm were sliding down her throat even though she tried to prevent it from happening. She knew that eventually she would have to down the salty mouthful, so she blanked her mind and gulped. The slippery pool slid down her throat like raw oysters, and Ira backed his dying weapon from her mouth, releasing his hold on her cheeks as he did.
Colleen dropped to her butt and spit and coughed, being much more demonstrative than was called for.
"Cut out the act, cunt," Ira snarled, unimpressed by her performance. "You loved every minute of it."
He was right. He was always right when he alluded to her sexuality. She didn't love every minute of it, but neither did she find it nearly as oppressive as she thought she would. Nor did she really feel like spitting and coughing. It was more of a denigrating show for Ira than to remove any residual distaste from her mouth.
Half an hour later they were back at camp, and Ira busied himself with making supper. He was hungry and didn't trust Colleen's culinary skills, especially after the breakfast disaster.
Colleen sat huddled against a tree, wondering if she would ever see civilization again, men with some vestige of gentility. Ira certainly had none. She had thought of him as an animal from the first, and he had done nothing to change her mind.
Supper was nothing to tempt an epicurean, but it was filling and tasty, and Ira did it with a minimum of effort.
After the dishes were washed and Colleen joined Ira at the fire, she wondered why he had such a profound effect on her. He elicited emotional extremes from her; either murderous hate or thunderous passion. There was no in-between with Ira Cody. At the moment she hated him, and yet she was aware that if he touched her tits or put his hand to her crotch, she would forget her intense loathing of him and fall into his arms like a whore.
She would rather keep the hate she had for him and let the passion fall by the wayside, but Ira wouldn't allow it.
"I ever tell you the old Indian saying: 'Best pussy is after-supper-pussy'." For some inexplicable reason he thought it was funny and began to laugh.
Colleen stared at him.
"I'll prove that Indians know where it's at." He pushed her to her back and lay half on top of her, his hands pulling on her tits. He tended her nipples and quickly brought them to stiffness.
Colleen closed her eyes, trying desperately to stem her rising passion and retain her hate for him. He continued kneading and rolling the distended teats and Colleen, in spite of her resolve, began to fall prey to her emotions. Her mouth opened and gasps of erotic acceptance escaped.
His mouth covered hers, his tongue ramming inside her lips to toy with and tease her tongue. His hand on her breast was emanating electric current that danced over her skin.
She was done for. There was no fight left in her. She pushed his tongue back into his mouth and followed it with hers. His teeth clamped down on it, imprisoning it and abrading it with the sharp edges. When he released it, he quickly moved his mouth to her breast, his lips enclosing the turgid bud. He kissed each pink berry, and each kiss felt like he was putting a smoldering ember to her tit.
She lay there gasping for breath, her legs trembling in anticipation. Ira lifted her hips, and she sighed as he slipped her skirt off. He looked for a moment at her glorious figure and then went back to her tits, kissing each upright globe before he trailed his lips between them and laved downward across her suntanned belly, his tongue investigating the shallow pit of her bellybutton. Then he swooped into the curly tendrils at her pubic area.
His mouth stayed in the soft forest but his fingers continued onward, tracing the length of her labial ridges and then on to her soft inner thighs. Smoldering fires burgeoned in her guts and a smothering blanket of passion encompassed her psyche. She could feel the lubrication oozing from her vaginal walls. It was like a flood. It was dripping down her leg.
Ira licked lightly in the crease where leg and torso met, then tongued along the sensitive inner flesh of her thigh. His lips were burning the flesh, leaving a steaming trail as they moved.
"Oh, Ira. Ooohhh, that feels so good. Oh, Ira, do it more, do it more!" she pleaded breathily. She spread her legs farther apart and he moved closer to the snug crease at the juncture of her legs. She had to see what he was doing to cause such emotional turmoil in her. She lifted her head and saw his black-thatched head between her legs.
He moved his head to the other thigh, and she could see his lips teasing her, singeing her, moving closer and closer to her eagerly awaiting pussy. She wanted him to go on, to put his mouth in the steaming heat that simmered between her labia. She wanted his mouth nibbling on her enraged clit, but she didn't know if she should say it. She didn't know if he would rebel and do exactly the opposite. She looked again and watched his lips move toward her pulsing twat. She had to say something. She couldn't wait any longer. She had to have his mouth in her cunt!
"Lick me, Ira, darling. Lick my pussy, suck my cunt! Lick me, kiss me, suck my love box. Put your tongue into me, deep into me. Do anything you want to me, but put your tongue into me!" Her voice was rough and hoarse and trembling with desire.
When Ira's mouth contacted her pussy-petals, Colleen surged her hips hard against him and he parted her sodden labial lips, tonguing into the wet slot. Colleen gasped excitedly and her body shook with wild paroxysms. His mouth pressed into the weeping flesh of her vulva and his teeth nibbled on its succulence. His tongue darted into her vagina, licking the walls, lapping in the musky juices she was secreting.
Sated with the honeyed feast, he moved quickly toward her clit and found it behind a parapet of fleshy folds. His tongue brushed the wall aside and his teeth snapped at the erect capsule of her sensuality.
"Ooooohhhhh Gooooooddddd!" she sirened in erogenous response. Her body bucked and bounced as he cannibalized the distended bud.
Ira clamped his teeth into it and pulled like a bird trying to pull a worm from the ground. His teeth whiplashed over the tip, adding to Colleen's delirium.
"Almost, Ira, almost!" She shoved her cunt against his ravenous mouth and whipped her ass from side to side, and a moment later, she was arching upward, her body tensely oscillating.
"Yes, yessssss! Now! Now!" she shrieked. Her lubricious flow was like a flooding river, but Ira remained orally attached to her cunt and feasted on the musky torrent.
"Drink it, Ira! Suck all my juice from me! Suck it until I can't give you anymore!"
Ira did just that. He siphoned the manifestation of her orgasm, swilling it down just as he did his cheap booze. When he finally left her cunt-meat she was completely enervated. It was as though he had not only vacuumed in her orgasmic juices, but it felt as if he pulled her intestines, belly and asshole along with it.
Ira emptied a bottle and fell asleep, but Colleen, in spite of being sexually drained, wasn't quite ready for sleep.
She looked at his inert body, and hate again became her primary emotion. What bothered her more than anything was the fact that she hadn't tried to get away from him, hadn't thought about it.
He was in a drunken stupor, and it would be the easiest thing in the world to get his car key and take off. So why didn't she, she asked herself. Her answer was as much a rationalization as it was truth: if she was unsuccessful in the daytime, what chance would she have at night?
As she thought, she saw the glint of metal in the fire's light. It was Ira's hatchet stuck in a pine tree near the fire. She got up, pulled the tool from the tree and stealthily moved to Ira's side.
One blow to the skull and she wouldn't have to worry about him catching up to her, she'd have all the time in the world.
She raised the hatchet and hesitated. What was she waiting for, she wondered. She had threatened to kill him a hundred times, and now she had the opportunity.
One swing, one surge of energy and it would be over. She would never have to suffer his torture, his brutality or his massive cock again.
She found out in that short space of time that it takes more than hate to commit murder. The hatchet slipped from her fingers and thudded to the earth.
Colleen, in a trance, lay down on her blanket and cried herself to sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Everybody up!" a man's voice shouted. Colleen stirred, not really believing it.
"Drop your cocks and grab your socks!"
Colleen came fully awake and looked to see who was doing all the shoting, holding her blanket tightly around her. Ira sat up sleepily and rubbed his eyes, then with a burst of energy he jumped to his feet.
"Pete, you no good greasy prick! How the fuck are you?"
Colleen could see that the swarthy man was taller than Ira, but not as husky. His hair was long, hiding behind his ears and swept back into a few curls at his neck. She quickly tied her scarf about her breasts and slipped into her skirt as the men shook hands.
A young woman stood well back from the two men. Colleen couldn't tell much about her except that she was young and fat, and was obviously tired from climbing up the trail. But she was female, and Colleen started toward her.
"Miss Franklin," Ira snapped. "Come here. I want you to meet a buddy of mine."
Her first impression of Pete wasn't good. He had on a dirty sweatshirt with the words "Love and Peace" printed on it with a felt pen. His jeans were tight and far too short for him. He had sandals on his feet and a peace emblem around his neck.
Ira pulled her next to him when she came to his side. "This is Pete Chavez. He's a greaser buddy of mine who's dodging the feds. Deserted the army two years ago. Ain't that a kick in the ass?"
Pete looked at Colleen and she felt her cheeks redden. She might as well have been in the nude, the way he ate her with his covetous eyes.
"You shacked up with this fucking injun?" he asked, poking Ira lightly with his elbow. "She's stacked, Tonto."
"Who's your friend?" Colleen asked of him. "Oh, her? Name's Susie. She's my traveling cunt." He looked in her direction. "Get over here and say hello, stupid." The girl came slowly. She was barely five feet tall. She wore the top half of a bikini swim suit which revealed her fat stomach and flabby arms. A pair of dirty jeans stretched over her lower body like skin, struggling to contain the flab within them. She sat on a log near the food box.
"What a hell of time to take a twenty mile cross-country trip with a crazy Mex. I should have my brains recycled," she said, her breath short.
"She's a million laughs," Pete said. "Ugly as hell, but she can cook and she fucks like a mink."
Colleen had a closer look at the girl. She was filthy with ground-in dirt. Her stringy, bleached blond hair was long and unkempt. Her face was small, almost cupie dollish, and Colleen imagined that she might be pretty if she was cleaned up and lost some weight.
"When do we eat?" Susie asked.
Ira flipped down the end of the wooden box. "If you're so fucking hungry, get off your fat ass and make it."
Susie looked at Pete, a dark cloud shadowing her face. He nodded, and she waddled toward the food. Ira knelt at the fire and blew the embers to life, adding kindling and logs to the flames.
"Still got the Jeep?" Ira asked Pete.
"How else would I get up here?"
"Pete looked at Colleen, who had moved to the side, Tying to comb her snarled hair.
"How'd you get her?" Pete asked. "She's a little old for you."
"She wanted to see my camp. She liked it so much, she decided to stay."
Pete rubbed his crotch. "Is she off limits, or can anyone dick it?"
Ira scratched his chin and pondered the question. He looked at her, a smirk on his face, and she knew what his answer would be.
"Hey, man, why not? I ain't selfish," he answered, then pointed his thumb at Susie. "She on the prod?"
"Anytime," Pete answered, his eyes on Colleen. "She'll take anyone on; eight to eighty, blind, crippled or crazy. Just give her a can of beer and she'll fall on her back."
Pete walked to Colleen, who kept two feet of distance between them. "You lookin' for a better man?" he asked.
She turned away from him, ignoring his question. He grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. "Don't turn your back on me, cunt!"
She pushed his hand from his shoulder and stepped away from him.
"A stuck-up cunt, huh?" He quickly stepped up behind her and spun her around again, his hands pulling her scarf to her waist as she faced him. Her gorgeous tits popped up like ripe melons and bounced.
"The last time I saw tits like those, they were on a hundred dollar hooker!" He stepped closer to her. "You gonna fight me or just relax and enjoy it?"
Colleen slapped him, and before the sound faded, Pete lashed out with his bony paw and caught her on the point of her jaw. She dropped to her back. Pete reached down and yanked her to her feet. He backhanded her once and then cracked her with his palm flush on the cheek. Her head snapped to the side and she crumbled to the ground. He pulled her skirt off as she lay in a dazed heap. Next, he pulled the thin strap from around his waist and whipped it against her bared ass.
