Throughout the history of mankind, the wars of genocide against the Jews have been the most ferocious and unrelenting known. For sheer savagery and cruelty, no people have experienced and endured so much as the semetic parents of Jesus.
Hitler almost succeeded in destroying a whole race of people, the people. And he did chase them out of Europe on a grand scale. Until the centers of Jewish population became New York-and Israel.
This book in about Israel and the people there during the 1948 war.
It is no matter that the Arabs are semetic people too. Their lust for cruelty is written in the unchanging sands of the desert. Theirs is a holy war against their Jewish cousins.
It is so easy to remember Hitler-and forget what happens in the tractless waste of the African desert. And yet, what is going on there, what is happening, is a sin against man and nature. In the civilized background of Europe, Hitler was a beast. His every act was amplified as an indictment of the animal nature of the German people.
But on the desert, such acts are forgotten as mere perversities. Only true cruelty leaves a lasting memory.
-THE PUBLISHER
CHAPTER ONE
Two years in Palestine had done wonders for Sharon Weiss. She'd changed from a pale, thin, flat-chested thirteen-year-old to a tall, willowy young woman. Her breasts had swelled to rich firmness. Her waist had slimmed until her father could easily span it in the circle of his strong, OSS-trained hands. Her hips were sensuously wide, ready to cradle a man or sway bewitchingly across the shallow, desert-edge bowl of the kibbutz. She was sprouting taller, reaching toward the hot summer sun like a century plant. Her incredibly long, sun-bronzed legs seemed to rise forever from her hiking shoes to the cuffs of her multi-pocketed shorts. The shorts were olive-drab and her worn khaki shirt was nearly as pale as the desert-bleached hair that escaped from where Sharon had piled it under her cap. She walked slowly along the side-hill, keeping an eye on the sheep, wishing her boyfriend would relieve her from noon guard duty. Sharon wondered idly if the U.N. had acted on the Palestine partition yet, and how it would affect the people of the kibbutz.
Her family and friends had been preparing for weeks. Her father gave instruction for hand-to-hand combat each evening-if the Haganah didn't call him away. Sharon shifted the sling of her ancient Lee Enfield carbine. The strap crossed diagonally between her prominent breasts, bringing the mounds out like peaks beside a foothill pass.
Sharon ignored the clicking of small stones on the slope behind her. The sun's heat dried vestigial moisture from the sands every afternoon, and a few rocks always tumbled downhill.
One of the lambs was wandering toward the melon vines. Sharon sighed and started down the slight slope, bracing the carbine's butt with her right hand. She moved like a young colt, leggy and awkward in a way that made even the hardest-bitten adults choke slightly for their own lost youth.
The clatter of stones became a little landslide. Sharon was just out of sight of the kibbutz' buildings when something struck her back. She pitched forward, face down. Hands were all over her. Sharon tried to roll over. She struck out with her feet, her elbows, her hands. She struggled to free the cross-slung gun. Hard hands wrenched it away from her. The sling came up across her throat and twisted. A wad of coarse wool jammed into her mouth. Sharon thought, too late, of screaming.
Her mouth was full of the rancid taste of cooking smoke, the salt of man and horse sweat, and the grit of years on the desert. Thongs went around her wrists. She tried to spit the attacker's djellaba out. The wool was too thick to bite through. A choking sack plunged over her head. Another thong lashed it around her neck . . . not tight enough to strangle her, but more than tight enough to hold the bag.
"Get up, up! Move!" a man hissed. A yank on her wrists nearly tore her arms from their sockets. Sharon arched and struggled, lost in the midnight confinement of the bag. Pellets of light sneaked through the coarse weave of the wool, but the spin of the rays and the tangled dance of dust motes disoriented her even more. She was on her feet, weaving, when the steel-clad button her carbine thudded into her crotch from behind. She half-fell. Her captor yanked the binding on her wrists. Her skinned knees protested, but Sharon stumbled down the hill.
The rocks in the wadi bruised her feet. Sharon twisted her ankles again and again. The footsteps behind her and the jabs of a gun barrel propelled her relentlessly onward. She knew now there were at least two kidnapers behind her . . . only one man spoke, but the flash cone on the Enfield's muzzle punched a larger circle on her back than the other prodding weapon.
"Faster! I'll shoot your Zionist twat off!" the man snarled. He emphasized it with a jab of a gun barrel against the junction of her thighs.
With a shock Sharon realized he'd spoken in English. They must know who lam! Almost none of the Jews speak English . . . and none of the Arabs! Why? What do they want with me?
A man jammed his shoulder into her stomach. Sharon gasped for air. He picked her up and spun her around. The cord around her neck tightened. Blood rushed to her head. Sharon stumbled when he dumped her onto her feet again. She heard the creak of harness leather. Four hands gripped her arms and ankles and dumped her rudely across a burro.
Uphill and down, her guts protesting the hard lumps of the packsaddle, Sharon rode. She lost track of the time. The sun baked the backs of her legs. The reeking sack over her head choked her with its ancient filth.
The burro pulled up. Sharon was unloaded like a sack of semolina. She staggered, propelled into coolness by a punch at her shoulder blades. Her feet hit a cool rock. She fell heavily, face-first, into dust and rock. She tried to roll to the side as she fell. A kick turned her onto her back. The gritty floor of the cave scraped her hands.
Hands tore at her pants. Sharon screamed "No! No-oo-oo!" A heavy cuff along her head snapped her face to the side. She tried to kick. A fist smashed into her belly.
Sharon retched with the heavy, dull pain. The whole lower half of her body was in half-numb agony, bludgeoned to a single mass of aching by the blow. She heard two more voices commenting. The
Arabic was fast and harsh, mush harder to understand than the deliberate slow speech of market sellers. They discussed her long legs and the dark-blonde hair of her pussy. A hand assaulted the tender swell of her love mound. Sharon barely felt the twisting, probing fingers beyond the pain of her bruised belly.
The voice that had spoken English gave permission. Sharon screamed again as her shorts went all the way to her ankles. She tried to close her legs, but hard hands held her ankles up and out. She twisted her torso frantically, afraid of what was happening to her. Buttons tore from the tail of her shirt to her throat. A calloused palm slid around the outside of her tits, then covered each nipple in turn.
Sharon panicked. Her throat splintered with screams. She gagged the thick dust of the hood into her lungs and screamed louder. The hand on her bosom pinched each nipple, then withdrew.
With stinging slaps that made the whole mass of each tit shudder, the hand, or another, smashed back and forth on her breast. Sharon arched off the ground in pain. She tried to curl down into a ball, but with her ass held inches from the floor it was hopeless.
A mouth found her tits. Sharon wanted to gag. Bristly whiskers crawled scratchily around the frozen aureoles of her tits. Teeth gnawed the coronas, then tugged at the very tips of her breasts. The Arab mouthed her tits, slobbering and growling while his tongue and teeth defiled the firm, clean mounds. With a terror that made sweat form on her soft, pale skin Sharon felt her nipples erecting.
The attack was nothing like the gentle, lascivious caress of her sweetheart, Chaim Gavno. This rude, incredibly filthy assault on her tits was an insult, an attack on her flesh. Sharon beat her head on the cave floor. She scrabbled at the dirt beneath her. Her fingernails tore. She pulled one ankle free of the hands and struggled to kick. Two men grabbed her foot and leg.
Sharon was upended. She felt the nakedness of her exposed twat splitting wider. They were pulling her like a wishbone. The cords at the tops of her thighs stood out. Every muscle in her body was taut. Sharon smelled the heavier, ranker scent of urine and man-sweat through the stifling hood. A thick, musty reek and the weight of a man's ass-cheeks settled over her face.
Sharon tried to bite, but the Arab laughed. His buttocks, bony and hard, pressed right over her eyes. The shifting mass of something heavy and hot bounced at the tip of her nose and her cheeks.
Another hand found the gaping slash of her twat. Sharon arched and yelled. A gritty, dirty finger stabbed into her vagina. The tender tissues sent screams of insulted pain along her spine. With a spasmodic jerk of her hips. Sharon ripped herself away from the intruding finger.
A hand "grabbed the sparse hairs on her cunt and yanked. It was like a million needles jabbing into her cunt-flesh. With a shriek of victory, the Arab pulled half her cunt hairs out of her labia.
Sharon felt every ripped follicle like a thousand match heads taped to the sensitive skin. A rush of heat and simmering blood flooded her loins. The tips of her gnawed nipples stiffened further. With a despair so deep that she stopped screaming, Sharon felt her body begin to betray her. Already her stretched cuntlips had lost resilience. They puffed out like fleshy balloons, inflamed with the painful stimulation of the cuntal scalping.
The Arab's returned to her cunt. That sacred, secret center of her body was being defiled by anonymous fingers. A nail scraped the lining of her cuntal sleeve. Sharon shuddered, too frightened, too angry, too badly hurt to protest more.
With a vicious tab, a thumb found her clitoris. Sharon gasped. The little pink pellet swelled to full size instantly. The grinding thumb hurt worse than anything she'd yet felt, but it was dreadfully exciting at the same time. Sharon arched her back again, but this time, she arched with lusty heat. In spite of the debasing assault on her body, Sharon half-enjoyed the feelings lancing from her clit.
But it was too fast, too brutally hard. The thumb rolled her clit from side to side. Sharon thought the nerve-laden organ would burst. The whole soft socket of tender flesh around it was inflamed, raging with pain and fear.
Even while jolts of electric heat flashed up her spine, the burning tissues of her labia clamored for relief. Every cell in her crotch was full of mixed pain and lust. The combination shocked Sharon. The floods of sensation rattled her until her brain felt like a pea clattering in the stone case of her skull.
A guttural command scraped her ears like the gouging fingernail in her vagina scraped her cuntwalls. The hands on her ankles let her down until the small of her back crushed her hands again. Sharon felt skin brush the inside of her thighs. With a flash of knowledge and dread, Sharon screamed again. She battled like a tigress, scratching the floor, twisting her head, snapping at the asscheeks above her. Her feet flailed, all but breaking the grip of the multiple hands on her ankles.
It was no good. The men yanked her legs wider. The hand on her cunt slipped upward. The invasive finger pulled out of her cunthole. Finger and thumb rolled her clit around, pinching, pulling, inflaming the hard button until it felt like the white heat at the center of a cutting torch. Sharon's whole cunt was on fire, tortured with a feeling between the urgent scald of long-held piss and the growling hunger of an empty stomach.
Something hard, blunt and hot pressed against her snatch. Sharon gasped. The thing was aimed right at the center of her hole. She squirmed, trying to move away from it. A gush of fluid wet the mouth of her vagina. She moved again, but the pushing bluntness of the organ followed her. The juice from her cunt-mouth spread across the spongy heat of the thing. It felt as hard and blunt and round as a doorknob against the wide-open gap of her pussy.
The tissues at her mouth of her vagina protested as Sharon felt the pressure increase. The men lifted her legs higher until she could no longer move away from the thrusting, stabbing, prodding cockhead.
Sharon felt a bottomless pit of hopeless agony and self-pity open under her. It swallowed her up, leaving nothing but reluctant sensuality.