She whelped in pain, but it brought her out of her mental funk. She looked up at the gaunt man as he hovered over her, the belt ready to slash at her unprotected flesh again. When she first saw him with Ira, she thought that he might possibly be an ally. She knew, now that that was impossible. He was even more cruel and brutal than Ira.
Pete cracked the leather across her belly and Colleen writhed in agony. Then he dropped to his knees beside her, dug his fingers into her hair and yanked her head back. He looked into her watery eyes and spoke in a low, threatening voice.
"Any cunt that hits me pays the price. She either gets the shit kicked out of her or she gets fucked. And I just decided, you get fucked!"
"No!" she screamed, trying to get to her feet. But the stranglehold he had on her hair kept her on her ass.
"No, my ass. You're gonna get fucked, so don't fight it, cunt." He unzipped his pants as he spoke and pulled his cock out. The pulsing organ was semi-hard and looked like it was encrusted with last week's cum.
Colleen panicked. Her eyes flitted wildly about, searching for Ira. But it wasn't until after she screamed, "Ira, Ira, help me! Pete's trying to fuck me!" that she saw the Indian between Susie's fat legs, his bare ass pumping furiously.
"He's busy," Pete said with a wicked grin. He wrapped his hand around his cock and jerked it to stiffness as he held Colleen on the ground. The long, skinny shaft extended eleven inches from his groin, and Colleen's eyes bulged at the sight of it. But she was thankful that it wasn't thick as well. If he did succeed in ramming that filthy monstrosity into her, at least he wouldn't split her in two.
Now that it was stony-hard, he pulled her chest into his groin and rubbed the dirty pecker over her bulging tits. The torrid heat of it singed her sensitive flesh, and her nipples became stimulated to tautness by its hot agitation.
Pete got to his feet and pulled Colleen to hers. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her crotch into his, his snake-like prick slithering into the tight vee to friction over her adhering labia.
"No, no!" she wailed. Her cry was as much an admonishment to her rising passion as it was to Pete. She could feel her libido stirring restlessly, and she knew that if she allowed him to continue his sexual attack, that she would, in spite of her repulsion, give in to her base instincts and crouching lust.
Her hands flew up to his face and her broken fingernails raked across his cheeks. He howled, as much in surprise as in pain. He doubled up his fist and drove it into her belly. The air whooshed from her lungs and she doubled over in pain, falling to her side as her hands clutched at her throbbing midsection. She felt sick and nauseated as she writhed on the ground, but she knew that she wouldn't get any sympathy from Pete. In fact, falling to the ground made her more vulnerable to his attack. She was defenseless and friendless.
Pete dropped on top of her and forced her to her back. She was still moaning in pain and clutching at the hurt in her belly. He pried her legs apart and put his knee between. He then pried them farther apart and put his other knee between. Then, using his legs as dual levers, he forced her more and more apart, and she could feel his rock-hard shaft slip along her labial crack and rub over her anus.
Even in her pain she tried to wriggle out from under him, but his weight negated her efforts. He clamped onto her breasts and massaged them savagely as he rubbed his abnormally long cock along her moistening cunt-lips.
She was fighting him, but her cunt wasn't. It was preparing for his invasion by secreting its slippery fluid. Even her libido fervently prayed that she would give up the struggle and give in to his lust.
Pete lifted her ass high, so that only her shoulders and upper back touched the ground, and he used his body to pinion her into a helpless position. Then with one hand he popped her pussy-petals open, and with the other he guided his purplish crown into the opening. Once the glans was solidly imbedded in the spongy meat of her labia, he let his cock go and dug his fingers into her hips.
Her flailing hands came in contact with a thick branch, and she swung it at his head. It struck glancingly on the top of his head and then slipped from her grasp to land a few feet away.
"You dirty fucking cunt!" he snarled.
She raised her hands to her face for protection and he slapped hard at her tit. She dropped her hands to cover her breasts, but he smashed her four times in rapid succession across the face.
"Now, you motherfucker, I'm gonna fuck your cunt raw!" He drove his cock into her with a vengeful thrust. The monstrous tool screeched like an abrasive rock through her vaginal cavity, and the cock-head buried itself in the narrow neck of her cervix.
She screeched with the blast of pain that ripped through her guts. The agony didn't come from her vagina; Ira's thick cock had already acclimated that part of her anatomy to meaty invaders. The alien knob prodding in her cervix was the culprit.
"Suffer, cunt!" he barked evilly. Then he began to rut his long tool like a madman, pistoning in her tightly grabbing cunt as though trying to punch through to her belly.
It felt as though he was battering her twat with a telephone pole, but her cervix had acclimated itself to the pounding nose and Colleen was feeling nothing but indescribable pleasure. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her heels beat a frantic tattoo on his ass.
"I'm gettin' to you, huh, cunt? You dig old Pete's cock, huh?"
"Oh, shut up and fuck!" she cried.
She blasted into him as ferociously as he blasted into her, and their pelvises grated together as their fuck-hungry bodies pounded back and forth. The peaceful glen was transformed into a jungle as they bestially attacked each other, and their animal caterwauling bounced off the rocky background.
A few yards from them, Ira and Susie were engaged in their sexual battle. Their shrieking cries meshed with Pete's and Colleen's, filling the leafy glen with an orgiastic symphony.
Pete poked his finger into Colleen's asshole and fingerfucked the tight slot while he increased the crashing tempo of his pistoning shaft.
Colleen knew that he was scampering toward his climax, and she didn't want to be left high and dry. She knew that Pete was like Ira, selfish and insensitive, caring only to crack his nuts, as Ira put it, and to hell with his partner. Well, she was determined not to suffer that ignominious fate. She didn't want to be left with a knot in her guts when Pete pulled his prick out of her, so she shoved her pussy into a position where Pete's rod would have to ride over her clit as it pistoned in her twat.
"Yeah, yeah," she wailed ecstatically, using her vaginal muscles to pull and tug and twist on his entrapped phallus.
She was near her orgasm and so was Pete and it became a race to the finish line; the one getting there first to leave the other in the dust of unfulfillment. They snapped the tape in unison!
Colleen bit into his shoulder and could taste the stale perspiration, but it didn't matter. She was experiencing a monumental climax. Every cell in her body was involved and shuddering convulsively.
"Bullseye!" Pete screamed at the top of his lungs. The hot geyser spurted from his spasming cock like molten lava and quickly filled her cunt to its furry brim.
They clung to each other, afraid that they would rocket off into space if they didn't. The exquisite explosion ran its course, and then Pete rolled to his side, his long prick feeling like it would never clear her pussy-lips.
When he was out of her, Colleen looked at his filthy body and cringed. Instead of feeling contentment and postsexual warmth, she felt dirty and uneasy. She rushed into the chilling stream and let the water disinfect her.
Later, after Pete and Ira had disappeared in the cave, Colleen, her scarf and skirt in place, sat at the water's edge watching Susie busy herself around the fire. The fat girl had put her jeans on, but she was bare-chested and Colleen found the sight disgusting.
Ira and Pete came out of the cave, each with a bottle of whiskey, laughing and talking. As they got closer to Colleen, she noticed that Pete wasn't laughing with Ira, he was laughing at him.
"Look, Tonto, I didn't come up here to work. I came up here to fuck around and relax."
"Stop calling me Tonto, greaser. I got a name." Ira was suddenly angry, and he threw the long handled axe at a tree ten feet from them. It spun once, hit the tree with the blunt end and dropped to the ground.
Pete laughed. "Some injun you are, Can't even throw an axe."
"Fuck you, greaser," he snapped. He picked up the tool and walked downstream muttering angrily.
Colleen's mind raced. Pete and Ira weren't as friendly as they pretended to be. Perhaps their arrival might be fortuitous after all. If she could widen the obvious schism between them, it might work to her advantage. It was worth the try, and Pete was the likely one to work on. He might be receptive to a proposition.
As Pete passed, she said, "Thanks."
He was still thinking about his run-in with Ira, and he looked up, surprised that Colleen would even talk to him, much less thank him for anything.
"For what?" he asked.
"For showing me what making love is all about," she answered.
"Forget it," he said with a smile. "I figured you deserved something better than that loco injun."
"How long are you going to stay here?"
He shrugged. "Quien sabe? Might stay a week, might split in an hour if that crazy injun gives me any more bullshit. You know that asshole wanted me to chop wood for his fucking fire?"
Colleen shook her head in sympathy. She cocked her head and looked at his swarthy face, trying to judge his age. She couldn't.
"How old are you, Pete?"
"Twenty."
It was a surprise. She figured him to be much older. From the woods behind them they heard the thunk of Ira's axe as it bit into a tree.
"That's Tonto. He must think he's George Washington."
She sensed his animosity for Ira in the way he referred to him, in the way he spoke of him. She thought about it and wondered how she could use it. Ira and Pete were comrades without arms. They were cut from the same mold; malcontents, protestors because they were too unambitious to be anything else, and they were thrown together not by choice, but by necessity. They had to lean on each other, but that didn't mean that they had to like each other. Between Ira and Pete there was a natural enmity, glossed over by a veneer of necessary friendship.
"Ira's annoyed at something. Do you think he's angry about this morning? You know, because you and I did it?"
"Him? Fuck no. To him a cunt's a cunt. He ain't got a jealous bone in his body."
She heard him, but she didn't quite believe him. There seemed to be a sliver of doubt in his voice, and she could almost hear his mind clicking. It was another wedge she could use to separate them.
Ira appeared with an armful of cut logs and dropped them by the fire. "Hey, man, how about a hand? I got a couple more loads of this shit."
"I'm bushed, Ira. I've been driving for two days steady."
Ira snorted angrily and disappeared back into the woods.
"That fucking Indian's nuts. Working's for mules," Pete said as he tossed some stones into the stream.
"I must be nuts, too," Colleen said softly. "Or I never would have come here in the first place."
"Yeah, I been thinking about that. How'd he con you into it?"
She told him the story, not omitting any of the sordid details.
"You got shafted, but there's nothing I can do about it," he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
"But there is, Pete," she replied, edging closer to him "Why not pull out tonight and take me with you? Unless you don't think I'm a good fuck."
Pete shot a sideways glance at her and then looked in the direction that Ira had gone. "That's a bummer, baby. Tonto would come after us with his guns blazing."
"He doesn't have a gun."
"Bullshit. He always keeps a loaded forty-five stashed somewhere. And I don't like dodging bullets. That's why I kissed off the army."
Ira appeared with another armload of logs and dropped them with the first load.
"Hey, Ira," Pete called.
"What the hell do you want?"
"Your cunt just propositioned me to bug out with her tonight. Thought you ought to know."
Ira glowered at Colleen, his eyes flashing with anger. She jumped to her feet and cringed against a tree, her stomach fluttering nervously. Ira wiped his lips with the back of his hand as he pinned her to the tree with his eyes. Then, as if an atomic bomb had been detonated, "You fucking cunt! You two-bit whore! You cocksucking bitch! I ought to pull your tongue out by the roots!"
He walked toward her slowly, his fists clenching and unclenching. "Get out of them clothes!"
She untied the scarf and tossed it aside. She unzipped her skirt and let it drop to the ground. She stood there in the nude, but she was suddenly unafraid and defiant. His anger had lost its terror for her. He had raped her, made her suck his cock, and he had tortured her, and she had lived through it. What else could he do to her that he hadn't already done.
"Now you're going to show Pete and Susie what a big man you are," she said calmly, her chin held high.
"You're damn right. A squaw pays for her infidelity."
"I'm not your squaw. I'm white, the way you'd like to be but can't."
He slapped her viciously, then scooped up a piece of line and cut it in two. Next, he tossed her over his shoulder and moved down the trail, close to where he had the snake tied. He cut across from there toward the edge of the tree-shaded area where the sun had burned the grass brown and small sand piles jutted up among the blades.
Before she knew what happened, he dropped her on the hard ground and tied her hand and foot. She looked at the humps of earth and saw they were ant hills. Red ants, a quarter of an inch long, marched up one side of the mounds and down the other. There were five of the ant hills, and she was trussed up, helpless, in the middle of them.
Ira moved from one to the other, kicking the tops off, and a phalanx of angry ants stormed out of the battered settlements, ready for battle.
Colleen screamed. She had taken and passed biology because it was required. Spiders could unnerve her, but sitting nude in the middle of thousands of ants was intolerable.
By the time she screamed a second time, Pete and Susie arrived to watch the proceedings. Ira walked to them and they began to laugh as the first angry ant reached her. They swarmed over her feet and she kicked at them. She writhed and screamed as she felt them crawling up her hips and legs. They began to bite; painful, nipping bites, using their sharp, needle-like teeth to pierce her skin. It felt as though she was being punctured with dull needles. Her pitiable screams began to overlap, to fuse into an unceasing howl of agony. The ants had been on her only a few seconds when scouts spread the word and the red hordes changed their course and hurried up her legs, up her hips and across her belly, all converging on the moist pit between her legs.
They scurried through her blond forest and burrowed through to the warm nest. Within seconds her pussy-lips were covered with a living blanket of hungry red ants, siphoning in the oozing nectar. By the thousands they invaded her inner flesh, and almost on signal they began to bite and eat the succulent meat.
Colleen fainted.
CHAPTER FIVE
The shock of cold water stirred something in her subconscious, but it dimmed and passed. Then the icy coldness of the water was on her again. It washed over her and cleansed the ugliness and filth away, leaving only pleasant memories of cool mountain air and close-in stars.
She sensed the hands holding her at her head and at her feet. At last her eyes flickered open and she saw the canopy of green over her head and one out-of-focus face staring at her. She blinked and the contorting image stabilized. It was Ira. He grinned at her and carried her from the water. He lay her on a blanket and talked to her, but she didn't want to listen.
Her mind still lingered on the horror that she had just gone through. She kept seeing and feeling the ants, and she kept hearing the mocking laughter of the unholy trio.
"Miss Franklin, Miss Franklin, can you hear me?" Ira repeated over and over.
She ignored him, preferring to remain with her thoughts.
"You want me to drive you to your car?"
The question struck a responsive chord and she looked at him. "Yes, Ira, I do. Right now, please!"
He laughed mockingly. "Shit, you're all right." He picked up a stone and threw it across the stream. "We had a hell of a time getting all those fucking ants out of you."
"I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble," she said icily.
Ira walked away, found his bottle and stood looking back at her, the bottle tipped to his mouth. She ignored his stare. She lay back and enjoyed the warmth of the sun. She felt it warming and tanning her titties and pubic area, areas where she normally never got any sun.
She watched as Pete joined Ira and talked in hushed tones. Both laughing occasionally as they looked back at her.
"Damn them both," she thought. They were two of a kind; cruel, inhumane, bestial and insensitive. They deserved each other.
She closed her eyes, and luxuriated in the sun's therapeutic rays, and tried to put them and what had happened from her mind. But it was impossible to sweep the abominations under her mental carpet; Her psychology training and logical mind wouldn't let her.
How could she let them do those things to her? Not only let them, but indirectly cause them to happen and then participate. She wondered how it would affect her future, if she had a future. Had it hurt her? Physically, she had sore muscles and scraped skin, but nothing that wouldn't heal in a week. Mentally, it wasn't that easily appraised. She would have to wait and see if the vile, ugly, filthy experience left a lasting scar on her psyche.
She did feel degraded, of that she was sure. But by whose standards-hers, or the standards of a prim Victorian era?
She continued the mental debate all afternoon, and by evening she had only come to one definite conclusion: she had to try another escape. She had tried to use Pete and it had backfired. There was only Susie left. She was fat and dirty and a sexual degenerate, but she was female and she might be more em pathetic with Colleen's plight.
A blue jay called raucously from a tree, then swooped gracefully to the top of the wooden box. Colleen watched as the bandit surveyed the crumbs left from the last meal. Jays are notorious camp scavengers, and Colleen smiled as the bird pecked up the morsels. After filling itself the jay flew off, and Colleen looked for Ira. It was midmorning, and he hadn't tried to put his cock into her. He wasn't in his blanket next to her, nor was he at the fire ring. She finally spotted him standing next to a tree, urinating. Even in that he was like an animal. When he had to perform a bodily function, he did it, wherever he was or whoever was near.
She kicked her blanket open and sat up, her buttocks sore from laying on the hard, dank ground. She went to the stream and washed her face and rubbed her teeth with her finger. It had been ages since she had brushed her teeth, and there was thick film over them.
Susie joined her in the water. She splashed some water on her face and then took a drink. She then squatted and urinated. "I take some and put some back," she said, cackling at her humor.
Colleen shrugged the obscenity aside and wondered how she could get through to this twisted, unhappy girl. She decided to make her feel needed, needed for something other than a receptacle for phalluses.
"Sue, would you help me?"
"How?" Susie asked suspiciously.
"My hair's a mess, and I never could wash it myself. I'd really appreciate it if you'd help." Colleen held her breath as the girl splashed the water and thought about it.
"Shit, why not? Just don't splash the fucking suds on me. It ain't good for the skin." She cackled again, but her tone was softer, and Colleen felt that she had put a chink in the fat girl's armor.
After breakfast, Colleen did the dishes, her usual chore, and then she made her way to a spot where the water was slow moving. Susie followed but held back. Colleen kneeled down where the bank was solid yet close to the surface and dangled her hair in the cool water. She scooped up handfuls and let it shower into her tresses.
"Is it all wet?" she asked Susie.
"Looks like. Wait, I'll look closer."
There was a pause as Susie moved cautiously onto the bank.
"A little more on top. No, not there. Higher. Hell, let me do it." Susie's voice was softer, more friendly, and Colleen was pleased.
Susie soaked Colleen's hair and then watched as she began to rub the soap into it.
"Am I getting it all soaped?" she asked.
Susie grunted and Colleen continued, deliberately botching the easy task.
"Give me the damn soap," Susie finally snapped, taking the soap from Colleen's hands. Ten minutes later Colleen was fluffing her hair in the sun as Susie idly tossed stones into the water and related her life's story.
"After my older sister got married I started getting into trouble. My old man accused me of balling every dude I went out with, so I got pissed and really began screwing. I turned into the town bang. Then I just upped and ran off. But that was after they kicked me out of high school." She giggled, remembering the reason for her dismissal.
"The janitor caught the football coach fucking me in the locker room. Shit, it really caused a stink."
"Few weeks ago I bumped into Pete at a pot party. He liked me and he's a good fuck, so we sorta' stuck together. He said I was pretty then, but he ain't said it lately." She looked at Colleen's hair, the golden filaments glistening in the sun, and then she put her hands to the tangled mat on her head.
"Suppose you could make my hair look better?" she asked. "Nothing fancy. Just make it look better."
"Sure," Colleen said. "Soap and water can do wonders for any hair."
Colleen felt a sense of accomplishment as she applied soap and water to the grimy mess on Susie's head. It took three soapings and then a half hour of combing to get out the tangles, but at last Susie's hair was clean and combed. They moved upstream a bit and Colleen bathed, making sure that she agitated a lot of lather. Susie watched, and then condescended to wash her arms and face, but that was as far as she would go.
"Hell, I can't get too clean. Pete wouldn't know me."
Colleen by now had the fat girl pigeonholed. She was insecure, rebellious and starved for love. She acted the way she did to fill the aching voids in her life. But she wasn't filling the voids, she was engendering more and making those that were already there more pronounced. It was cut and dried, according to the book, and Colleen was smugly satisfied with her perspicacity.
It was time to eat again, and Susie used the last of the Spam and the beans. Four persons were eating up the food supply and it was going fast.
But if Ira objected, he didn't say it overtly. He just grumbled and grunted a lot.
Pete looked at Susie when he came to eat and his mouth gaped. "What the hell happened to you?"
"I washed my hair. It doesn't hurt anybody to wash once in awhile," she said haughtily.
Pete snorted. "Fuck you, cunt. She washes once in three weeks and she thinks she's Susie Hotshit."
Susie dropped the plate in front of him and walked away, giving him the well-known finger. Ira seemed preoccupied with his thoughts and ignored all of them as he ate. As soon as the food disappeared he stood up, his eyes flitting nervously from one to the other.
"Pete, you help me bring in fire logs." It wasn't a request, it was an order. Tension covered the camp like a smothering pall as Pete rose to his feet and stared at Ira.
Then Pete relaxed and smiled. "Fuck, why not? I'm getting restless sitting around."
Ira got his axe and the two men disappeared into the woods. Colleen and Susie washed the few dishes and then sat on the water's edge, their feet splashing playfully.
"Susie," Colleen said, her eyes looking toward the sky. "Do you think there's something wrong with Ira? You know, mentally?"
"Pete told me some wild stories about him when we were driving here. I think he flipped a long time ago."
"Then shouldn't we get out of here? What if he really flips and tries to kill us?"
Susie thought a minute, then said," I don't think he's that nuts."
"The mind's a very delicate instrument, Susie. It's very possible that Ira could go berserk at any moment."
"You mean-he ain't killed no one yet, but we might be the first?"
"Yes," Colleen answered. "I was thinking, Susie, you and I could take off down the hill the next time the guys go after logs. I remember the road, and we could be halfway to the highway before they missed us. Do you have the keys to Pete's Jeep?"
"Sure," Susie assured her. "But I'd have to think about it, Colleen. That's pretty heavy. I'll let you know, later, okay?"
Colleen had no choice. It would have to be okay, so she nodded.
The men came back with the cut logs and added them to the pile that was already there. It looked as though Ira was stocking up for winter.
"Hey, Ira," Susie called out.
"What you want, Fat Ass?" he growled.
"Miss Uppity here wants me to swipe Pete's Jeep and split with her."
Colleen's heart stopped and she looked at the fat girl, unable to believe that she had again been betrayed. How had she so misread Susie? She was sure that she had won the girl over to her side. Was psychology all fiction, words put together to sell books? What the hell was the use of slaving for long years to get a doctorate when the science was impractical, unusuable? No one reacted as they were supposed to.
More important at the moment was Ira's reaction to the information. He walked to her, his eyes smoldering, and jerked her to her feet. His hand slashed wickedly across her face and she dropped to the ground.
He leaned over and pointed his finger at her nose. "You belittle Wasuka chief. Squaw Big Tits try run from mighty chief. Chief lose face in front of tribe. Honor must be avenged. You must be punished. Devil must be beaten from you."
He jerked her to her feet again and dragged her to a nearby tree.
He tied her hands to the lowest limbs, and stripped the clothes from her body. She hung there, her arms stretched to their fullest and her feet just touching the ground. He pulled a long thin branch from the tree and sliced off the sprigs, turning it into a five-foot whip. It was thin and springy and it whistled when he whipped it in the air.
Ira took up a position a few feet to the side of Colleen's naked body and touched the tip of the switch to her belly, drawing circles about her bellybutton.
Her stomach twitched, and a palling fear gripped her in an icy vise. He was only taunting her now, but she knew that she would soon feel the sting of the thin branch.
He moved the tip to her crotch and tickled it over her puffed labia. She quivered with a bittersweet combination of exciting tremors and stifling apprehension. He lined it back up her body and then drew circles about each of her nipples. And in spite of the impending whipping, her pink teats rose up at the woody stimulation.