It was purest, simplest terrorism, and she was the target. The marauding cock wedged its thick knob halfway into her cuntal sphincter. The oozing fluid from her vagina seemed to be helping. Sharon felt circling, swiveling motions press sequentially around the palpitating ring of her cunt-mouth. More fluid soaked out to wet the assaultive knob. The heavy glans entered further. Sharon started to cry.
Sharon cringed. Her sphincters contracted involuntarily, but even that didn't work. The spasmodic motion of her fear and disgust only made her cuntal ring slide wetly along the slope of the rapist's knob. She twisted again, and half his cock-head was into her.
The Arab sitting on her head bounced up and down with sadistic glee. Sharon blubbered, grunting with pain and fear like a prodded bull. She felt the man's mouth leave her tits, and a pang of loss hit her. Somehow the gnawing, nuzzling motions of the man's mouth had helped excite her, helped her put up with the thick bludgeon of pain that abused her pussy.
With a slap that sounded like liver on a butcher block, one of her faceless abusers swung his open palms against her tits. Sharon heard the lewd jabber of three or more voices, but the ringing swats on her tits drowned out the words. Her breasts flogged back and forth on her chest, rolling and quivering with each blow. The tender surfaces heated, and her nipples throbbed. The sensation amplified the wet terror in her cunt.
And with the amplification, the strong thrusts of the rapist's prick grew even stronger. Sharon was totally helpless. She stopped trying to resist. The men holding her legs pulled up with each brutally hearty stab of the rapist's cock against her bruised slit. The two men were working her back and forth like a doll, increasing the horrible rending pressure of his glans against her hymen. With a slicing sheet of pain like a knife stabbing her cunt, the thin membrane ripped and Sharon's prized virginity was lost forever.
The Arab paid no attention to his unsuspected bonus. The jerking hands pulled her upraised cunt against him and Sharon felt her cuntwalls stretching, splitting wider and wider around the invading meat. With a sob of shared lust, she squirmed sideways. The puffy pad of her labia felt the coarse mass of his cock-bush. Sharon drooped like a wet dishcloth.
The hands on her ankles relaxed. Sharon's naked asscheeks touched the gritty floor of the cave. She lay like a dead thing, feeling the harsh swirling of the rape cock reaming circles of pressure and heat into her belly.
In just a few strokes, the man's prick was deep enough into her that Sharon's clit moved in matching circles against the pressure of his pubic bone. The heat and throbbing intensity that the fingering had stored up in her clit started to spread outward, inflaming the rest of her body. Sharon tried desperately to separate herself from the assault on her loins, but the slow, steady spread of sensation from her battered clit infected her. She couldn't even push the assault out of her mind.
Now she knew, from the angle and the measured rhythm of the slaps, that it was the rapist who was slapping her breasts. The entire swollen mass of each tit mound ached. The skin felt red-hot. Her nipples flared more cunty heat along her nerves with each blow. The edge of his palm would flick across the pebble-hard points as his hand ricocheted away, and the rubbery vibrations made the tips feel even harder. Sharon felt the Arab's hands drop her ankles.
With self-loathing and disgust, her body responded. Even with her hands tied tight behind her back, Sharon rolled her hips. By the time the other kidnaper had moved his ass off her face, she was moaning in a curious mixture of need and pain. Her heels dug into the dirt Her knees came up on either side of the rapist. Sharon moved her pelvis with, then against him.
The whole lower half of her body turned to soup. The thick, oozing heat at her cunt-mouth dissolved the fear and the pain. Her body still hurt, but the warm wash of sensation was overwhelming the hurt. Even the constant chafing of his prick against the ruptured remnants of her cherry faded away. Sharon felt a strange sensation, like a battery charging up, growing in her belly. It centered in the region where the nerves of her cuntwalls lost contact with his plunging cock. Sharon found herself moving, rolling, gyrating around his meat, trying to find the source of that strange feeling.
Tension knotted up in her body. The slaps at her tits slowed, but the motions of the pistoning prick in her cunt speeded up. Sharon moaned. She had a notion, just a vague inkling, as if there were some cloudy memory in her cuntwalls or in the throbbing button of her clit. She sought it with lewd writhing of her hips, with churning, stirring motions of her pelvis. Sharon gasped. There was definitely something there.
The Arab on top of her grunted louder. His strokes had stopped the sleeve-stretching circling. His cockhead no longer searched around and around, levering the base of his shaft against the rim of her cunt. Sharon felt the change. His motions became straight, deep, pumping strokes. His belly levered above her clit. The hot spark of feeling just above her cunt-mouth was the focus. They were welded together there, precisely where her feelings were most intense. Sharon levered back up against him.
Working like steam engines, puffing like locomotives, they rolled on the floor. Sharon heard the excited comments above her as through a waterfall. The rushing roar of blood in her ears, the effort of sucking enough air to fuel her muscles nearly made her lose consciousness. She worked from her heels, from her shoulders. Her hips moved the man up and down. She rolled and swiveled like the dasher in a washing machine. The long, hard strokes of maleness inside her cuntsleeve accelerated.
Sharon was ready to beg, if she'd known what to say. The knot of tension in her belly was whirling around, growing tighter, slipping looser again. A heavy thudding bounced the numb dullness of her cervix back and forth. The strange, half-wooden feeling of her womb's motion increased the furious heat in her pussy. The rapist's cock was reaching places that she couldn't quite feel, and the tantalizing punches of prick against cervix made her insane. Sharon's feet came up off the cave floor. She curled and arched, whipping her spine back and forth in an accelerating series of motions that made her ass-cheeks ripple.
That whirling feeling in her belly was building. It spun faster, like a dreidel flicked with a string. The Arab stopped slapping her tits. His hands clenched, gouging into the voluptuous mounds sending streaks of fire through her breasts stretched in his grip. The grit on his palms scraped her nipples raw. His fingertips forced heat and pain into her bosom. Sharon's head snapped back and forth. Her cap flew off. Her long hair whipped on the floor. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream. She was right on the edge of a huge gulf, an abyss of excessive sexuality.
The man above her reared back. Her belly was free of his. The mingled sweat of both bodies cooled on her abdomen as his prick punched deep, then withdrew. Sharon pushed her pelvis up. Her knees opened further. The tendons at the tops of her thighs went taut with fear and anticipation.
Another blasting stroke of his prick slammed past her womb. His pubic bone battered her cunt-mound. Her clit sent a shower of rocketing sparks along her spine. Sharon teetered like a rock climber. The knot in her belly, her whole grip on herself, was slipping.
The Arab pulled back again. He started forward. Time split within Sharon. Her thoughts flashed with lightning speed. Hanging by a single skein of knotted nerves, Sharon had time to pray and hope. If he would stop . . . if he would keep on. . . .
With a stumbling hitch, the man impelled his prick deep into her cunt again. His belly slapped hers like a truck ramming a fortress. Back again, and in, and something cut loose inside of her. Sharon let the train-whistle scream rise up from the bottom of her lungs. The balloon of feeling in her pussy exploded.
The man was hunching, throwing prick into her with steady, forceful strokes. The battering rhythm of his thrusts matched the frightening intensity of the events in Sharon's pussy.
She felt herself clamp down on him. Her tension rushed out like water through a burst dam. Sharon wept and wailed. Something inside her had broken, and the whole excess of sensation poured along her nerves. The terrifying release spread through her, rippling outward from her cunt like rings in a pool. The feeling went along her body, an icy heat that made her shiver. One ripple would barely reach her fingers, her toes, the roots of her hair, when the next wave would start. Again and again the eerie, frightening cataclysm in her cuntwalls rolled through her. Sharon surrendered and let the orgasm crest.
There was nothing Sharon could do about it. Her pussy milked and sucked at his prick. She drowned in the gluey suction in her cuntwalls, the way the tube collapsed around his prick and clung to it, the strange feeling as his strokes pulled the tight ring of her sphincter out and pushed it back in again. She actually felt a letdown when the thrusts tapered off. The motions became slower, then still, and her body went on moving under him.
Deep shame welled up from the leftover fragments of her mind. Sharon felt herself chill. She was covered with gooseflesh. Her cunt, that secret femaleness she'd always had to guard, had not just allowed the rapist's prick in, but had helped it find the final flurry of harsh release. Sharon's mouth watered with the compulsive wetness that precedes vomiting. For a short, hopeful moment, she thought she could throw up in the bag and choke before the kidnapers could defile her body again. And still her treacherous twat was constricting and relaxing around the rapist's softening cock.
The thought of dying, still hooded in the cave, sent a shiver of fear and secret power through her. Sharon's pussy clenched yet again. Sharon felt a suction start at the pit of her stomach, and her reamed-raw pussy protested. The rapist was pulling out. The ripped membrane of her hymen shrieked again. His slippery, sperm-soaked cock pulled back through it. The flare of his cockhead's wing-like edges made the torn spot shrink, expand, and shrink again. A last ripple of full, ocean-like release rolled through her and Sharon went limp on the floor.
Semen and blood and the hot, thin juices of her pussy mingled, dribbling out of her vagina and across her rectum. The blushing heat of the mixture chilled when the air hit it The copious flow puddled under her ass. Sharon felt the grit of the cave floor gluing itself to her pale skin. She lay in naked shame and waited for the next man. They certainly wouldn't stop now.
A rough, hard touch started at the top of her love mound, then pushed downward. The still-erect button of her clitty sent a jolt along her nerves. Sharon writhed, half-trying to escape the touch. A single broad pad covered the zone around her clit. The larger mass pressed her cuntlips half into her soup-filled hole. The pressure circled and increased.
Sharon writhed. The sexual feeling was building up in her loins again. The sharp, short climb toward another peak began. With growing familiarity she felt her body reaching the edge of that abyss of sensation. Sharon wept in the bag. She recognized the touch in her pussy now. Another dirty bare foot pressed on her left tit, mashing it into a flattened pad of heat. She moaned, helpless. As much as she tried to gather the scraps of her will power, she couldn't stop the slow, sensuous gyrations of her hips. The men prodded her tits, her pussy, her belly with their feet. They muttered among themselves as if they were dissecting the bizarre, cunty performance. One of them spoke with cruel, boastful wonder.
The unbelieving one has the morals of a jackal!
The balls of a hundred camels could lodge in her cunt while she rolls in the dung of her farm!" Sharon felt a foot withdraw from her crotch as he spoke.
"Yes, Gamal!" another replied. "Show the albino she-goat what happens to her womanish race of land thieves!"
Sharon heard the steady thump of fists against bellies. She'd guessed at the meaning of the sound in the children's dormitory...it had come only from a few of the boys' beds. With a grunt, a shifting of feet on the cave floor one fist speeded up. A thick, hot mass of viscous fluid splatted on her breasts, then another. More and more drops hit. The men around her were grunting, cursing, showering her with scalding heat. Sharon felt the gobbets of fluid strike from her breast down to her thighs. A mass landed over her mouth, stopping the dusty air from passing the hood. The seedy, pollen-like smell of the wad sent a flutter down to her pussy even as it gagged her.
A shattering blast of pain and heat hit her. The foot kicked dead center on her cunt. Sharon felt the toes, curled up, batter against her pubic bone like a hammer. The Arab kicked her cunt again and again. With a scream of pain and rage, Sharon started coming.