The wait was almost as agonizing as the whip, and she cried out in anguish, "Get it over with! Beat me and be damned!"
He snapped the switch across her tits and she whelped miserably. "Squaw no give orders. Squaw keep fucking mouth shut. Only open to scream from pain!"
"Fuck you, you maniac!" she shouted with almost hysterical anger.
He drew the whip back at arm's length and whistled it through the air. It cut like a knife into her belly. She howled in agony as a thin red line popped up on her flesh to commemorate the switch's visit.
He snapped it viciously across her thighs and a duplicate welt appeared. Again and again he snapped the cutting branch onto her bare flesh, making livid lines appear with each slash. He neglected nothing. He had lines criss-crossing her thighs, her belly, her tits, her back and her ass.
The excruciating pain battered at her brain with sledgehammer blows and her anguished wails became a steady, unceasing siren song, a lament to all the pitiable souls that have been damned to hell.
Sweat poured from Ira's dark body as he rained the savagely stinging blows on her flesh, purging his personal devil with each slash.
Then, miraculously, the pain seemed to reach its peak and level off into a dull ache, like the beginning of a toothache. Then it, too, subsided, and a rosy warmth pervaded her body, each livid line emanating a pulsing glow. She no longer felt pain. She became overwhelmed with tremulous pulsations. They raced pell mell through her body, invading her brain, her tits, her belly and her cunt. It was as though a thousand tongues were licking at her flesh, each one charged with electrical impulses.
Ira kept beating at her, but she was writhing; not in agony, but in ecstasy. Her hysterical screaming became erotic moans, and her libido was sending urgent messages to her pussy. The walls of her vagina began to secrete a thick ooze, and her clitoris pulsed to stiffness.
It was impossible, it was unthinkable and it was degenerate that she should derive such carnal rapture from the savage beating that Ira was administering to her, but she was!
She gyrated, wriggled and convoluted her ass as her surging passion massed like a dammed river in her guts. Her climax was ready to burst its bonds, but she needed the sting of the switch on her cunt, in her cunt and on her clit!
"Squaw bad," she whimpered, her breath barely able to push the words past her lips. "Hit her cunt, great chief. Hit her cunt!"
Ira was in a world of his own, beating and chastising the unworthy woman who had the effrontery to try to desert him. He was unaware of her pleasure. In his warped mind he was delivering pain and agony and cleansing her soul, but Pete and Susie saw the truth. They saw how salaciously Colleen was accepting the stinging lashes, and how close she was to an orgasm.
Susie's own pussy oozed the musk of her excitement, and Pete's cock stood achingly out in sympathetic response.
Colleen spread her legs and lifted them from the ground, offering Ira the target of her sodden cunt.
"Hit my cunt, mighty chief! Hit my cunt! Hit my cunt!" she screamed over and over, knowing that the nipping whip would bring her pent-up climax to a titanic peak.
Ira saw the red target between her widespread thighs and lashed at it. The switch cracked along her inner labia, sending a sea of exquisite sensations coursing through every nerve of her body.
"Again, again!" she pleaded. She spread her legs still further so her enraged clit would be more advantageously positioned.
He struck again and the thin whip snapped across her clit. "Ooooohhhhhhh!" she shrieked as her climax rampaged in her guts. Her body shuddered and quaked. Her head flopped from side to side as if she were having a spastic fit.
Ira kept beating her until her orgasm ran its wanton course and she went limp. He thought that she had fainted from the agony of his beating, so he tossed the whip aside.
"Squaw no try run away again!" he bellowed in satisfaction. "Fat squaw cut Squaw Big Tits down." He disappeared into the woods.
Susie quickly let Colleen down to the ground, and just as quickly put her face into Colleen's crotch. She spread the sullen cunt-lips and shoved her tongue into the slippery cave to cull the juices of Colleen's orgasm.
Colleen moaned and sighed as she lay back limply. She appreciated the wanton lapping she was getting, but she didn't have the strength to respond.
Pete jerked his long prick as he watched his fat girl friend eat Colleen's cunt. When his sperm jetted out in a graceful arch, he wiped the few remaining drops away with his hand and walked to the cave to get a bottle.
Susie stayed in Colleen's cunt until she sated her cunnilingual appetite, then she left the girl alone, allowing her to sleep off her sexual euphoria.
The light was fading when she awoke. She looked quickly around and saw Pete sitting on a log, pulling booze from a bottle, and Susie at his crotch, pulling cum from his cock. Ira wasn't anywhere in sight, and she assumed that he was communing with his ancestors in the cave.
She lay back to think, to formulate a plan of escape. She had learned a great many things the past few days. She knew that there weren't many rattlesnakes around as Ira had said; She knew that she couldn't walk the twenty miles in one day or one night. But if she walked out, it would have to be at night so she could get a good start on them. They would hunt her with the Jeep, so she would have to stay away from the trail and hide during the day.
There would be bugs and night creatures and possibly snakes, so she would have to be alert. She could carry a stick for protection. She could do it! She was convinced that she could do it. She would get both men drunk and then, when Susie fell asleep, she would fly!
Food and water. She would need them both. There was a quart canteen in the Jeep. She could fill it at the stream below. She'd carry the food in her scarf. She was ready. All she needed now was for Pete and Ira to get stinking drunk.
Shortly afterward Ira came out of the cave and Colleen went to him, hoping that his anger had subsided.
"I promise I won't ever try to run away again," she said, pretending to be contrite. "I will stay with you as long as you want me to."
"Chief happy," he said, raising his arms up. "Chief say hold big feast for squaw who come back to teepee."
Colleen couldn't believe it. She felt sure that she would have to plead with him, probably perform fellatio on him before he would accept her apology. But to be welcomed back with a feast and no harsh words was unbelievable. She thought about it as they ate. It was one more sign of Ira's mental deterioration.
As soon as they finished eating and the sun dipped from the sky, Ira built up the fire and told everyone to remain where they were. He ran to the cave, and when he came out, Colleen gasped.
Ira was garbed in a full-length ceremonial headdress, replete with brilliant natural feathers. Instead of his cut-off shorts, he wore a beaded loincloth and beaded moccasins. He stood for a moment for them to inspect him, then he motioned for Colleen to come to him. She stood before him, and he took a garment from his arm and put it around her. It was made of some kind of soft leather with crude armholes. He fastened it around her and slipped a leather headband with three feathers sticking up around her forehead.
"Eagle feathers," Ira said proudly as he pointed to the feathers in her headband. "Eagle feathers only for squaw of Chief."
Colleen felt the robe-like dress that she wore. It was soft and pliant, like a doeskin jacket. It wasn't new, but it had been carefully cleaned and cared for.
She looked at his headdress again and saw that the feathers were authentic, probably having been worn by a tribal chieftain in the distant past.
Susie became impatient and called out, "Hey, chief, when do we drink?"
"Yes, drink! We have celebration! We dance, we drink!" He ran to the cave and returned with two more bottles. He handed one to Pete and one to Colleen as Susie scrambled to get the cups.
Ira filled Colleen's cup with water and whiskey. She watched as he and Pete tilted their bottles high. Swill it down, you perverted bastards, she thought.
Ira cleared everyone from the immediate area of the fire and began to dance. Pete beat on a log as Ira stamped with a slow, methodical beat. He was enthusiastic but inept.
The dances that Colleen had seen the Indians do in New Mexico were fast and exciting and vibrant, whereas Ira's dancing was slow and plain. It didn't seem the least bit authentic to her.
Ira stopped his dancing and sat before the fire, raising his voice in song as soon as he had his legs crossed in front of him. It sounded like a wailing Indian song familiar to moviegoers, but Colleen detected meaningless words, words that sounded more gibberish than Indian. In another situation, at another time, Colleen would have wept for him. He was so big and strong and young, but he was slipping away from reality. And with sudden realization, she knew that she was watching a man tottering on the brink of insanity!
Ira drank again and so did Pete. Soon Pete nodded to Susie and they slipped away to their secluded nook in the glen. In the dim light, Colleen could see Susie grabbing at his crotch.
Ira never noticed they were gone. His wailing continued, and he reached for the bottle more and more frequently. When he began having trouble keeping his head up, he stopped his awful caterwauling and stood up.
"Come!" he ordered Colleen. She followed him to a tree. "Sit!"
She did, with her back to the trunk. He walked to the back of the tree and pulled her arms back around it and tied her wrists together.
"You call me chief, cunt squaw! Me chief!" he
"But, but you don't have to tie me. I swore I wouldn't try to run away again!" she blurted out in frustration. With that simple knot, all her plans were flushed down the drain.
"Chief no take chance with cunt squaw." He staggered back to the fire, and after taking a long drink from the bottle, he began his mournful chant again.
CHAPTER SIX
Hands shook her roughly and woke her. As she looked up at her antagonist she rubbed her wrists and arms, trying to restore normal circulation. Blood was showing on her upper arms where the rough bark had scratched her skin.
She started to get up, but Ira pushed her down.
"Squaw, why you always try run away? he asked, his eyes bloodshot and jerking fitfully.
"Ira, I was only...."
"You call me chief, cunt squaw! Me chief!" he said, beating his chest with his fist.
He was still wearing his loincloth and moccasins, and his face was brightly painted, as though he was about to lead a war party. Colleen felt that he was completely gone now, and that he had lost all touch with reality.
"I was trying to get back to my own tribe, chief. You said I could go back to my tribe, and as a chief of the mighty Wasuka tribe, you are honor bound to keep your word."
Ira's black eyes stared at her for a long time. She sensed that his thoughts were far away, back in time, on the dusty plains of the southwest. It was even possible that she had found the way to reach him. But it was ironic that Ira had to be teetering between reality and fantasy before she had found the key.
At last he took her hand and lifted her.
"Chief forget great raid by Wasuka against Pala tribe. We take many women in the raid, kill .nany warriors. A glorious victory for the Wasuka! Then we smoke pipe of peace with Pala tribe and promise to send back half of squaws. Why you not sent back?"
"I was held by a bad Indian. Kept hidden. This Indian talked with the paleface. They made him turn from honor. Now, as the chief of the Wasukas you are bound by honor to send me to tribe at long black road."
"I will talk to spirits. We will speak of honor. Now go, help fat squaw make food."
Colleen hurried to the food box and joined Susie, who was shaking her head. "How does that loco Indian expect me to make anything to eat when there's practically nothing in the fucking box?"
"I don't think he'll know the difference if you feed him sand and grass," Colleen said, looking into the empty larder. Forgotten were the facts that Susie had betrayed her the night before and that Susie had degraded her with cunnilingus.
Susie laughed. "He's really flipped, hasn't he? He even wants Pete and me to call him chief. He won't get out of that fucking loincloth, and I don't think he's had a hard-on for two days."
Colleen laid the plates out and put forks between them, thinking about Susie's last statement. Colleen hadn't thought about it, but Ira hadn't stuck his huge cock into her for quite awhile. It was very uncharacteristic, but normal if he was really going insane.
"You really dig the whip, don't you, Miss Uppity?" Susie said with a smirk. "You strut around here like you wouldn't say shit if you had a mouthful, but you sure came a quart when Ira laid the branch to you."
Colleen had tried to put the perverted display from her mind, but Susie brought it back to her with crystal clarity. It was something that she didn't want to face; not at that moment, anyway.
She had to be back in civilization to put it in its proper perspective. So she ignored Susie's remarks.
"You and Pete going to stay around here much longer?" she asked.
"When the food and booze is gone, we split!"
They had refried beans and peach slices for breakfast, and after the unappetizing meal, Colleen washed the dishes in the creek. She had taken the heavy deerskin robe off and hung it on a tree, preferring to wear her scarf and skirt.
Pete walked up behind her, snaked one arm around her waist and cupped his hand over her breast. She pushed his hand away, but he put it back and added his other for good measure.
"Don't fight me, Colleen. I'm aching for a good piece of ass."
"Yeah, you probably haven't had any for two or three hours," she said disdainfully.
He pulled her scarf down and taunted her with, "Would you like it better if I had a whip?"
She turned to face him, her eyes blazing with hate. "You fucking bastard!"
She started away from him and he followed, but Ira stepped between them.
"Nobody fuck chief's squaw but chief!" Ira said, his arms crossed on his chest.
"Keeeerist! What kind of a funny farm is this fucking place turning out to be?" Pete exploded. "I ain't gonna watch them tits and keep my hands off!"
Ira whipped a five-inch blade from his waist and pointed it at Pete. "Keep hands off!"
"Put it away, Ira. I ain't got my blade on me."
"Not Ira! Chief! No touch chief's squaw!"
"Okay, chief, okay. She's all yours."
Pete turned and went to the stream for a drink of water, muttering angrily. Colleen had watched the confrontation, and she wondered how much longer Pete would tolerate Ira's insane abuse.
Later that afternoon the incident seemed to have been forgotten as Ira and Pete lay in the sun, guzzling whiskey from an ever-present bottle. Colleen watched closely and noticed that Pete was drinking less than Ira, but she didn't know if it was by accident or by design. It looked as though Pete was trying to get Ira drunk, and by mid-afternoon he had succeeded. Ira tried to throw his hatchet into the tree and missed it completely. He walked around the camp arm in arm with Pete, singing bawdy songs.
Colleen watched and wondered. Pete seemed to have a definite plan in mind. And when she left the campsite to attend to her toilet, she found out. She squatted behind a leafy screen to tend her needs when she heard a branch snap, then a giggle. Then two leering faces popped out to stare at her. Pete whistled and Ira laughed.
"Go ahead, Miss Franklin," Ira said. "I got a bet with the greaser that you piss backwards. Go on, let it fly!"
So that was it! When Ira was drunk enough, he reverted back to reality and his same filthy, brutal, vulgar self. That had been Pete's idea all along. All he wanted to do was fuck her, and the only way he could get Ira to go along was if he was drunk. She quickly stood up, dropped her skirt and scurried back to the camp.
Ira found her a few minutes later. He grinned at her and pulled her scarf from her.
"Motherfucker. Best tits in the country." he said "Gotta fuck them. I never fucked tits. Come on!"
He took her hand and pulled her along to the grassy area beyond the fire ring, where Pete had already spread three blankets. Susie stood by, watching as Ira led Colleen to the middle of the blankets.
"Stand on your head," Ira ordered. "I wanta see them tits upside down."
"I can't stand on my head."
"We'll help you." Ira picked her up by the waist and tipped her upside down, then lowered her head to the ground as Pete held her legs.
Ira knelt in front of her, and she looked up at the sac and bulging shaft. She would have screamed, but she knew that it would have been wasted. Her skirt fell down and covered her breasts, but Ira unzipped it and pulled it off. Then he laughed as he bent lower to nuzzle his cock between the bulbous globes. He squeezed them together, and his nine-inch pole was surrounded by the pliant flesh. He laughed again and began to pump the muscular projection back and forth, rubbing dry skin against dry skin until it began to hurt him as much as it did her. He stopped, spit on his hands, coated the length of his penis with the saliva and slid it back into place.
Pete, in the meantime, was entertaining himself. He had her legs apart and was moving his fingers over her pussy-lips, appraising the delicate pinkness.
Colleen didn't fight them, deciding that the sooner it was over with, the sooner she would be free of them. That was her initial intent. But now her cowering lust came to the fore, and she didn't fight them because she wanted their licentious attention. Her veins flooded with boiling blood and her libido howled with desire. Her breasts pulsed each time Ira's tool slipped between them, and her nipples rose to blush in full bloom.
Pete's fingers were drawing flaming paths of fire over her pulpy cunt-lips and through her blond pubes.
"Shit, man, lay her down," Ira said, puffing. "This is too touch."
Colleen thought her head would split with the hot blood that rushed to it when she was upside down, and now the blood rushed back and she felt lightheaded.
Pete put her down on her hands and knees and Ira roared, "Stay that way!" He lay on his back and had her lay on top of him, but he eased her downward until his rigid prick rubbed into the deep valley between her mammaries. He squeezed them together again and pumped upward, his crown battering into her sternum. He closed his eyes and fell into a steady rhythm.
Colleen accepted the battering with pleasure and wondered when Pete was going to enter into the sensuous activity.
It was as though he had read her mind. Pete spread her legs farther apart, then bent down to kiss along her inner thighs. The sparking tremors ripped through her. He moved his lips up and down the soft flesh, and then nibbled teasingly at her cunt lips. He tongued into her vulva and lapped in the seeping juices. Satisfied that she was attuned to his deft tonguing, he moved to her distended clitoris and rocked it back and forth with a sensuous rhythm.
Colleen whined and whimpered from the exquisite sensations that riccochetted in her guts. And then Pete shoved his face deep into her crotch, his teeth cannibalizing her clit, pulling and letting it go, then grabbing it solidly with the sharp edges and gnashing it.
Colleen felt Pete's erotic humming in her cunt and looked to see what was happening. Susie, who had been standing by, had turned Pete onto his back and was sucking voraciously on his cock. The four mismated lovers were joined. Ira was furiously pistoning his turgid trunk between Colleen's pendulous tits while Pete feasted regally in her cunt. And Susie had nine of Pete's eleven inches of rock-hard prick in her mouth.
The erogenous express, carrying four wanton passengers, roared faster and faster toward its carnal terminal.
Colleen's face was laying on Ira's chest, and his breath roamed in her ears and his heart hammered a thunderous drum roll as his tool bored between her tits in frantic strokes. He was nearing a climax, and she waited anxiously for the slippery load.
Ira wailed mournfully and his semen jetted against her chest and breasts and chin, feeling warm and alive.
Colleen burned with the fire of demons in her crotch. The searing delight of Pete's teeth on her clit was tearing her to pieces. She forced her hips downward on his upturned face and her buttocks tightened, quivered and twitched. She was in the vortex of a thunderhead, being pulled higher and higher into the sky. Then she fell and splashed into the devil's cauldron, her body heaving and shaking and convulsing as if her flesh was melting from her bones. And then it was over. Her breathing, which had spiralled to gale proportions, coasted down to a steady, easy rhythm, and she rested in the total bliss of sexual afterglow.
Pete pulled his face from her spent twat and lay on his back, giving all his attention to Susie, who was still ministering to his upright phallus. He pushed his hips up and down faster now, and his huge cock popped Susie's head up and down like a yo-yo. He moaned and pounded his fists onto the turf. When he finally exploded, Susie was mewling contentedly from the salty semen that slithered down her throat and from her self-induced climax.
The quartet lay where their passionate surges had deposited them, and no one seemed ready to break the euphoric spell that had been cast. Nor did anyone want to untangle the jumble of arms and legs.
It was Susie who finally moved, nimbly uncoiling from the garbled flesh and running to the stream. Pete rolled over and Colleen stood up, found her scarf and skirt and walked to the creek, where she let the water wash away the sweat and semen and her own love juices. She scrubbed herself from head to toe and sat in the cold stream until her teeth began to chatter, then she went to the other side of the stream and lay in a soft patch of grass to bask in the sun.
Four of us, she thought, placing herself in a class with the other sexual deviates. Her baptism into sexuality was complete and she was accepting it. From now on there would be no self-recrimination, no Victorian protests and no prudish or prim groans. She would live to escape, and she would live to indulge her new-found lust.
The first she knew of the argument was the scream of protest from Pete. She stood and saw them beyond the fire ring, Pete and Ira, ten feet apart, shouting violently at each other. She slipped into her scarf and skirt and hurried over to the fire ring.
"What the fuck do you think I am, your God damned slave?" Pete screamed.
"Me chief! You do what I say!"
"Fuck you! And if you got any friends, fuck them too! Me and Susie are splitting from this fruit farm right now!"
Pete moved toward the fire ring and Ira jumped in his path.
"You stay or you die!"
Pete watched him, looked in his eyes to see if there was a chance to talk his way out. There wasn't. Ira was past the stage of reason. He was in the past, living in the narrow world of insanity.
"I ain't staying and I ain't dying! I'll fight you, with knives, Indian style, okay?"
Ira nodded. He ran to the cave and returned with the knife that he had used to slash Colleen's shoulders. Pete hurried to his pack and came back with a hunting knife. It was heavy and sturdy, its shining metal glistening in the sun.
They met in the center of the glen. Pete held up his hand.
"Ira, I'm giving you a chance to back down. I've seen you knife fight, that night in Tijuana after the bullfights. You don't know what to do with a blade. Let's forget it and walk away, and no hard feelings."
"No!" Ira roared. "Fight or die!"
Pete had been standing six feet from Ira, relaxed but alert. He took a small step forward and came down on his toes, his knees bent slightly, his weight evenly distributed. He held his knife waist high with the blade straight forward, so it became an extension of his arm. He knew how to use the knife. Neighborhood battles when he was young had given him valuable experience in the art.
Ira moved quickly into the same stance, his left hand extended to parry any thrust Pete might make. Pete waited for him as they circled warily, each with his eyes focused the other's blade. Ira whooped and thrust at Pete, his knife slashing at an arm. But Pete spun away and Ira missed by a wide margin.
Ira turned and came at Pete again, this time low, his blade slashing at knee level, but Pete stepped to one side and thrust down, the tip of his blade knicking a two-inch cut in Ira's forearm. Pete moved this time and feinted Ira into lunging at him, then rolled with him, slicing his blade across Ira's chest.
The blood oozed from the wound, but Ira never looked at it. He circled, more cautious now, and his breathing was shallow. He waited for the taller man to come to him this time. Pete's blade bit into Ira's shoulder, but Ira's blade slanted down Pete's wrist and hurt him.
The Mexican was shocked for a moment, and he wondered if he had underestimated the Indian's desire. He shrugged off the blood coming from his wrist and moved in on Ira, slashing him twice more on the chest and once on the shoulder without Ira's blade touching him.
Both men's breath was labored now and their pace slackened. Their effort was taking its toll.
Pete feinted again, then drove his blade into Ira's shoulder. The blood gushed out and Pete stepped back. "Give it up, Ira. Don't make me kill you! Throw down the knife and we'll patch you up."
Ira snarled and charged at Pete again. Pete ducked under the vicious lunge, then parried the blade with his left arm, putting it out of play. At the same time he thrust upward, short and powerful, and his knife buried itself between Ira's ribs. The knife dropped from Ira's hand and he hung in the air a moment, then dropped to his knees and pitched forward, dead before his face hit the dirt.
Colleen screamed and ran to Ira's inert body. She knelt beside him, putting her fingers to his wrist. Her eyes were staring blankly as she let the limp arm fall from her grasp.
"He's dead," she mumbled. The tears flowed and she sat back on her knees beside Ira's prostrate form. His broad chest was soaked with his blood, but his eyes were open, staring unseeing at the ground.
Susie came up silently, looked at the body and turned away.
Pete walked to his pack, dug out a first aid kit and bandaged his wounds. They wouldn't even leave a scar.
Colleen closed Ira's eyes. Ira was dead. Ira was dead. She said it over and over to herself, trying to convince herself that it was true. Trying to realize what it meant to her.