The grunting, growling, panting knot of men around her called curses on Sharon, on her mother, her father, her every relative back to Adam. Sharon groaned with the overload of pain and lust in her cunt. The randy excitement of the semen-smell and the repeated thrusts of the kicking foot against her cunt drove her crazy. Sharon cried when the kicking stopped. Her empty pussy clenched, expanded, and clenched again, making noises as wet as a boot sucking out of mud. A cloud of inky red formed in her mind. Sharon went down into the pain-edged blackness willingly. The tossing, pain-forced motions of her hips carried her over the depths and let her fall in. It was the most merciful thing that happened that day.
CHAPTER TWO
It was only a nightmare...a nightmare like I had when we first came to Palestine, Sharon thought dizzily when she awakened. Or the sun. . . people go crazy in the sun here. The reassuring color and shape of a British officer's desert uniform confirmed her idea. There were reversed epaulettes, the short pants and the high socks. One of those odd, remote, quizzical Englishmen must have taken her to a cave to get her out of the sun. Sharon flicked her tongue swollen, parched tongue across her lips. "Sir?" she asked in English.
The profile as he turned was wrong. Sharon blinked. That nose, the straight-across brow, the full, cruel mouth couldn't be British, and the man's skin was as dark as any Bedouin. "The princess awakes," he said, smiling. His teeth were a blaze of white in the dimness of the cave. Even under the overhang of his shaggy eyebrows his eyes could be seen flicking over her body, then returning to her face. "How do you feel, Sharon?" he asked.
Her first thought was to cover her nudity, but her hands were still bound tight behind her. Sharon tried to move away. She shut her eyes. Maybe she could pass out again. If she opened her eyes and the mock-British Arab was gone, she would stay out of the direct sun at midday.
A whooshing sound of splitting air ended with a blossom of pain on her belly. Sharon jerked convulsively. "A AAahhh," she gasped. Her eyelids flew up like cheap window shades.
"I'm still here, Sharon. Do not try to ignore me." The uniform he wore was bare of insignia, but darker blotches on the collar points and above the breast pockets of the shirt showed where devices had been.
"How do you know my name? Who are you?" Sharon quavered. She tried to glare defiantly at him, but naked and bound, she only looked more helpless, more ball-warmingly attractive.
The man sat squatted on his heels, still smiling. A length of rope with a cobby-thick knot at the end dangled from his right hand. "Sharon Yolanda Weiss, born Chicago, U.S.A., nineteen-thirty-three, immigrated to the Palestine Protectorate nineteen-forty-six. Your mother Katrina left Warsaw, Poland when you were at age eighteen months in the weeks preceding the great war...the first war.
Charles Benjamin Weiss, former captain, United States Army, now a major in the illegal terrorist Haganah, married Katrina in October, nineteen-thirty. He was wounded twice behind German lines in France; later staff aide to General Donovan of the Office of Strategic Services; specialist in partisan activities, liaison for American and British forces in the Eastern Mediterranean." He blinked as solemnly as an owl. "I an Omar Ibn Muhammad Daoud. You may call me Ben."
Sharon looked suspiciously at the multi-named man. "What do you want from me? Why am I here?" She shifted her legs. A raw pain between her legs told her the multiple rape hadn't been a dream. Her skin showed splotches and trails of flaking semen. Even the tips of her battered breasts were gummy with the crusted jism.
"Where does your father go when he leaves the kibbutz? When will the Haganah attack next? How many rifles are hidden in your village, and where?" Ben asked, firing the questions in a staccato burst.
Sharon stared at him. Her lips tightened to a thin, determined line. She shook her head in denial.
Ben shifted his left foot back six inches. His right hand twitched. He laid his whole arm into a single powerful blow of the rope.
Sharon screamed, a short, involuntary noise. The rope left a long red line down the front of her torso, snaking from her cleavage to her pussy. The money-fist at the end slammed against her cheekbone immediately after the rest of the rope blasted her breasts and belly. Ben pulled the rope back and settled in his former position again.
Sharon's eyes filled with tears. She felt the throbbing flesh over her left cheekbone swelling already. She knew that another blow might blind her. The random motion of the tag-end could strike any part of her face. "I don't know where my father goes," she croaked, trying to summon enough saliva to moisten her throat.
Ben pulled the rope one-handed into a stack of coils on the floor. He took the knotted end in his fist and popped the section he'd first held above Sharon's breasts. He tossed it out again and let the end trail suggestively across her thighs. "What about the guns? I know of a heavy machine gun transported from Beersheba."
The rasping touch of the hemp rope set Sharon's nerves on edge. Every spiky fiber of the rope scratched her soft, tanned thighs. "I never saw it. We don't have a machine gun." She pulled back, inching on her fingertips, scooting her heels in the dust of the cave floor. The firm, youthful muscles of her pale belly stood out, anticipating the next blow.
Ben stood and walked around her. "I know of one on the kibbutz." He stopped beside her shoulder. With a flick of the rope, he snapped the very end past Sharon's toes.
"AAAIEE!! " Sharon screamed. The softest part of the sole of her foot felt flayed. There are more pain receptors in the feet than any other part of the body, and the Arab's rope whip had stripped them bare. Sharon rubbed the sole of her foot against her calf, twisting and writhing in agony.
The rope popped again, barely louder than a snap of the fingers. Sharon stifled her scream, but the scalding pain sent her muscles into spasms. Her arms jerked hard enough to bruise her wrists against the thong. Her ass came a foot off the floor. Sharon tasted blood in her mouth. She'd bitten her tongue.
"How many rifles?" Ben asked. The fraying end of his rope tickled across Sharon's pussy fringe. The spunk-matted hairs at the center of the vee pushed her labia around. When the stiff fibers of the rope touched the burning patch where her cunt-hairs had been yanked out, Sharon gritted her teeth. Her clitty tingled even over the soreness. A too-familiar shivery feeling puckered her vagina slightly. Sharon's drenched rectum quivered with the slow, lascivious tracing the rope-end described over her pussy.
Ben's eyes glittered like wet black rocks under the heavy shelf of his eyebrows. He dragged the line along the still-red stripe where he'd first struck her. He curled the rope around her nipples, then dawdled almost lovingly along her throat. Sharon lay as still as possible while the rope moved along the side of her face. Even when it stopped the slithery, snake-like caress, she hardly dared breathe.
Ben twitched his fingertips. A wave rippled down the rope. The very end of the line rose and fell on her cheekbone. "How many rifles?" he repeated. His voice was soft, almost a caress, but with an undertone as deadly as an oileaviper.
The rope end trailed back down. The sensitive skin where her collarbone arched so enchantingly outward crawled under the touch. The end was almost feathery, with the cords unknitting from each other. Sharon closed her eyes as it traced the rim of her nipple, they touched the very tip of the blunt point. A line of heat, as fast and immediate as a telegraph, arrowed from her nipple to her clit. "I-yie d-don't know," Sharon whimpered. Her voice rose and fell with the mix of terror and lewd anticipation.
Ben held his hand over her middle. "You have a rifle . . . how many others have them?" he asked.
The rope end trailed suggestively, sensuously between Sharon's navel and the scalped top of her pussy fringe. "Ooohhh, please," she moaned. "It's so hard to think . . . I can't say." The frayed strands went down into the softness at the side of her cuntal vee. Sharon trembled. The little creases where her thighs met her torso tensed. Sharon tried to close her legs tighter. Her left knee rose to the middle of her right thigh, accenting the wide, erogenous curve of her hips.
Pop! the rope snapped at the base of her exposed ass-cheek. Sharon grunted. The sudden starburst of pain at the top of her thigh hurt nearly as much as the whipped soles of her feet, but the closeness of the blow to her pussy made it seem much worse.
It was a living hell for her. Sharon didn't know how many guns the kibbutz owned, but she was resolved to stay quiet. She glared up, her eyes slitted. Ben's face was contorted with a strange, gut-chilling glee. He was obviously enjoying the slow interrogation. The astonishingly red tip of his tongue flicked serpent-like across his lips. His eyes flashed and he brought the rope end down with a snap.
The shattering explosion of pain and heat started at Sharon's clit and echoed outward. The intense shock faded just as her shoulders and buttocks hit the floor again. The impact had been so quick, so painful, so incredibly hot, that Sharon's entire body had flown off the floor like a swordfish battling a hook. She rolled from side to side, moaning.
Ben grinned savagely down at her. Sharon was half-curled, her knees drawn up, her hands still lashed behind her back. She rolled away from the Arab.
Another lash of pain struck and burned into the mouth of her pussy. Sharon screamed in a high falsetto. Again the rope popped against the base of her cunt-mound, and again her voice rose to a shattering plea of agony. Sharon tried to roll back. The rope end popped against her left nipple.
It felt like a chunk of glowing charcoal burning into her tit. The whole end of her breast felt bloody-raw and hot, as hot as the blinding glare of the sun of the Negev. Another snap of the frayed end of Ben's rope seared her right nipple. The tips of her breasts were melting. The flesh-scorching pain was so intense that Sharon imagined blood flowing down her tits. She tried to pull her legs high enough to shelter her abused bosom.
Flick! Pop-pop! three times incinerated the nerves of her feet. Sharon's toes curled tight in agony. She flung herself to one side. The scraped skin on her back and buttocks was nothing now. The scratches from the gritty floor couldn't compare to the pain of that dancing, flicking, relentless rope end. It was only the cheap, quarter-inch cotton cord that traders lashed their packs with, but it worked her over like a flensing knife. Sharon rolled onto her belly.
Her wrists worked against the leather thong that bound them. Her smooth, youthful hands knotted into fists. She wrestled with the thong, despairing. Groveling in the dirt, grinding her raw nipples into grit and dust, Sharon gasped and moaned, totally irrational. The rope stopped punishing her for a moment. She tried everything she knew to get away. When Sharon kicked against the cave floor, her ripped shirt slipped down her arms. The sleeves trapped her as surely as the thongs on her wrists. She twisted, and the worn cloth gave.
And Ben had been waiting for it. He stood, taut as a tent rope, above her. With short, snappy motions of his wrist, he flicked red stars of pain onto the pale ripe swell of her asscheeks. Ben flicked the rope against her torn shirt, and the cloth spread and magnified the pain. The whole small of her back flared up with the blaze of agony. Sharon screamed.
She inhaled dust. Sharon gagged. She coughed. It was enough to strangle her if she'd been less frantically desperate. Still she worked and worried at her bonds. She got a foot under her and kicked off the floor.
Sharon's heart leapt. She spread her toes wide, struggling for traction. The bright light of the desert afternoon beckoned. She tried to run.
Ben reversed the rope as she got up. With one hand at his fly and the other on the light end of the rope, he watched the jiggling flexion of Sharon's asscheeks. He allowed her two steps, then put his back into another lash at her legs.
The monkey's fist knot went past her ankle, then whipped around. Ben yanked, and Sharon was upended. She fell heavily on her shoulder. The side of her face hit a rock. The rope pulled free of her foot. She kicked once, then held still. It was hopeless.
Ben threw the whistling end of the rope against her ass, her cunt, her thighs. Again and again the cord split the air. The knot hit her body with slaps and thuds. Sharon's firm flesh jiggled under the dull impacts. The force of the blows was bruising her skin.
Sharon surrendered. There was nothing to do but lie there and accept the rain of heavy blows. The big knot weighted the rope like a rock. Over and over the massive blows struck, beating the muscles of her thighs, smashing the abused slit of her pussy into puffy warmth. She felt her body swelling, stiffening under the hearty bastinado. With a last, forlorn moan of broken defiance, Sharon started to cry.
The whipping stopped. Sharon sobbed on. She heard scuffling, skidding noises behind her, but they didn't matter. If her screams hadn't brought help, there was no hope for her. She lay face down and waited.
In seconds, she felt hands on her hips. Sharon lay limp as a dishcloth. Whatever the kidnapers wanted would be fine. If they wanted to carry her to another cave, rape her, whip her again, she would have to submit. Sharon turned off the tears and gasped for breath.
One of the hands went between her thighs. Sharon spread her legs further when the hand pushed. The burning top of her love mound pressed against the grit of the cave floor. Her nipples were still glowing with pain, like the embers of a banked fire. She couldn't resist the finger that invaded her abused slit any more than she could have escaped the flogging.
Something hard and blunt and hot bore down next to her knee. The hands on her hips shifted, grabbing the horns of her pelvis. Another knee pressed between her legs. Sharon spread her thighs, moving up and back in the powerful grip of the Arab's hands. With a grim shudder of revulsion and lust, she realized what Ben had in mind. At least I don't have to see him, she thought. She brought herself up to a kneeling position. Sharon stared straight ahead at the mouth of the cave.
Ben shifted behind her. He put his head next to hers. The scratchy bristles of whiskers dug into the side of her neck. "You want to tell now, or after?" he hissed. "I can fuck it out of you . . . the world knows an American slut will do anything for a strong cock." His left hand roamed up, sleeking the soft, indented curve of her waist. He covered the rich swell of her left tit and kneaded the flesh lasciviously. His right hand dove down into the abused, battered nest of her pussy and checked the growing heat and warmth and moist slickness hidden there.
Sharon felt a strange combination of nausea and lust rising inside her. The Arab's fingers were skillfully caressing, molding, moving her titty and her labia into masses of arousal. The sheer slippery skill, though, put her off. He seemed too practiced, too expert in the unctuous way his right hand found her inner cuntlips and the erecting button of her clit. The easy, assured motions of his hand made her want to rebel.
But the effect of his fingers, especially after the sharp jolts of pain he'd whipped into her, made Sharon quiver. Her pussy flowed. The private, hidden juices gushed like a river. It felt like enough to irrigate the whole desert. Sharon felt the clear, thin syrup of her vaginal walls ooze out and mingle with the dried semen on her thighs. The mixture thickened and drooled on her skin, as warm and wet as a slow-moving tongue. Sharon wondered how many women Ben had experimented with to gain that lascivious skill, that easy knowledge of how to make her body respond.
And she was responding faster and faster. Sharon's disgust centered on herself. That hidden slot, the mysterious center of her femaleness, was betraying her. She couldn't trust her own body. With a sinuous motion of her hips, she began to sway as if she were making love. With a low moan of relief and revulsion, Sharon pressed her titty forward against his hand.
Her whipped nipples ached, but now the ache was from their hard arousal. The whole mass of each firm, heavy mound throbbed with residual pain. It was like water to a parched tongue when Ben's hand squeezed her tit into a conical mass. Sharon groaned and gargled. With a strange shock, as if she were watching herself from afar, she realized she was pushing her ass back toward Ben's middle.
Sharon's breath caught in a quick, half-choking sob. She bent her head forward in shame. The hand left her tit, leaving the mounds of her bosom to hang alluringly toward the floor of the cave. The tips of her nipples were bright red, distended with blood. The rounded globes stretched down, making perfect triangles in the side view. Sharon was ready to pitch forward onto her face when a stiff thrust of sensation made her freeze.
The head of Ben's cock jabbed her pussy. The knob pressed at the slippery valley between her vagina and the hard, buzzing button of her clitty. Sharon held still, leaning forward. Her tied hands involuntarily clasped each other.
Ben grabbed the thong at her wrists. Sharon gasped. He pulled her arms back and up. The pain tore at the sockets of her shoulders. She moaned.
A frozen needle of cuntal delight shot through her. Ben's cock had skidded forward and across the end of her clitty. Sharon shivered. The flash of pure sensuality made another gush of fluid squirt from her cunt-mouth. Sharon groaned, half-praying that Ben would slip that hot, hard knob across her come-trigger again.
The wide flare of his glans scrapped her clitty-hood back over the sensitive little bullet again. Sharon pushed her hips forward, then back. The slippery traction of her inner cuntlips on her clitoris was as exciting as the naked touch, but not nearly as sharp or as clear. Sharon cursed herself for letting her body take over her will, then surrendered to the Arab's degrading touch.
His fingers still pinched and poked and probed at her labia. Sharon felt the slippery little slices puffing wider, thicker. She could feel every rushing pulse of blood that inflamed her center. Sharon moved her hips from side to side, and the wide angle of Ben's cockhead pressed against her vagina. She tried to wiggle until it slipped into her.
Ben pulled back as Sharon tried to engulf him. Sharon moved forward again. She knew that the tip of his knob was coated with her juice, ready to slip deep and hard into her cunt. She shifted her weight from one knee to the other. Ignoring the pain in her shoulders, she bent her elbows and dragged herself against Ben's knob again.
But the slippery cockhead skidded the other way, flashing an obscene chill across the tight ring of her anus. Sharon hissed through her teeth. She arched her back, moving the whole central zone of her hips away, then moved up and back.
And there it was! Sharon felt the captured stiffness of the bar of cock pressing up against the center of her cunt-mouth. The ridge at the back of Ben's knob indented the puffiest, hottest part of her labia, the place where the soft, slippery little pads passed the edge of her pubic bone and went down to shelter the juicy oval of her cunt-mouth. She moved back, and the helmet-like ridge scraped across the end of her clitty. Sharon hummed ecstatically.
The Arab's left hand still burrowed at the top of her love mound, but now it molded her mons against the blunt slope of his cockhead.
Sharon sighed when she felt him pull back far enough to push the abrupt over-and-under curve at the very tip of his cock against her clit. His fingertips helped, holding the little fuck button straight while he stroked excitingly up and down its minuscule heat. His prick bobbed back and forth, back and forth until the bottom side of her clitty was almost raw. Sharon moved her hips more vigorously, speeding the slithery chills that shot along her nerves. Each time the lip at the back edge of his knob skidded over the end of her clit, another little rocket of sensation would shoot through her loins and she would stiffen like a scared rabbit.
But her hips moved like a fuck-bunny, working backward and forward, faster and faster. The accelerating motions of her pelvis pushed her satiny, rope-burned buttocks back against his belly. Sharon felt the coarse strands at the base of his cock scratch around her cunt-mouth and up the wide, deep ravine between her buttocks. Even the ticklish little ring of her rectum responded, winking open and shut against Ben's bush. Sharon moaned. Her body was demanding more. She tried to hunch up and forward, strained to grab that knob with her vagina. She was ready to burst from the hot, concentrated stimulation of his glans against her clitty. The milder, fuller feeling of having his wand shoving into her cunthole would be a welcome relief.
But Ben didn't allow it. His fingers on her cunt-mound made it impossible. Each time Sharon tried to rise away from the satiny touch of that broad knob on her clitty, his hand pressed harder against her pubic bone. The grip on the front of her pelvis was far too strong for her to beat. Sharon felt sweat bursting out all over her body. She was wet and sticky everywhere. The heavy-hanging masses of her tits swayed further with each desperate move of her torso. The sides of the mound, glistened with perspiration. The whole rippling smoothness of her belly was hot and hungry. Tension and hollow need boomed in her guts like a jungle drum. Long before she was ready for it, Sharon felt the heated shivers of her pre-come welling outward from her slit. The touches on her clit became almost painful, carried on so long and so well that she couldn't take much more.
"Ahh, yes, yes," Ben growled. He amplified Sharon's movements with tugs on the rope around her wrists. Her torso jerked back and forth in response. The puffy flaps of her cuntlips almost made a vagina for his cock. The labia were swollen, slick with juice, and hot as any fevered flesh. Even the spasmodic opening and closing of her cuntal sphincter added to the Arab's sensation, pulling a section of inner labia tight around his prick, then letting the swampy folds loosen again. He started driving his cock through her thigh-junction faster, harder.
Sharon moaned. Her whole lower body had melted into hot gravy. She jerked back and forth, tugging against the thongs. The slamming, slapping, smashing impact of his belly against her ass-cheeks made her whole torso jiggle. Her tits rippled with every fast, hard drive of his prick. Her belly tightened and relaxed, tensed and slacked as his cock slid forward, then skated back again. Hot, naked streaks of lust shot through her clitty on the push-stroke, then the gut-tightening shiver of her labia folding over her clitty hood made her arch away on his back-stroke. Again and again Ben's belly slapped her ass. Over and over Sharon gasped and shivered. The sensation was so intense that she wanted to die. A tiny fragment of her mind protested, then blinked out under the flood of cuntal sensations that racked her body. "Ohhhhh," she crooned, then her voice went higher like a trombone sliding all the way in. "Oooohhhhhhlihhh.T
Sharon didn't care that the Arab could hear the piteous hunger in her voice. She wanted him to know how incredibly hot she was. She needed to tell Ben how much her pussy ached to feel his prick. Only hours before she'd been a virgin, and now her cunt was making her howl like a starving animal. She straightened until her back arched like a bow. Her tits projected up and out, the nipples aimed outward like a pair of miniature howitzers. She struggled to hold the painful arch, grinding her hips back against Ben's belly. Her asscheeks were raw, but every touch of his male flesh inflamed them with white-hot pleasure.
Ben slipped his prick back, then forward once again. Sharon cringed. She felt the whole length of his joint pass under her cunthole, then rub fire across her clitty. She jammed her ass back against him. His hand left her cunt. It rose to her tit. Juice from her sopping pussy smeared all over the vibrating tip. The whole mound throbbed with frustration, pain, and long-delayed pleasure. Sharon twisted her shoulders. Her tit felt alive under his hand. She forced her nipples against his palm until the whole rock-hard tip pushed back into the springy mass of her titty. She felt his prick start moving back again. Sharon knew she would come with one more touch.
Ben's prick ripped past the mouth of her cunt like a cannonball. The tight ring at the entrance went halfway up the sleeve with the hard, heavy impact. Sharon screamed. Her voice filled the cave with piercing echoes. The sheer power of that first fuck thrust seemed to drive her cuntlips, her clit, ever her asshole up into her belly. The fast-blasting mass of male meat rammed past her cervix, shoving the whole dull lump of her womb up and back. Pressure grew in her belly like an explosion. Sharon didn't know if she could contain it. The shock of the cockhead opening and filling her cunt sleeve made her buckle. She bent from the waist, her tits bouncing with the speed of the motion. Almost as soon as she felt the knob of Ben's cock propel itself into her cunt, she jerked again to the slap of his belly against her asscheeks.
There was nothing Sharon could do, or wanted to do, but ride back and forth on that strong, hard prick. It felt like every erotic nerve in her whole body was on fire. Sharon leaned forward and presented her gleaming asscheeks to the Arab. She gasped for air, then felt him stroke deep again.