She was free, free to walk away from the filth and degradation of the glen. And no one would stop her. She would take Ira's Jeep and drive out. She would tell the sheriff where to find Ira's body and then she would bury the terrible memory of the camp in her subconscious.
Pete passed her without looking, a full fifth of whiskey in his hand, and headed upstream. Colleen knew it would be some time before he came back, and he would be roaring drunk by then. She stood quickly, shook out the nearest blanket and placed it over Ira.
"Looks like the camp-out is over," Susie said, sadly. It was as though she believed that the killing ended her affair with Pete.
Colleen watched the heavy girl. She was pretending to be brave. She gave the appearance of emotional stability, but her image was becoming frayed around the edges.
"Go ahead and cry, Susie. I won't tell Pete."
"Who wants to cry?" Susie snapped impatiently. "What I want is a drink, but Pete's got the bottle."
Colleen knew she should find the keys to Ira's Jeep and leave immediately. There was an atmosphere of doom about the campsite, as though death was lurking in the shadows. She got up and went to the cave, the most logical place to look for the keys.
There wasn't much in the circular fifteen-foot cave: a packboard, two cases of beer, a case of whiskey with one bottle left and another carton of canned peaches. At the far side of the cave was a wooden packing crate. And inside the crate was a small suitcase, an army .45 and two clips of ammunition. Beside the .45 was the key to her freedom. Her hand closed around it, then she picked up the gun and the ammunition and walked out of the cave into the sun.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Where the fuck you think you're going?"
Colleen turned quickly around and saw Pete glaring at her.
"I'm going home. I've had enough camping to last me forever."
"You ain't goin' nowhere! Not now, not tomorrow, maybe not ever!"
"What are you talking about, Pete? You haven't anything to worry about. Ira held me captive, not you. I couldn't charge you with anything."
"No?" he questioned. "How about murder? That's a pretty good rap."
"Murder?" Colleen, for the moment, had forgotten about Ira. "Ira forced you into the fight. It was a clear case of self-defense. You've got two witnesses who'll swear to it."
Pete took the gun and ammunition from her. "That's what you say now. But what about a week from now, after you have your soft bed back and your belly full, and all you have of this place is bad memories? What'll you say then?"
She thought about it and couldn't answer truthfully.
"That's what I thought," he said, her hesitation convincing him that he couldn't trust her. "You sure made a beeline for the cave and Ira's .45, didn't you? Who'd you expect to use it on, me?" He took a drink of the whiskey and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"No," she protested. "I wasn't going to use it on anyone. It Was for protection against animals and snakes."
"What do you consider me, a snake or an animal?" he asked, a wry smile on his face. She didn't answer. "I suppose you got the Jeep keys, too," he continued. "But that don't matter. You ain't goin' nowhere."
They walked to the fire ring as Susie rummaged through the food box.
"We got enough food for two days," she called to them. "That is, if you ain't too particular what you eat."
Pete snorted. "I was getting bugged with this fucking place anyway."
Colleen turned and tightened her scarf, dropping the keys into the folds as she did. The ring caught securely. Two days, she thought. She could take it for two more days, and then Pete would let her go.
Pete and Susie wandered off taking turns at the whiskey bottle, and Colleen was left alone. She spread a blanket in the shade and lay down. So much had happened so fast and she didn't realize how emotionally and physically drained she was until she was relaxed. A few moments after she lay down she dozed off.
When she awoke, the first long shadows were stretching across the camp. She had lost several hours, hours that could have been utilized to bury Ira.
Susie had prepared some food, and she called for Colleen to join she and Pete. The split pea soup, crackers and sliced peaches left a lot to be desired, but Colleen devoured it.
Pete got some beer from the cold stream and they sat around the fire ring, no one speaking but all of them thinking. Pete's eyes never blinked as he focused all his attention on Colleen. And she was sure that he was building himself up for another assault on her.
He had been drunk before the knife fight, but the savage encounter had negated the effect of the whiskey. And the amazing thing to Colleen was that Pete's conscience wasn't the least bit affected by Ira's death.
Susie seemed changed, though. After the first shock of Ira's death wore off, she withdrew into a shell and sat by the fire, feeding small twigs into it and watching them burn up. It was as though she was marking time, waiting for the next disaster to strike.
Pete looked like he was ready to indulge his lust, but before he could move to her she stood up and walked toward Ira's blanketed body.
"Shouldn't we bury him?" she asked, hoping to get Pete's mind off sex.
Pete stood up and weaved his way next to her. "What for? He ain't goin' noplace."
"We can't leave him in the open for the animals and insects to get at him."
"Shit, baby, there's only one thing that you want protected from the animals, and that's his cock!"
"Pete, you're even more foul than I thought," she screamed.
"Gotta protect Tonto's cock," he said and tossed the blanket from Ira's nude body. And before Colleen could move to stop him, he pulled Ira's flaccid penis up and chopped it off at the roots. Colleen stood horrified as Pete held it up triumphantly and then tossed it at her.
It hit her chest and dropped to the ground. She screamed hysterically and ran to her blanket. She curled up in a ball and buried her head in her arms, Pete's mocking laughter ringing in her ears.
She must have fallen asleep, because the next time she opened her eyes the area was pitch black and the fire was built into roaring flames, the cut logs stacked up in a high pyramid.
Pete appeared in front of her, between her and the fire. Silhouetted against the roaring flames, Pete looked immense.
"I been wondering whose cock you like better, mine or Tonto's?"
She paid no heed to the idiotic question, but she knew that it was a preface of things to come. He was ready to fuck her, and she decided she would let him without putting up a struggle. The sooner he climaxed, the sooner she would be left alone.
He waved a stick in front of her, but she ignored it. Pete didn't want to beat her, he wanted to fuck her. He dropped to his knees and pawed at her scarf. She took it off and wadded the keys inside the cloth. He fell on her and chewed on her tits while he pulled her skirt off and moved his hand to her crotch.
He held the stick up again and chuckled. "Ira sure had a thick wang, but mine's a hell of a lot livelier right now, isn't it?"
She attributed his inane chatter to the whiskey and lay back, enticing him to ram his hardened prick into her. He waved the stick under her legs for a moment, then changed his mind and brought it up to the fire's light so Colleen could see it better. She was puzzled; why all this attention on a stick?
"Take a good look," he suggested, a hideous smirk on his face. He pulled her into a sitting position and moved the stick closer to her face.
"No!" she screamed. "You didn't! You couldn't!"
"I sure as fuck did, baby! This is Old Red. I stretched him out to life-size and hardened him just a little over the fire. Nice and cool now, though. Put these little sticks through it to make it hold stiff for you."
Colleen shrank back from him, her stomach convulsing with wretching spasms. She scrambled to her feet, but Pete's hand darted out and pulled one foot from under and she fell beside him. He pushed the ghoulish penis close to her face and her stomach flip-flopped, the nausea rising to her throat.
"Gonna find out whose cock you like better."
She fought him. She scratched at his face, she beat on his chest and she kicked for his balls, but it didn't stop him. One hairy arm pinned her to the ground, his elbow pressing into her breast. His knee rammed between her legs and forced them apart, then his feet spread them wide.
"Are you insane, too?" she screamed. "You can't do this! It's inhuman!"
He ignored her hysterical rage and dropped his hips so his long tool could pressure against her cunt-lips. He lay the stick aside and used his hand to guide his snarling glans into the slippery opening he had created. Once his cock was imbedded in her twat, she relaxed and lay back, prepared for the enjoyment of his rabid pumping.
That was what he wanted. He grunted and pulled out of her. Then, using his weight to keep her pinioned to the ground, he grabbed Ira's severed penis and rammed it into her widespread cunt-meat.
She screamed and squirmed, trying desperately to dislodge the charred, dead flesh. She couldn't.
The hardened pole ripped and tore in her vagina. But there was no pleasure in it, only revulsion and pain! Slashing, lacerating pain!
She suddenly stopped screaming and Pete grinned. He imagined she liked having the abhorrent hunk of dead meat reaming in her cunt, but when he looked more closely he saw that she had fainted.
"Shit!" he grumbled and pulled the dried phallus from her cunt, tossing it aside in disgust.
He looked down at his raging hard-on and then at her wide-open snatch. He had never fucked a chick who was out cold. What the hell, he thought, it was better than pulling his cock and letting the jizm spray over the dank earth.
He rammed his prick into her and pumped excitedly, his hands kneading and massaging her cool tits. He growled gutterally when he spilled his sperm into her unmoving cunt-meat, but somehow the climax was unsatisfying.
"Shit!" he snarled. "I wonder where that fat-ass cunt is." He left in search of Susie, his cock beginning to reharden with anticipation.
Colleen's faint segued into sleep, and hours passed before she awoke. She sat up startled, the memory of Pete's hideous attack fresh in her mind. She realized that she must have fainted, and she silently thanked God that she had. But she remembered the vileness, the horror, the unspeakable abomination of Ira's dead penis tearing in her cunt!
She shuddered at the burning in her vagina. How far and for how long had he rammed that ghoulish thing into her? It felt as if her whole insides were cut to shreds. She would become infected if she didn't get some medical attention.
Then she thought of the key! She felt around frantically. The scarf was gone! She searched the immediate area, but it wasn't there.
She got to her feet and the pain gnawed at her. She had to find the key.She couldn't allow the pain to immobilize her. There was no possible way that she could walk the twenty miles to her car with that agony between her legs. It was imperative that she find the key. She looked around the camp. The fire had burned to dying embers and she couldn't see Susie or Pete in the near vicinity. She went in search of them.
It was a agonizing search, each step setting new fires burning in her vagina. Each small movement exposed more of the rawness and induced more chafing.
She almost tripped over them as they lay near the bank of the stream, their bodies locked together. She held her breath, not knowing if they were asleep or fucking. When she saw no movement, she knew that they were asleep.
The edge of her scarf showed beneath Susie's fat shoulder. She pulled it free, slowly, inch by inch. She quickly felt the corners and breathed a sigh of relief when she felt the key. She hurried back to her blanket to rest her body and her pussy, hoping that both would be healed enough by morning to get her through the day.
Colleen was the first one up the next morning. The sun was almost over the rim of the eastern hills and the woods were alive with the excited chirping of foraging birds. She spotted Pete and Susie just as he was pulling his long cock out of Susie's fat ass. He grinned and waved.
Colleen snorted in disgust and went to start a fire. She shivered in the early morning chill and warmed herself over the flames. As she squatted she moved from side to side, checking to see how much pain still remained in her vagina. Surprisingly, the pain was minimal. A woman's womb is indeed a fantastic organ, she thought. It took a tremendous beating during its time on earth. With enormous cocks going in and fat babies coming out, it was a miracle that it could remain functional throughout a woman's life.
Susie came over and checked the breakfast menu. They had peaches, plenty of them, one package of crackers that nobody liked, two more cans of baked beans, a can of peas and a can of small sausages.
"It's peaches and crackers for breakfast," Susie said as Pete joined them. He scratched his crotch and looked at Colleen.
"Why don't I just chew on Colleen's tits?" Pete said, and then ate as much as the girls did together. If Pete held any remorse for what he had done to Ira and to Colleen, he gave no indication of it. To him, it was just another day to squander aimlessly, with no purpose and no direction.
He pointed to the clouds in the west. "Looks like a thunderstorm building up."
As Colleen looked at the thunderhead in the distance, Pete moved next to her and pushed his hands under her scarf. "That's what I like about you, Colleen. You're willing to share your goodies."
He pushed her to her back and fondled both mounds, her scarf falling to her waist. He was massaging the upright breasts almost carelessly, as if it had become a mundane ritual to stimulate her before getting down to more intense sexuality.