The see-saw rhythm of the strokes kept a steady, rapid beat. Sharon moved away, then back. The Arab shoved in, then pulled out. His strokes were short and sharp at first, more a matter of levering his prick in and out than sliding. Sharon added a little rotary motion. Ben responded by reaming bigger circles inside her pussy.
Sharon -liked it. She loved it. She moved faster. The fifteen-year-old worked back and forth, swiveling her hips in a figure-eight that made Ben's prick search every corner of her pussy. The hard, fast in-strokes dragged her bruised cuntlips halfway into her vagina, then pulled her cunt ring outward with a suction that reached halfway to her throat. Sharon took short, fast breaths to keep up with the motions. She pushed her ass back then rolled it forward. Her breasts found the rhythm of the moves. They swayed like pendulums, bouncing once at the top of the arc, once at the bottom. The quick jerks sent sheets of heat through her. Sharon recognized that strange, pre-orgasmic feeling in her belly again.
But it wasn't just her belly that was tightening. Sharon's thighs strained. The cords at the top of the long, smooth columns were taut. The ripe swell of each ass-cheek firmed, then relaxed. Her toes curled tight. Sensation covered her whole body, filling her nerves like Ben's pistoning cock filled her cunt.
And still he didn't stop. His strokes kept the same metronome beat, sloshing in until her asscheeks slapped his belly, pulling back until the suction made her whine. Ben's cock moved further, accelerating faster, then stopping instantly. The beat was the same, but the sliding heat of cock in cunt heated. Sharon felt her juice spurting all around his prick, greasing it. The lube was thinning, and the friction at the mouth of her cunt grew.
The friction didn't matter . . . it helped. Every drag of another heated cuntal cell on his pulsing prickshaft made Sharon's cuntlips hotter. Every bit of traction her labia gained on his meat made the frilly inner lips kiss more strongly at her clitty. Sharon felt the length of his strokes increase, the diameter of his prick grow, and she was glad. Even the scratchy, fiery warmth that grew as his whipping prick skinned juice off her cuntwalls was welcome. It inflamed her clitty more, and she loved it.
Sharon's asshole was working against Ben now. She felt the sphincter open along with her cunt-mouth with each plunging stroke of the Arab's meat. Each time his knob slammed past her cervix, the muscles would snap shut. The curled, scratchy threads of his cock-bush caught in her asshole, then the motion of his withdrawal dragged them through the tight ring of the muscle. Sharon began bucking back against him with vigor. She forced her cunt and her rectum open wider with each plunge of his cock, then clamped down like a fist when he tried to withdraw.
In and out, faster, stopping shorter, plunging deeper, Ben went. Sharon had his fuck thrusts timed perfectly. She milked at his prick. She willed her squishing cunt to clamp down, to open, to writhe and wriggle around his prick. More meat filled her with each hearty bang. The walls of her tube collapsed, emptier with each removal. The sound of sweaty skin slapping her buttocks rang out in the cave like some huge hand slapping water. Sweat and the overflow of cunt-juice from her simmering pussy spattered around them. Sharon smelled the heavy odor of Ben's balls and the ripe musk of her own sloshing cunt. Even while the desert air parched her throat, the cave was full of a fog of juices and sweat and splashing skin smell. Sharon closed her eyes. She forgot about the pulling, mashing, jiggling feel of her heavy tits. She ignored the tickling pull of cock hairs through her clenching asshole. She drowned herself in the sweet friction of her cunt around Ben's pistoning cock.
More cock and more filled her, then emptied her sleeve. Sharon wanted to sob at the end of each out-stroke. Her tube was empty for a heartbreaking fraction of a second before Ben's meat filled her again. Now his prick pulled back until only the head was in, then it slammed deep. Sharon's ass bruised under the impact of his pubic bone. Her womb bounced within her like a rubber ball, rebounding again and again from the savage speed of his cock thrusts. Sharon fucked back at him for all she was worth.
Her brain was on fire. The same raging heat that stripped the nerves of her pussy raw infected her spine, then ran all the way to her head. Red heat and white stars shot across her vision. Her eyelids showed a constant stream of fireworks. Sharon felt the whirling mass of sensation in her cunt accelerate. Sparks detached from the mass of feeling and arced through her. She gasped and babbled. Sharon prayed in English, in Arabic, in Hebrew for release.
Ben's prick went clear to the mouth of her cunt and out.. Sharon screamed with forsaken need. With an impact like an avalanche, Ben's cock blasted into her cunt again.
He pulled out. Sharon waited for an eternity. The flare of his knob slammed through her wide-open cunt ring again. His belly hit her ass. The slap was as loud and wet as liver on a butcher's table. Out, out so far that the whole world, all pleasure and all salvation, disappeared. In, pile driving with steam hammer force. Out again . . . the yawning emptiness of her cunt was wide enough to fall into. Sharon held her breath.
A blast like a boot in the crotch hit her. The Arab screamed and yanked her wrists back. Sharon felt tendons tear. His knob had struck the arch of her pelvis. Another beat of soul-searing emptiness passed before his cock rammed into her cunt again.
Sharon sobbed with relief. The one miss had made her cunt spasm shut. Tissues felt torn as his prick exploded into her cunt again. She ached, but the ache was better than that godawful hollow at the pit of her cunt. Sharon wailed with joy as his cock pulled away again and mashed her cuntlips halfway to her throat.
The beat faltered. Sharon struggled. She worried. Why? She wasn't missing his strokes, was she? Sharon held her hips still. Another stab of cockmeat thrust up into her cunt. The lube was almost gone. The rim of her hole was bone-dry. Her cuntlips squeaked like chalk on a blackboard, sending a shiver of horrified heat from her clit. Another faltering thrust of Ben's cock pushed her to the edge of the crevasse. Sharon teetered.
Ben was straining to pull back again. He moved until his knob tugged at the inside of her cunt ring. Sharon held her breath. She was still as a hunted rabbit. With a last shove that knocked her to the floor of the cave, Sharon felt Ben's cock explode in her pussy.
The pulsating cord along his prick pumped once, twice, a third time. Sharon felt the jerking, bucking motions of Ben's body on top of hers. His weight drove her forward. The added pain of grit against her clit sent her off.
like a dreamer flying and falling, Sharon surrendered to her body. She groaned and gasped in the dust of the floor. She writhed, hunching back up at the pile driver thrusts of Ben's prick. She bounced under him, increasing the hard, heavy magnitude of his strokes. Every cell in her body seemed to expand, then clamp tight around the spouting pole of meat in her cunt. The whole world was thrusting cock and spasming, sopping cunt flesh, and Sharon was around it all. Her mind broke down. Nothing but the sheer sensuality of orgasm existed.
She lost track of the jarring jolts of Ben's prick in her cunt. Even the tidal waves of feeling echoing through her nerves were too much to add up. Sharon let herself be, accepting the awesome power of her pussy mouth and earthshaking cataclysm of her cont.
It seemed like hours before the Arab pulled back. Sharon begged, "Please, no!" The sucking hollow at the center of her being pleaded with his emerging meat.
Ben pulled free with a pop that uncorked a gush of semen. Sharon gave one last convulsive jerk and lay still. A little voice echoed inside her, Fm lost, I'm lost, I'm lost forever! and went still.
CHAPTER THREE
Major Weiss looked at the dispatch, then at the boy who'd brought it. The major was a short, wiry man with reddish-blonde hair and cold blue eyes. His face was triangular, narrowing from a medium-high, medium-wide forehead to an almost button-like chin. His once-snub nose had been battered into a left-leaning blob at the center of his face, and his narrow lips were habitually tense. He turned away from the others at the large wooden table. A tic shuddered in his temple. "They are searching?" he asked in Hebrew.
"Since two o'clock, sir," the boy answered. The messenger wore a djellaba, the loose woolen garment of the desert, and a headdress. He sneaked a look at the officers around the big table. "Will you be coming back with me?"
The major wadded up the sheet of paper and crammed it into the pocket of his slacks. He ripped a page from a small notebook and scribbled a note in English. "Take this to my wife. Stay with her until daybreak. "Take this to my wife, stay with her until home then." He shoved the folded sheet at the messenger and turned abruptly back to the meeting.
* * *
The sun had been down a long time, but the air in the cave was still hot as a baker's oven. Sharon lay on her side, her feet drawn up. Another cord lashed her ankles, and the two thongs were tied so that each tug of her feet tightened the strand around her wrists. She ached from the stiffness of lying in one position for so long. The smells of the cave, the men, the donkeys, the stale sweat and the left over odor of fucking, weighed on her like a heavy blanket. She was thirsty and hungry, and the bestial sounds of the four men gnawing and drinking behind her back did nothing to improve her mood. Sharon lay dully, waiting for what seemed like years.
In 1948, the Negev was nearly five thousand square miles of barren desert, with a few hundred irrigated acres at the edges. It borders on the Sinai peninsula, and even on foot, is only a few days from Egypt. In the wastes live only snakes, lizards, small rodents, and few human outcasts, the dregs of once-proud Bedouin tribes. The terrain is more rumpled than a wino's shirt, more hostile than a cornered jackal. In some years a parching hot wind from the east blows all summer, baking nerves, frying tempers, bringing the gentlest to the edge of murder. Further west in Italy and France, the wind is called the mistral, and every Christian court extends mercy to crimes committed when it blows. In Corsica and Sicily, the mistral is mellowed by a thousand miles of water, but still it causes rage, insanity, and cruel death to those who live under its furnace-blast breath.
As Sharon lay in the cave she heard the hot wind moving the sands. Cactus and Joshua trees bend or break, and even the snakes become restless. Sharon stirred in her bonds. A chunk of wood struck her back, thrown from the little circle of her captors. She ached for a taste of water.
The voices of her captors had reached a decision. A note of expectation crept into their voices. The wind and the dullness in her mind kept Sharon from understanding the muttered words, but she felt better. At least something was going to happen.
One of the Arabs swaggered in front of her. He drew a nasty-looking knife from his belt and cut the thong at her ankles. She stared up at his dark, unhandsome face. As was common in the desert dwellers, he wore a thick, heavy mustache and shaved the rest of his face once or twice weekly. The grimy-looking stubble of his whiskers grew to the tops of his cheekbones and down nearly to the tuft of hair at his throat. He squatted beside her, dangling his knife-hilt in his fingertips.
"When do your dogs plan to attack our villages?" he asked, speaking clearly, with a sneer of cruel anticipation.
Sharon shook her head. She tired to speak, but the wind from the desert carried the fulsome reek of his body to her like a cloak of rotting evil.
"We know the wishes of you Zionist swine," he said calmly. "I, Gamal al'Muhammad, have lost lands and livestock to your infidel thieves." He lowered the point of the knife toward Sharon's breasts. Delicately, as if he were flicking a louse from the hem of a garment, he scratched a quick line from halfway up one firm mound to the edge of her nipple.
"No attack . . . we don't want to attack you," Sharon quavered. She looked from Gamal's ugly leer ot the knife, expecting to see her own blood on the tip. "We only want a home . . . we can make the desert grow again, grow food and life for all of us, Jews and Arabs, too."
The knife fascinated her. The handle was polished ram's-horn, glossy from long use. The blade was longer than her hand, blue-gray along the back and sides, gleaming from careful whetting at the edge. A second, in-curved line ran halfway down the back of the blade, just as cold and glistening as the front edge.
"When is the attack?" Gamal repeated. Leaving his left hand hanging limp beside his hip, he held the knife between his knees. He looked from Sharon's face to his right hand. With the skill of long habit, he trimmed the nails of his right hand against the heel of the razor-sharp blade. "We wish to know so we can defend ourselves against your blasphemous racial war. You are forcing violence upon us."
The way he concentrated on his fingernails made his oppressive presence even more terrifying. She struggled to open her tightening throat. "It's-I told you . . . no attack. We . . . I . . . our people want peace."
Gamal took the hilt in his hand again. He scratched a line, as slick and painful as a paper cut, down Sharon's belly. The sharp, needle-like tip of the blade stopped just at the top edge of her cuntal crease. "Before the coming of the Prophet, some of our people had a custom." Gamal moved the knife around slowly, circling the tingling zone of Sharon's clit.
She held perfectly still. With panicked fear in her mind, she tried to will her clitoris to stay small. Blood was racing to the little pellet, making the tissues wake up to the touch, making the chilly shivers flow outward from the nerve-laden organ. With its erection came a shiver that ran from her pussy to her brain.
Gamal bore down a trifle harder. Sharon felt her soft skin split under the knifepoint. A single pulse of blood made the dot of her clitty swell up. Moist warmth grew in her pussy. "Our custom, " Gamal said, "of cutting off the heat-trigger of girls meant they would stay virgin until marriage." He moved the knife again, and the point pressed up against the base of her clit. "It was a father's duty. The child would scream, but she passed into womanhood intact."
Sharon felt a lewd urge building up in her loins.
She tensed her muscles, trying to keep herself from moving. Another tiny bit of stimulation would force her hips to roll. Cold sweat burst from her pores.
The knifepoint moved down, splitting the outer fold of one pussy petal. Sharon sighed with the immense relief. For the long seconds that Gamal's knife had pressed at her clit, she thought of nothing but the searing agony that would rack her if he cut the sensitive organ.
The knife passed along her perineum, splitting the slime that had half-dried between her pussy and her rectum. Sharon shivered. Her asshole puckered tight with the chill of the sensation. She watched Gamal's wrist moving, marking every shift of position. She stared between her breasts, and dismay hit her. Not only was that steamy-wet fluid leaking from her vagina, but her nipples were erecting. A flood of shame washed over her. Sharon wished that she could at least close her legs, but Gamal's arm was between her thighs. Any motion might drive that gruesomely sharp knife into her crotch.
"Perhaps the best thing would be to prevent the attack," Gamal said. "But, we have no way of doing that unless we can disarm your friends." He slipped the knife around the tight, ticklish ring of her asshole, then held the blade upright again.
Sharon tensed. Her whole body went rigid as cement. Gamal placed the flat of the blade over the whole warming mound of her labia and rocked it back and forth. The double-edged point sliced easily into her labia, and the thick steel near the hilt mashed her clit hotly back into its juicy nest. With a little moan of fear and pleasure, Sharon's hips began to rock. She moved in a slow, sensuous coital motion, reinforcing the easy pushes of the knife. Warmth trickled past the tip of the knife to her rectum. Sharon didn't know if it was her own juice or blood leaking from the widening slits on her inner labia.
"It would be very much easier if you told me where the arms are." Gamal looked down at the rolling, rocking, sensuously circling center of Sharon's loins. He crooned low in his throat. The Arab held his knife still and watched Sharon work her pussy back and forth against it.
Sharon hardly heard him. The fear, the pain, and the partial relief from both had excited her. She didn't care about the cutting slices the knife skinned out of her cuntlips. She didn't care that her naked body was amusing Gamal. All that mattered was the insistent steel against her pussy and the way it warmed to the touch of her loins. She pulled her knees up and moved faster. Unable to help herself, she stared at Gamal, pleading with her eyes. She moaned, a prayer for satiation.
Gamal opened the front of his djellaba. The thin, stained cotton bloomers under it bulged out with the thick burden of his erect cock. He pulled the knife away from her cunt. Without releasing the handle, he untied the front of his pants and skinned them down. He did everything one-handed, his left hand still hanging at his side.
Sharon writhed on the floor, desperate. She hated herself for wanting the torture to go on. The pain of the slits on her labia was nothing . . . the real pain was Gamal's denying her cunt the pleasure of release. Sharon had known within seconds that she could come against the knife. "Please, respected one," she whimpered in Arabic. "A 'lakbar, effeiidi!"
The whole throbbing length of Gamal's cock jutted toward her, as long and rigid and hot as any of the cocks she'd felt that day. Sharon scrambled around on the floor, trying to enfold him with her legs. Gamal slapped her backhanded, her fist still closed around his knife. "Camel balls would rot in your cunt!" he snarled. Reversing his fist, he jammed the ram's-horn hilt of the knife into her vagina. The twist of the knobby handle reamed into her cunthole like a drill. Sharon screamed with rage and pain and cunty heat. Every inch-wide ripple of the polished horn sent her vaginal sphincter into spasm. Gamal twisted the hilt. The end swiveled, stretching an almost obscene fullness into her cunt. Her hips bucked upward. Sharon felt a storm of lust break out in her belly. The muscles of her thighs, the rolling flexion of her asscheeks, and tense, knotting panel of her smooth abdomen all worked together to move the horn in and out of her cunt. She felt the suction move the handle deeper, then the pressure of clenching muscles pushed it out. Sharon rode higher and higher, reaching toward the crest of an orgasm.
Gamal straddled her chest. His bony asscheeks mashed her tits. Sharon writhed under his weight, gasping in the heavy stench of his crotch. Gamal grabbed her hair with his right hand. He pulled, and
Sharon's head came up.
She was horrified to see the blind eye of his prick staring at her, but the overriding passion in her cunt left her powerless. Sharon opened her mouth to gasp. Gamal shoved his prick in.
The sudden spearing of male meat into her mouth shocked her. Sharon tried to pull back. She pressed her tongue against the end of his glans. Sharon wanted that obscene, thick, meaty mass out of her mouth, but Gamal thrust deeper. His fist clenched in her hair and pulled harder. With her scalp ready to rip, Sharon submitted.
"Lick me . . . suck me," Gamal snarled. He emphasized his demands with another yank at her hair. Sharon pursed her lips around the thick middle of his cock and sucked. The odor of his prick, the reek of his balls, and the clinging fetor of shit caked around his rectum almost choked her. Sharon rolled her eyes up toward his face.
Gamal was grinning savagely down at her. He moved his ass forward and back, gliding on the lush pillows of her tits. Sharon's nipples pressed up at him and throbbed with the weight of his ass. She thrashed around, and Gamal let go of her hair. His hand smashed into the side of her face. "Bite and you will die in the greatest agony Allah can provide," he hissed.
Sharon sucked again, then licked around the rim of his knob. A strange excitement began to flutter in her middle. She ran her tongue around and around the wide flare of the knob, then titillated the little slit at the tip. The taste was salty-strong, with an overlay of bitterness, but it struck a strange chord deep inside her. An eerie, lewd connection between the twisted fullness in her cunt and the warm, meaty presence in her mouth made her heart beat faster.
Gamal smiled as Sharon began to work more earnestly. His lips stretched wider. "Yes, yes, to move your tongue around slowly and with care," he muttered. He held her face in his right hand and stroked deeper, then pulled back. Only the head of his cock remained in her mouth.
Sharon found the shape and the size of his knob tremendously exciting. She lavished tongue work on the rim, the sloping back, the little tuck at the front. She pressed her lips tighter around the narrow neck of the wand and moved her head back. She sucked heartily, and the glans grew. Sharon took more cock into her mouth, licking and swirling around the end with her tongue, and it shrank partway down again.
Gamal hesitated for a moment. His cruel smile became wider. His lip twisted in a sneer. With clumsy care, he rubbed the palm and fingers of his left hand along the side of Sharon's face, then reached back to mold her cuntlips around the hilt of his knife.
Sharon felt the heat within her leap up like a fire flaring under a bucketful of gasoline. She didn't care that the residual shit from the Arab's left hand had dirtied her face, or that the ragged, brown-stained nails of his hand were poking and prodding at her cunt. All that mattered was the glowing excitement that his filthy hand added to her swampy cunt and the slow, lascivious strokes of his prick in her mouth. She sucked harder, working her lips and tongue like a fantastically skillful cunt. Every cell in her mouth seemed receptive to the long, hot mass of his prick and the spongy swell of his knob.
Every second of the act inflamed her more. Sharon almost wished that her pussy weren't so full, that his fingers would stop kneading the softness around her clitty. The fascination of cocksucking deserved more careful study than she could give with her cunt so close to coming. A slight taint of fear stayed, too, the fear that her orgasm would make her jaws automatically contract. Sharon tried to separate the fellatio from the feelings in her crotch, but the Arab's twisting, writhing, cunt-pleasing fingers wouldn't let her.
She sucked voraciously. Sharon felt the top of his helmet-like glans press against her palate, then slide erotically back along the roof of her mouth. The tight ring at the top of her throat half-opened around his prickhead. Gamal shoved deep, and Sharon fought to keep from gagging. She sucked harder when he pulled back, then paused for the next forward stroke.
The rhythm was as relentless as her rape had been. Sharon sucked and licked, worked and writhed. Her tits were aching with pleasure. Her nipples were two living spots of electric excitement. Every motion of her body or Gamal's made the feeling in her mouth and her pussy climb higher.
When Gamal shoved deep, fucking his prick violently into her mouth, Sharon struggled to swallow the whole long mass. Her tongue worked frantically, fighting to bring the knob into her throat. Her lips parted. Saliva drooled from the corners of her mouth. Sharon gasped for air. She forced herself to keep her tongue rippling along the underside of his prick. She felt Gamal's hand leave her pussy. Sharon wanted to scream in desperation.
A gradual change in Gamal's cock thrusts made Sharon slow the rapid whipping of her tongue. She lavished voluptuous licking on the rim of his knob. The glans swelled up and stayed. Larger and larger it grew. Sharon felt a tremble in the shaft. She coaxed saliva out from under her tongue. She let her lips part until the whole lower half of her face was covered with spittle. She drooled like an oozing well. Sharon's hips still churned, but more slowly. The power of her hip motions increased as Gamal's cockhead grew.
The knob filled her whole mouth. Even when he pulled back, the top ridge pressed her palate and the arrowed wedge at the underside pressed at her tongue. Sharon sucked. It swelled another quarter-inch. Her heels pressed down into the dirt of the cave. Her hips rose. Her asscheeks were half a foot off the floor. Sharon's cunt sucked and pushed at the hilt of the knife. The knobby horn moved up and down, stretching and stimulating her cunt sleeve.
With a slight hitch in his motion, Gamal pulled back. He pushed forward again. Sharon's tongue rolled lustily around his knob. She combined suction and licking, searching out every nerve in his prickhead.
Gamal shoved in, pulled out, fucked vigorously into her head. His hand held her face steady. He gathered steam. His strokes accelerated like a train leaving a station. The knob battered the back of her mouth. Sharon gulped saliva. More spit flowed from her mouth. Her jaw ached. The inner surfaces of her lips hurt. The bruising force of his fuck strokes battered them against her teeth.
His balls swung forward with each thrust. They slapped against Sharon's chin. She felt the hairs sticking in the drool that covered her face. With a supreme effort, she extended her lips further down his shaft.