"Tonto used to rant about being the original American, and how the white man fucked his people. Well, fuck, I can trace my ancestry all the way back to the Aztecs and the golden empire.
They really knew how to live in those days. They knew how to die, too. They knew the glory of human sacrifice."
He leaned back and looked at her and saw the fearful expression on her face.
"Don't you worry, Colleen, baby. They only sacrificed virgins." He and Susie laughed.
She didn't know what Pete was leading up to, but she had been with him enough to know that she was in for a bad time. She let his hands wander over her, knowing that fighting him would be a vain waste of energy.
He suddenly slapped her for no apparent reason. It was a stinging blow that snapped her head around and fathered a handprint on her cheek.
"You weren't listening! Show respect for my ancestors!" He moved so one hand could work on her leg. Colleen began to feel a cozy warmth settling in her breasts and in her pussy. He rolled her nipple and sent tingling chills along her spine.
"One interesting ritual they had was for fertility," he continued. "If a wife bore no children after the first year, she had to go to the priest for the fertility rite." He paused and unzipped her skirt. She lifted her ass so he could slip it easily from her body.
"Hell, why tell you about it. I'll show you. First we gather the ingredients. It always began with spit from the mother of the woman. We'll let Susie be your mom, okay?"
Susie waddled up with a cup and spat in it before handing it to Pete. Colleen didn't see the knife in Pete's hand, but she felt the sting of pain as it cut into the side of her breast. She looked down and saw blood ooze from the nick. She screamed. Pete ignored the inconvenience to his ear and squeezed five drops of the seeping claret into the cup.
"Five drops of breast-blood is the second ingredient."
Colleen's face whitened in rage, but she controlled herself, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset. She leaned back and dabbed at the wound with her scarf.
"That didn't hurt, did it?" he asked evilly. "Next, we need ten drops of the bride's hot urine. We're all friends here, and nobody's got nothing we ain't seen, so just squat, Colleen, and give us a shot of piss."
Colleen almost hit him, but she remembered her vow to cooperate and to forget indecencies. She squatted as Pete held the cup to her pussy. But she was as tight as a drum and couldn't urinate.
"I can't," she whined.
Pete understood. "Happened in Aztec times, too. But they were allowed one substitute. The priest would piss in the woman's mouth, and she spit it into the cup." He pulled his limp penis out, shook it once or twice and then started urinating. He pinched it hard and cut off the stream, then turned around to Colleen. She turned her head but Susie put her arm around her throat and held her head still. Susie tightened her grip and Colleen's mouth opened. The stream of urine almost gagged her; she coughed, spit and sputtered and continued trying to escape Susie's stranglehold. Susie released her and Pete emptied his bladder in another direction.
"It has to be authentic or it don't work," he said with a smirk.
Colleen wished that she had the .45, she would have happily blown Pete's head off.
"The rest of the ingredients are all on hand." He dropped items into the cup as he named them. "The eye of a rattlesnake. The feather of a blue bird. And the droppings of a rabbit. Now we stir with the bird feather to mix the potion well."
Pete pushed Colleen to her back and Susie held her arms pulled over her head, kneeling with her weight on Colleen's wrists.
"Next the bride is encouraged to participate freely in union with the potion." He swabbed her labia with the vile mixture, using the feather to spread it about.
"To further help the sterile woman, she must tend to the priest's cock." He sat astride her, his flexious rod close to her mouth. "Lick it, coax it, make it hard and mean."
Susie released one of her arms and Colleen fondled the rubbery length of meat, licking its limp glans and fondling his scrotum. She put the soft cap in her mouth and began nipping it with her teeth until she felt it begin to stir and rise like a balloon being filled with air. When it was steely hard, Pete pulled it from her mouth.
"Hey, you would have made one fuck of an Aztec!" he complimented. "Next step is for a woman with many children to make the breasts fertile and filled with milk."
Susie fell over her, her mouth nibbling hungrily on Colleen's tits. She chewed them, sucked them until Colleen thought that the fat girl would masticate them into nothingness. Colleen felt smothered by the mountain of human flesh as Susie pressed down on her. She pushed up and Susie eased her bulk upward, keeping the succulent tit in her gnawing mouth. Colleen reached for Susie's mammoth mammary and strained trying to get it into her mouth. Susie shifted slightly and Colleen was able to pull in the bountiful tit, and she devoured more and more of the fatty tissue until her cheeks bulged with it.
As they cannibalized each other's tits, Pete lifted Colleen's legs and slammed his cock into her fiery cunt. Twelve thunderous strokes later he shot his lava-like gusher into her and pulled out. He sat her up and pulled her next to him.
"The last part requires a blob of priest's cum from the woman's cunt." He took her hand and placed it between her legs. She fingered through her pussy-lips and gathered the slippery residue of Pete's orgasm on the tip of her finger, then scraped it off on the lip of the cup.
"We're ready for the most important part," he intoned solemnly. "The sterile wife drinks the potion."
He held it out to her and she yelled, "Fuck you, you crazy son-of-a-bitch!" as she slapped the foul-smelling cup from his hand. She scrambled to her feet and ran toward the stream.
Pete and Susie rolled on the ground as they laughed uproariously. Tears came to their eyes, they found the episode so hilariously funny.
Colleen gargled with gallons of the pure stream water, but she couldn't get the rancid taste out of her mouth. She felt as though she would never be clean again. She should have refused the first indecency as she had the last.
Colleen hadn't noticed the storm clouds moving closer, but now the thunder boomed and rolled in the hills. She looked up and saw dark clouds scudding furiously about the sky. She felt the first gentle drops of rain on her shoulders and tilted her head to the heavens, allowing the tingling drops to splatter on her face.
Jagged streaks of lightning split the heavens in the distance as the rain increased. Colleen walked to the edge of the trail and watched as the wind brought the storm nearer and nearer. She could see the slanting sheets of rain fall as the storm moved across the valley. Pete and Susie ran for the shelter of the cave.
But she sat on a boulder, enjoying the spectacular display and the fresh, cool rain on her head and shoulders. She was soaked, but it didn't bother her. It felt clean and new, and somehow it seemed a good omen.
The storm passed as quickly as it came, and the sun came out, drying everything in a matter of minutes. The sun hovered directly overhead and the humidity soared for awhile, but then returned to its normal level.
Pete sauntered up to Colleen, a Chesire-cat grin on his face. "How's it shakin', baby?" he asked. He was spinning the forty-five on his finger, and Colleen looked at it.
"Do yourself a favor, Pete,', she said casually.
"How?"
"Hide that forty-five. Because if I get my hands on it, I'll blow your fucking brains out."
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Keeerist," he moaned. "Can't anyone take a joke anymore? We was just having some fun."
"It wasn't funny to me," she barked. She marched to the food box, where she opened a can of beans and ate them cold.
Pete and Susie came up to her. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked.
"What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?" she shot back at him. Pete was surprised by her sudden pugnacity, and he looked at Susie for support. The fat girl shrugged.
"In answer to your question last night, you're not half the man Ira was. You're dumb and running scared. You were better with a knife, period. I'd like to give you some tests and find out if you even know which way is up."
"What do you know, cunt? You ain't no psychiatrist!"
"I know plenty. You're a big man who knows he's really only five-foot-three. You have to convince yourself every day that your pants still fit you."
"Just a fucking minute...."
"It bugs you, doesn't it? I know you're really a coward. You can't hide it forever, Pete." She opened the food box and pulled a butcher knife from it. "From now on, keep your fucking hands off me. If I want your cock, I'll whistle for you." She turned her back on him and walked away.
"What the fuck does she know?" she heard him grumble as she walked to her blanket.
They all heard the plane long before they saw it. It was a silver Cub that roamed the valley and ridges ahead of them toward the highway. It seemed to be concentrating in the area where the lightning had flashed earlier.
It was a forestry plane, checking out the lightning strikes to see if any fires had been started. The little plane circled one spot, and on the ridgeline below it they could see a small plume of smoke rising straight up in the windless sky.
The plane dropped lower and then vanished behind the ridge. When it appeared again it was several miles further away, headed in the general direction of the city.
They watched the smoke and saw it grow and spread. When the helicopters arrived a while later, the smoke covered a much larger area than when they had first spotted it.
The choppers vanished over the ridge, and within an hour the volume of smoke had lessened. By dusk the fire seemed to be almost out. No new smoke was billowing up, but most of the smoke hung in the dead air, waiting for a breeze to blow it away.
"Man I could use a thick, juicy steak right now," Pete said.
Susie handed him some beans and said, "Close your eyes, you'll never know the difference." She didn't offer Colleen any, so Colleen grabbed the rest of the crackers, opened a can of peaches and drank lots of water.
She wondered how many pounds she had lost during her captivity. Of one thing she was sure: it hadn't hurt her figure. If anything, her time in the wilderness had tautened her muscles.
Pete kept his distance, and Colleen felt as though she had finally done something right. She had stood up to him and he had backed down, and now she wondered why she hadn't done it sooner. Then she realized that she had challenged him before. But things were different then. Ira was still alive, and Pete got his strength from the Indian. Now that he was alone, he could be intimidated.
Later, as they sat around the fire, Pete told Susie that they would pack up and leave in the morning. Colleen didn't know if he included her, and she didn't want to ask.
"I'm gonna see if there's any booze left." Pete went into the cave and then came running out.
"Hey, guess what I found. That sneaky injun had tea bags hidden in there!" he yelled, waving the bags. "Everybody like tea? The women nodded. "You guys sit on your asses. I'll make it."
He fussed over the water, dunking the bags in and letting them steep just long enough. The tea was strong and there wasn't any sugar, but it was a welcome change from plain water or peach juice.
By the time she had had a second cup, Colleen was too sleepy to make it to her blanket, so she fell asleep where she sat.
The sound of crying wakened her in the morning, but she thought it was part of a dream and tried to go back to sleep. A hand shook her shoulder, and she tried to shake it away.
"Colleen, wake up!"
She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Susie was beside her, blubbering like a three year old. "Pete's gone!"
Colleen shook her head so she could think more clearly.
"Pete's gone with the Jeep and everything. He even ripped me off for my twelve dollars! He split and left us here to rot!" She started wailing as Colleen jumped to her feet and looked around.
"Why didn't he take you?"
She couldn't stop crying. She shrugged helplessly. Colleen took a tour of the camp and found a note on top of the food box. She read it aloud.
"Sorry, pussies, but I gotta split. Both of you know too much. I'll be a hell of a lot safer this way, and you cunts won't have to strain your consciences. Colleen, I still say you got the best set of tits in the state, and I've chewed on half of them. Susie, it was fun, but it's time to move on. If you cunts are wondering why you slept so good, blame it on the tea. Those Nembutals don't taste bad in a cup of tea. Hasta la vista."
The bottle Colleen had lost so long ago was what had held the note in place. There was one last pill in it. A fresh flood of tears poured from Susie's eyes. Colleen waited for them to run dry, but they kept coming and coming.
Colleen got the keys to Ira's Jeep and held them in front of Susie's face. "Don't worry, Susie, we aren't stranded. I've got the keys to Ira's Jeep. We'll be out of here by noon."
Susie took one look at the keys and wailed in anguish. It was louder and more heart-rending than before.
"Now what the hell's the matter?"
"Last night, after he shoved Ira's cock in you and you fainted, he went down and disabled Ira's Jeep. He said it would take months to find the missing parts." It brought another flow of fevered tears, and Colleen felt like joining in.
She could walk out, but what about Susie? The fat girl couldn't cover twenty miles of desert if there were a thousand cocks waiting for her at the end. Colleen put her arm around the younger girl and rocked her back and forth, trying to comfort her, trying to think.