Gamal pulled back further. His ridge slipped out of her lips, then burst back in. He drove his cock past the muscle at the tip of her throat. Sharon gagged. His prick went out again.
Gamal held back, shivering. Sharon's ass was high in the air. She rolled her shoulders, forcing her tits against his cheeks. With a last, long, heavy thrust, Gamal's prick blasted deep. A jet of thick, bitter fluid spewed into Sharon's mouth.
Sharon gulped. Her throat puckered with the stringy assault. She tried to swallow more, but the next spurt drove cream out of her lips. Another pulse then another filled her mouth to overflowing with jism.
Sharon's pussy started going off. She recognized the brutal pulses, the viscous fluid, as Gamal's peak. She struggled to suck more from his cock. The flow was tapering off. The cloying taste coated her mouth. She tried desperately to drain his prick, flicking her tongue at the slit of the tip.
Another squirt, much smaller, shot into her mouth. Sharon swallowed. Her pussy was forcing her hips up, down, left and right. She wanted to weep as his prick pulled out of her mouth. Sharon wished he'd kept on. Her pussy's clasping, clenching pulsations increased, then faded. With a long gasp, she lay still.
When Sharon looked up, Gamal was already standing, pulling his pants up. He arranged his robes around himself. She tried to speak, but the gummy semen glued her lips to her teeth. "I. . . I'm thirsty," she stammered.
Without looking at her, Gamal bent over. He retrieved his knife with a single jerk.
Sharon thought her cunt would collapse with pain. The twisted horn gouged a path down the front of her cuntal tube. She doubled up, staring in shock and apin. Gamal walked away, sheathing the knife in his belt. He farted audibly and left the cave.
CHAPTER FOUR
Tied in a blanket from head to toe, Sharon was dizzy from the changes of direction on the long night march. The heavy wool was stifling and scratchy. Innumerable small insects bit her. The pressure in her bladder increased with every step of the pack animal that carried her. She heard the different treads of camels and horses. It seemed time and again that the sun must be rising outside her sweltering cocoon, but the sweaty, filthy, parasite-infested blanket stayed just as hot as when she'd first been rolled into it. She was giddy, with sheets of strange color swimming behind her closed eyelids and sensations in her feet that ranged from balloon-like lightness to lead-heavy numbness. The cords that held her face-down on the swaying camel cut off her circulation. For a long time in the middle of the march, she couldn't even feel her hands.
Sharon was too limp to move when the journey finally ended. She let Gamal and the others roll her out of the blanket. Ben had apparently left during the night. She tried to focus her eyes in the gray of the pre-dawn, but she saw no one and nothing she recognized except for Gamal. When he and another Arab yanked her to her feet, Sharon dragged behind them like a dead woman. Her feet scraped along the pebbly ground all the way to the low, flapping tent. The men dropped her and she overheard mumbled fragments of Arabic. She caught only "ransom", "information", and "alive" . . . and an ominous feminine laugh.
"Water," Sharon croaked, "I need water." She turned her head and saw two veiled faces. The impassive dark eyes flicked over her body, lingering on the paleness between her shoulders and her thighs. The mistral still blew, lifting the women's heavy robes, pressing the light cloth of the veils against their faces. Without answering her, the women half-carried Sharon further into the tent.
One of the women held a ceramic jar of water over Sharon's face. The girl turned her head up and opened her mouth. With deliberate stinginess, the woman poured a few drops onto Sharon's upturned face, then a few more. "Please," Sharon asked as the jar disappeared, "Please, some more water?"
The woman shook her head. The second woman, her veil pressed tight against her face, re-entered Sharon's vision, carrying a smooth round branch, perhaps four feet long. She knelt at Sharon's feet and lashed the girl's ankles to the bar. Sharon would have resisted, but her muscles felt as weak as gruel.
Her feet were spread nearly to full extension. The woman who had tied her legs open had a long, fine-carved nose and high cheekbones under the veil. The shifting pressure of the wind kept threatening to reveal more of her face. Her chin was slim, but her mouth was unknown. Her long, black hair hung behind her, caugh t back with a single strand of hide. Her eyes, like the eyes of the other woman, were rimmed with rings of kohl, and tiny flecks of the blackish powder had fallen onto her veil.
The other woman looked heavier and older. She untied Sharon's wrists, then relashed them to another stick. Her veil revealed even less than did the smaller girl's. She moved slowly, as if she weren't quite awake. Both women joined to drag the spread-eagled Sharon to the back edge of the tent.
They flipped the cloth up, and the first peek of sun slanted in. The light shined straight into Sharon's eyes. A man walked among the small cluster of tents and called the Arabs to prayer.
The women disappeared. Sharon closed her eyes. The reddish, dusty dawn sky hurt her eyes. The temperature of her face rose gradually. The sun climbed with grim slowness, heating more of her face, then more again. The shadow of the hill between Sharon and the sunrise drew back like a blanket. She felt the line of increasing warmth slide down her throat to her shoulders, then to the tops of her breasts. By the time her nipples were in full sunlight sweat had popped out on her skin.
It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling. Sharon's belly and legs were still in shadow, but the sweat covered all of her. The sand under her had cooled during the night, so her back and buttocks were chilly while the upper half of her torso baked. The constant sigh of the wind cut her off from all other sounds. Sharon felt totally alone, as if she were in a glass bubble on the desert. The oppressive loneliness made her shiver as much as the cold, and the heat of the May sunrise crept down her body.
The flapping of the tent was a desolate sound. All the world was heat, chill, and the irregular noise of hides and cloth in a constant hot wind. The line of the sunrise moved until only her legs were still in shadow. Her naked body glistened with sweat. Sharon closed her lips to keep from licking them.
Sun-browned arms and legs contrasted starkly with the pale pink of her breasts and belly. Drops of fluid gathered on her breasts and trickled down the smooth, mounds. The tiny rivulets tickled like a stream of ants. Gradually, even her thighs and shins felt the sun's heat. Sharon felt the rare moisture of her body dripping away. Water is more important than food or money or blood in the desert, and the young girl imagined she could count the hours of her life dribbling away in drops of sweat. The sun baked through her eyelids, a streak of red crawling higher with the minutes.
First her throat felt the drying, then her breasts. A gust of wind crossed her body, burning her sweat off like the breath of a forge. The chill where sweat had moistened the sand under her shoulders made her nipples contract. The points stood, the aureoles wrinkled and fell again, and the tight, dry pain of sunburn on her breasts twinged along her nerves. Sharon took a long, deep breath. The few minutes of full sun on her naked bosom made the motion of her ribs painful. She moaned.
Her skin was tightening like wet leather on a stove. Sharon felt it most on the undersides of her tits and the inside of her thighs. The sun slanted directly at those points, falling full and hot, baking her with ultraviolet. The raw, scalped zone at the top of her pussy stung when sweat dribbled across it. As soon as Sharon thought she was used to it, the crawling tautness of her burning skin pulled at the raw zone again and salt stung her.
Her mind was wandering. Sharon opened her eyes and looked straight up. The edge of the tent extended above her. If she could stand the baking sun for a few hours, she would be in shadow again. She glanced toward her feet to estimate the time. The sun was less than a quarter of the way from the horizon to the tent edge. Craning her neck, Sharon saw that her belly was turning deeper pink. Her head fell back again. She welcomed the eerie hallucinations that began to play behind her closed eyelids. One of the miserably hot days in late summer in Chicago came to her. She was taking a streetcar to the lake. A strange man looked at her and smiled. She hung on to the strap, her swimsuit and towel clenched in her hand. She'd left home with friends, but they'd disappeared. Sharon didn't feel afraid until the man stood up. He towered over her, seven feet tall at least. He took her hand and put it in his mouth. Her bladder let go in terror. Sharon pulled away, but he still bit her hand . . .
Shamed and disgusted, Sharon felt her piss burning the tops of her thighs. The river of urine flowed on and on. She tried to stop, but the flood overpowered her. Hot, stinging piss puddled under her and wet her buttocks stickily. It filled the crevices between the grains of sand and made her asscheeks itch. "No, no," she moaned, tossing her head from side to side.
The slimmer of the two Arab women stood over her, a bucket in one hand, a stick in the other. She'd held Sharon's hand down with the stick and poured warm, rancid-smelling grease from the bucket over it. She stared down at the captive girl, her eyes and posture impassive. "We need the guns," she said in Arabic. "You may bake here in filth if you do not tell us."
Sharon tried to move her buttocks off the pool of itohy, sandy piss. "I do not know where the guns are," she said. "Please, some more water?"
"She brings," the woman said, nodding to Sharon's other side.
The heavy-set woman carried a jug wrapped in cloth. Sharon opened her mouth wide, stretching forward for the water. The woman knelt and tipped the jug.
"AIEEEEE!! ! " The water in the jug was just short of boiling. It scalded over her breasts, her throat, her belly in a cascade of agonizing pain. The sun had already heated and singed her skin to painful red, and now the water amplified the hurt a hundred times. Even Sharon's pinkish nipples had darkened with the sunburn. Now the flaccid tips wobbled from side to side as the water beat them down into her tits. "Please! God, please!" Sharon begged.
The slimmer woman knelt beside Sharon. "You have been with some of our men, but they could not make you tell. You must tell us." She gathered a handful of sand and dribbled it along Sharon's belly, then around the still-wet slopes of her breasts.
Every grain felt like a needle probing the scalded nerves of Sharon's torso. The woman took another handful and dashed it forcefully onto Sharon's lower belly. Particles struck the girl's labia, sticking in the sweat and urine and the overflow from the water jug. "I've told you . . . I've told everyone . . . I don't know!"
"Your father, the diseased offspring of a miss-mated dog and a syphilitic camel, is the military commander of your farm. You must know. The infidel who shares man's work and woman's would tell his daughter. If a Jew has not the manhood to conceive a son, he tells all to his daughter." The heavier of the two women knelt at Sharon's other side and began rubbing the sand in circles on her belly.
On top of the sunburn, the scalding, and the ripped-raw scalping of her love mound, the sand felt like coals burning into her skin. Sharon tensed. She worked legs, arms, and belly around trying to stop the gritty rolling of sand on her belly. The other woman covered Sharon's breast with her hands and rolled the mounds in slow, lascivious circles.
Up and down, left and right, pressing and kneading, the women ground sand into Sharon's fevered flesh. Sharon tried desperately to keep from crying out, but a few seconds of the slow torture started her sobbing. Her piteous whimpers were worse than a lost puppy's.
Shame added to the pain. Other women, foreign, savage, nomadic Arab women, were touching her breasts and her belly. The hand of the heavy woman slithered grossly into the gapped-open zone of her pussy and ground sand into the tender, abused flesh. With a sense of utter loss, Sharon felt her clitty stand up under the abrasion. Her nipples erected. The pain focused on the three hot spots.
The pressure of the roving hands increased, but not the speed. The female torturers crooned soft sounds as they ran their hands in languid circles. Sharon's skin moved under their pressing hands. Her breasts flattened into masses of overheated pain. The whole of each mound ached. A strange, lewd pressure built up in her bosom. Sharon twisted her shoulders. Her feelings mixed. The pain made her want to get back, but the increasing pleasure made her want the erotic pressures to increase.