What could they do? She could walk to the highway and bring back help. But could Susie last for four days? It was her only chance.
She put her arms to the fat girl's shoulders and shook her. She continued crying. Colleen slapped her across the face. Susie drew back in shock and put her hand to her cheek, but at least she stopped crying.
"Listen to me, Susie," Colleen said urgently. "I'm going down to the Jeep and see if there's any way I can fix it. If I can't, I'll walk on out to the highway and get help. I should be back in three or four days."
"No!" Susie screamed, clutching Colleen with trembling fingers. "Don't leave me alone. The beasts will eat me up! Ira's ghost will come after me!"
Colleen frowned. It was pure hysterics, and she wasn't sure how to handle it. The fat girl was going to pieces, reverting back to childhood fears of ghosts and goblins.
"Can you walk with me to the highway?"
"Shit no! You know I can't."
"What should we do then, Susie?"
"Make love to me. Sure, eat my pussy and everything will be all right. Ira will drive us out," Susie said, her eyes staring blankly.
"Ira is dead."
"Then Pete'll take us out."
"Pete left us, Susie."
"Just make love to me. Eat me. Suck my cunt!"
"How will that save us?"
"I'll feel better if you eat my pussy."
"I'll bet we can fix the Jeep," Colleen said, trying to take the girl's mind away from her womb.
Susie shook her head. "Pete said he hurt it good."
"Why don't we take a walk down and see for ourselves?"
"Okay, let's both walk down. Will you hold my hand?"
"Yes."
Colleen stood up and helped Susie to her feet. They walked to the head of the trail and Colleen looked at Susie. "We're almost there, Susie. I'll go ahead and look at the Jeep and come right back. Okay?"
"Okay. Then we'll make love, huh?"
"Yes, when I get back." Colleen started down the trail as Susie sat on a boulder and cupped her chin in her folded hands.
It took Colleen about ten minutes to make it to the Jeep. The tires were still inflated and it wasn't burned out. She looked under the hood, but could see nothing to indicate that it wouldn't run. She got in and inserted the key into the ignition, then said a silent prayer before she tried to start it. It ground and ground and ground, but it wouldn't kick over. It was then that she remembered the simple way to put any car out of commission; by removing the rotary or rotation or something like that. Anyway, she was convinced that was what Pete had done.
She grabbed the canteen and started up the trail, wondering how she would break the news to Susie without sending her screaming into the brush.
It took twenty-five minutes for the return trip, and Susie was still sitting on the boulder, rocking like an old lady whiling away the hours of her life. Colleen took the girl's hand and led her back into camp. When they got to the fire ring, she sat Susie on a log but continued to hold her hand.
"The Jeep won't start."
"I told you, I told you," Susie intoned. "Pete said he hurt it bad."
"I'm going to walk out. Will you wait here till I get back?"
"Sure, Colleen. I'll wait for you." The girl's voice sounded as if it were coming out of the small end of a megaphone.
Colleen had filled the canteen with water and wrapped two cans of peaches in some cloth when Susie suddenly leaped to her feet and ran to her. She tore at the older girl's skirt, crying, "Wish you weren't going! Wish you could stay with me! I get scared in the dark! Why don't you love me, Colleen? Why don't you make love to me? Eat me?"
Colleen dropped the provisions. She couldn't go. She couldn't risk leaving Susie alone. She would be a raving lunatic by the time she got back. There had to be another way. She could spell out "Help" in big letters in the meadow, but no planes ever flew over there. If only that lightning had come a little closer and started a fire in their area....
The idea struck like lightning! The forestry people had ranger stations all over the area. This was part of a national forest.
She let the idea grow, and the logic of it became undebatable. All she had to do was start a small fire in a cleared area, with enough smoke to attract a lookout's attention. A spotter plane would follow, and then a helicopter to rescue them.
"Susie, we're getting out!" she yelped excitedly. "And I won't have to leave you!"
She picked a spot in the open to build the fire. There was a rocky shelf on one side, and from the direction of the breeze, Colleen guessed that the blaze could only go in one direction even if it got out of hand, and that was toward the shelf, where it would die for lack of fuel.
She heaped dried twigs first and then added more substantial branches, ending with the logs that Ira had amassed. She threw matches into the dry kindling at the bottom of the pile and then stood back as the flames ate their way to the top. Half an hour passed, and the fire didn't seem to attract any attention. She decided that she needed more smoke. She cut some fresh pine boughs from a nearby tree and added them to the blaze. The needles crackled and popped like small firecrackers, and the sparks from them ignited a bush a short distance away. Soon the meadow was engulfed with flames.
The silver plane swooped in low, and she ran out waving and shouting at it. It circled and made another pass. She waved frantically. The plane wig-wagged its wings and zoomed off.
She felt a breeze on her face and saw the fire change direction. The flames raced in front of the breeze, eating up the dried grass with a voracious appetite. But it wasn't going toward the rocky shelf, it was going in the opposite direction, devouring small bushes and trees. She trailed behind it, standing in the charred residue of what had once been grass.
She had started a forest fire!
Suddenly a new fear gripped her. Where was Susie? She hadn't seen her since the plane appeared. Colleen ran back to camp, but Susie wasn't there. She wasn't in the cave. She looked in the brush along the creek, but Susie had vanished.
She ran back to the fire. It was pushing away from the camp, but the wind could change at any second, just as it had done before. The flames reached a stand of trees, and the smell of burning pine filled the air.
She looked through the flames and smoke and saw Susie standing in a cleared area. She called to the helpless fat girl, but the crackling flames drowned out her voice. She raced back and up and to the other side to where she had seen Susie, but the girl was gone by the time she got there. She called and called and called but got no response. Susie had vanished again.
Colleen staggered to the burned-out area, exhausted and black with soot, just as the first helicopter dropped in, almost beside her. Ten men leaped from he ship and ran toward the head of the fire. A tall, gaunt man approached her.
"Are you all right, Miss?"
"Yes. But my friend...." She choked up and pointed to the spot where she had last seen Susie. The man hurried back to the chopper and shouted urgent instructions into the handset.
"She'll be all right," he assured Colleen. "We got lucky with this one. The fire's heading up a box canyon and will burn itself out in half an hour."
Another chopper dropped in and more men piled out to join the others. "Want to try and spot her from the air?" the tall man asked.
Colleen strapped herself in, and a minute later they were buzzing the treetops. The craft bounced and bucked and shifted ten feet either way as the gusts of hot air created violent drafts.
They circled the fire three times, concentrating their search in the area where she had last seen Susie. She saw the men crawling about like ants, but no Susie.
On their last sweep, Colleen saw that the fire had just about run its course. When they landed, she gave the man Susie's name.
"She was eighteen. She was coming to live with me." Colleen told a white lie. Who could it hurt?
As she approached the other chopper, she sensed that something was wrong. A silence fell over the men, where a moment ago they had been talking excitedly. A ranger slid his hat back on his head and walked over to her.
"You look tired," he noted. "Have a chocolate bar. It'll help keep up your energy."
She took the bar, but her eyes searched his. "You found Susie, didn't you?"
He nodded.
"She's dead, isn't she?"
He nodded again.
"Was she burned?" Colleen asked, tears welling up in her eyes.
"She never knew what happened. In flash fires like this, it burns so fast that the oxygen is sucked out of the air. It can kill a person in seconds."
She looked at Susie's body. There wasn't a scratch on her, not a hair singed. Next to Susie's body was Ira's, wrapped in a blanket and beginning to smell. Tears splashed down her cheeks, and she didn't try to stop them. They were tears of sorrow for two unfortunate teenagers whose end was the sum total of their existence. They were totally unable to mesh with society. They tried to fight it and ended up being overwhelmed; not by that society, but by their own inadequacies.
She turned and walked to the chopper, tears streaming down her face for the freedom that was hers again. After relating the story to the sheriff, she was free to go.
She spent her first week home at her typewriter and in the bathtub. She had lost her notebook, but she didn't need it to write the last scalding chapter of her thesis. The memory of her ordeal was still vividly etched in her brain.
When she typed, "the end" she felt restless, edgy, tied up in knots. She dressed, took the elevator down to the garage and got into her MG. It hadn't been used in a week, but it kicked right over. She squealed out of the garage and headed downtown.
What was the name of the swinger's club in town? The Tender Trap? Yes, that was it. A place where one went in alone and came out paired off. She found it and parked. Inside, she ordered a drink and waited. Nothing happened.
Shit, she thought, I'm going to have to take the bull by the horns.
She went into the washroom, unbuttoned the front of her dress and took off her bra. It had been annoying her. Ever since she had come back from the mountains she had hated the feel of anything restraining her breasts. She stuffed it into her purse and left more than enough buttons open to show off her deep cleavage.
As she passed through the bar, she stopped and looked at a black-haired man with high cheek bones. In the dim light he looked like Ira.
He smiled at her, and she walked to him as if drawn by a magnet.
"Would you like to talk?" he asked.
"I'd rather make love."
He turned the key in her door and they entered her apartment.
"Jason, I just want to tell you that I don't...."
His finger sealed her lips. "I thought you'd rather make love than talk."
His arms encircled her waist, and she put her head on his shoulder. He kissed her, long and gently. He picked her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom.
She nibbled on his lips and his ear as she floated in space. In the bedroom, he undressed her slowly, caressing her, marveling at her perfect tits. His every touch inflamed her passion. Every tender kiss annoyed her libido. She helped him strip, and at last they were together on the bed, their nude bodies entwined.
He kissed her breasts and fondled her rising nipples. Then he pushed her legs apart and his hand slid over her pulpy cunt-lips. He pinched and kneaded the delicate petals roughly.
"Oh, yes," she breathed in his ear. "Be rough with me. Hit me if you want to. Talk dirty to me."
He didn't seem to hear a word she was saying. He was only concerned with his lust. He rolled into her snug vee and rammed his cock into her. He pistoned it like a madman. And almost before she could savor the delight of his walloping pole, he squirted his salty gusher into her and pulled out, panting.
"You mean that's it? You're finished? You crack your nuts once and you've had it?"
"What do you want, a stud?" he asked, swinging his legs off the bed.
"Why you fucking creep! I could get a better fuck from a rooster!"
He dressed quickly and got the hell out of her apartment. She was still calling him vile names as he slammed the door behind him.
She lay back on her bed, a knot the size of a baseball lodged in her guts, and her mind drifted back to the mountains. She had had two good men; not as far as society was concerned, but as far as sex was concerned. They were definitely two good men!
She remembered Ira inside of her, and her hand slid down to her breast to massage it. Her other hand moved to her crotch, and her knees came up. She thought of those days of wild, uninhibited passion. Her hands moved faster, her breasts throbbed and she felt the juices flowing in her twat. She plunged her fingers into her vulva and beat a merry tune on her clit. The memory of Ira and Pete flooded her, and she was carried into the sea of carnality on the crest of a gigantic wave.
Her emotions spiralled, and she was overcome with the rapturous sensations that exploded in her cunt. Higher and higher she soared, and when she could no longer defy gravity, she shattered into a million tiny fireflies of bliss and fluttered back to earth on their wings.
She lay there a long time, listening to soft music coming from her stereo, not wanting to move, Gossamer images of Ira and Pete danced before her eyes.
Where would she find another man like Ira Cody? Where would she find another man like Pete Chavez? How many men would she have to make love to before she discovered their equal, the one who could make love to her the way a woman should be made love to?
It would be a hard search, and she would have to be discreet. When her associate professorship came through in the fall, she would need to be especially careful.
But somewhere, sometime, she would find another man who would fill her cunt and fulfill her love.