And the hand moving around, over, across her labia worked harder. Sharon's pussy began to lubricate. The thick, clear cream in her vagina made her flesh even gluier. Sharp edged grains of sand found the oval opening of her cunt-mouth and abraded the sensuous flesh. The little pellet of her clitoris felt spears of pain attacking with every motion. Each move toward the side, or up, or down, sent another hot quiver of pleasure and pain to her brain. The whole erect come trigger was surrounded with random grains of sand. The grit felt big as boulders around the sensual nubbin, caught between the folds of her inner cuntlips and the hot spike.
The woman rubbing her cunt spoke again. "Tell us, tell us where they are stored," she said breathily. Her tone was halfway between a lullaby and the panting of arousal. She grabbed another fistful of sand and applied it directly to the raw patch where Gamal had ripped out Sharon's pussy fuzz.
It was like ground glass against her skin. The fatty pad over her pubic bone did nothing to cushion the steady grinding of the sand. Her skin became inflamed, but the mound was irrevocably connected to her labia. Every motion at the top of her scalped mons moved her cuntlips back and forth on her grit-covered clitty. More juice flowed from the mouth of her vagina. Sharon felt her hips starting to move in the unmistakable rolling of lust.
The women saw it too. They commented in whispers that Sharon couldn't bother to translate. The one who was manipulating Sharon's cunt wiped her hand on her robes. She stuffed a finger, then two more, into Sharon's pussy. They were dry and hard, but Sharon's pussy opened for them. Sharon's moans went higher in pitch. She rolled her hips lustily. The woman moved her other hand to the top of Sharon's slit and squeezed.
The sand around her clit put pinpoints of pressure all around the little organ. Sharon felt her feelings accelerate. With a whimper of need, she moved faster. Her clitty was sending lewd heat through her whole body. Sharon twisted her shoulders.
The slim woman dug her fingers cruelly into Sharon's tits. Her hand moved in hard, coarse circles. The grinding sand under her palms lacerated Sharon's nipples until the hot little spikes felt bloody. Sharon babbled for more.
The women worked harder at her pussy and her tits. The older woman took her hand from the top of Sharon's cunt and slipped it under her own robes. The younger woman hiked up her robes and moved to straddle Sharon's chest.
Sharon squealed with frustration and rage when the hands left her tits "Don't stop now, dammit!" She thrust her hips up at the cunt-banger.
A flash of pain and heat shot through her left breast. Sharon watched, open-mouthed, as the younger woman wiped the sand off her tit. With a single swift motion, she squatted over Sharon's breast and grabbed the mound with both hands. The raw, sunburned skin shrieked with agonizing lances of pain when fingernails dug into the sides. Sharon felt the deep furrows grow and dig into her. She twisted away, then offered her tit again. She stared at the dark ravine between the Arab woman's asscheeks, the tuft of black hair at the base, the gray ring of her rectum. With a shock that made her lust jump to a blaze of heat, she realized what the woman was going to do.
The wet, hot, fleshy feeling of the Arab's twat covering the end of her nipple drove Sharon crazy. She bucked and twisted, hungering for more sensation in her own pussy. The woman's hands forced Sharon's firm tit into the gaping center of her pussy, smearing juice and cuntal hairs all over the mound. The slick, wet warmth was like a huge toothless mouth kissing and nuzzling at her breast. Sharon writhed lasciviously under her, trying to force her whole breast up into the woman's cunt.
But her titty was far too big. Sharon focused all her feelings in her tit. She felt a rigid bump at the underside of her tit, and the hard arch of the woman's pubic bone just beyond it. Sharon arched her back, trying to cover the whole zone around the woman's clit with her breast. Her nipple was centered in the sucking grasp of the Arab's cunthole, and the meaty pink flesh seemed ready to gnaw her titty-tip off.
Sharon didn't care. The fantastic lewdness of the Arab's pussy slathered across the whole aching mound of her titty. It inflamed her imagination as much as it aroused her pussy. She wondered if there were any way for the other woman to squat down and take her other tit. Sharon wanted hot, slick pussy flesh to smear all over her body. She wished she could drown in the marvelous wetness of cunt flesh. She wanted to curl into a ball and push her tits into her own cunt. Sharon worked her hips and shoulders in a frenzy.
The heavyset woman was hidden behind the robes of the titty fucker. Sharon couldn't see what she did, but she could feel it. Only one hand moved on her pussy, but it moved fast, hot, and well. At least three fingers were jammed into Sharon's vagina. A thumb or a fingertip moved her clit around in hot circles. The woman's hand was working back and forth, in and out, in the same rhythm as Sharon's churning hips. Juice flooded out of Sharon's hole, greasing the Arab's hand. Enough cunt cream gushed to wash sand off her labia, but not from around her clit. The sharp stabs of grit around the erect little organ added incredible heat to the muscle-puckering chills of her cuntal tension. Sharon didn't know if her pussy would go off from the pain around her clit or the full, hard-thrusting motions in her cunt. She rolled and writhed, ignoring the wet sand under her ass and the sweaty slickness that covered her body. Her mouth was dry, but every inch of the rest of her body was wet.
Even the sun didn't bother her. The shifting shadows of the Arab women kept much of it off of her, but the rays that struck her only added heat to the juicy hunger that covered her whole torso. Sharon felt the greasy warmth of the pussy on her tit widen and contract. She knew by the faster motions of the Arab on her chest that the other woman was nearing orgasm. With a groan of anticipation, Sharon tried to hurry her own reaction
The hand left her cunt! Sharon wailed with loss. She ached to feel it back in her, to have those fingers scraping juice from her cuntwalls, to have that thumb raking sandy pain and slick ecstasy across her clit. Sharon bounced up and down, hungry, needful, aching for the sensations to resume.
With a stab, something stiff and hard and long ripped into her cunt. It was bone-dry, nothing like the juice-greased fingers that had twisted so much heat into her cunt. Sharon shuddered and held stone-still for an instant, then the stick in her cunt moved.
It plunged up, higher than fingers could reach, higher even than the ravaging penetrations of Ben cock. She felt it move up and down, levering the tight ring of her cuntmuscle toward her ass, then up to her clitty. It moved in and out, stretching her tube. The end was out of touch, up high in the numb, nerveless zone where only the pressure on other organs told her she was stuffed full. Sharon felt the entry and the withdrawal with a moan of satisfaction. At last another object was in her starved cunt.
Her whole body felt as wet as her cunt now. The slippery sweat that greased her belly spread all over her. Her feet were wet. Her arms were soaked. Even her throat gleamed with drops of perspiration.
And the juice that gushed from the cunt on her tit covered her whole bosom. It was slipperier than sweat, hotter and thicker and creamy. Sharon reveled in .the feeling of soft feminine flesh sliding unctuously around on her breasts. She felt the thighs, the buttocks, the smooth, slick inner cuntal valley sliding lustily around on her breast and shoulder. If her arms had been free, she would have reached up to hug the Arab woman to her. Sharon wanted to move her from one tit to the other.
But the Arab woman was working toward a frenzy. Her cunt was floating. The scratchy curls of her cunt-hair were soaked to the softness. The slippery inner slices of her cuntlips slithered on Sharon's tits like a wet snake on a glass plate. She sped up, shimmying like a belly dancer. Her hips moved back and forth, thrusting forward, then sliding back. She wiggled from side to side, throwing a lusty circle of heat around the whole throbbing mass of Sharon's tit. Her buttocks tensed and relaxed, flexing faster with every lusty motion of her hips. She ground the full, firm mass of Sharon's tit against the girl's ribs, then grabbed the mashed-out overflow of feminine flesh with her hands and stuffed it up the front of her cunt crack.
Sharon delighted in feeling the hot button of the clit against the underside of her tit. She -liked it nearly as much as the now-wet stick that slipped to and fro in her cunt. The Arab on her chest moved to the side, swaying in an excess and lust, and Sharon found out the cause of the lewd motions of the cunt plunger.
The other woman, her fleshy asscheeks rippling like loose sails, had plunged her end of the three-foot stick into her own cunt. The hairy slices of her cuntlips enfolded the stick like a bearded mouth on a cigar. The heavyset woman moved her ass back and forth, her cuntal grip supplying the drive that moved the stick back and forth, in and out of Sharon's cunt. Tied together by the long makeshift dildo, both Sharon and the fat woman approached climax.
The swaying shoulders of the other Arab cut off Sharon's view. She retained the image in her mind. The picture of those luxurious asscheeks rippling, the long stick jutting, the meaty flaps of cuntlips milking, made the excitement flare higher and higher in her cunt. She worked harder, throwing her hips upward. The stick levered toward her asshole, prodding her innards toward the front of her belly. Sharon fell back down again, and the stick slipped out. The drag of her cunt ring on the wood tugged her labia away from her clit. Thrills shot up her spine. She wailed like a banshee, begging in English, "Fuck! Oh, God, fuck! You crazy cunts!" Sharon flung herself into the wetly meshing actions of the trio like a madwoman.
She twisted. Her breast mashed against the thin Arab's cunt. She bucked. The stick reamed deep into her pussy and rebounded from the depths of the fat Arab's twat. Sharon screamed, and the Arabs chanted back at her. She pounded her bound feet against the sand. The woman on her chest bounced.
The titty fucking Arab had both hands locked on Sharon's breast. She stretched it away from Sharon's chest, then mashed it down again. The fat woman reached behind her to steady the stick. Sharon caught a glimpse of the heavyset Arab, one hand buried in the top of her black muff, the other wound around the stick. The pounding cadence of the dildo increased. Sharon felt herself ready to go off.
With a slam, the stick hit bottom in her cunt. Sharon tried to scream, but her voice was gone. She lay on her back. Her ass arched a foot off the ground. The Arab woman on her tit was kicking her heels under Sharon, beating against her back like a cowboy on a bronc. The fat woman drove herself back and forth on the stick that linked their cunts. Sharon let the first huge wave of release shoot through her.
The Arab woman fell off her chest. The fatter Arab fell to her knees. Sharon bucked and swiveled, forcing the stick to ream circles in her cunt. The iced flames of orgasm ripped through every part of her body. Sharon somehow flung herself into the air, jerking like a beached fish. The thin woman's cunt covered Sharon's face. Sharon sucked at the juicy mass of twat flesh automatically. Her pussy was collapsing on itself, sucking at the stick, and Sharon sucked reflexively at the wet, aromatic wad of the woman's cuntlips.
The stick slipped out of her cunt, but Sharon's body went on. She could feel nothing but the incredible rising heat of her come pulses. They racked her, flashing outward from her clitty like rockets. Sharon smothered in the thin woman's pussy, gargling desperately at cream and flesh and matted black hair. With a single last groan of ecstasy, the thin Arab woman fell away from Sharon's sucking mouth. Sharon lay still, stunned by her actions even as more waves of coming swept along her nerves. She closed her eyes. I'll hurt in a minute, she thought, and her mind dove into the blessed blankness of abandoned sensuality.
CHAPTER FIVE
Baking, cooking like a steak on a grille, and thoughts of flame and pain filled Sharon's mind. She lay on her belly, her pale buttocks and un tanned back exposed, utterly naked to the midday sun. For hours, she thought, she had left the cup of water beside her head alone, but at last she'd taken a sip. Another sip, then another barely wet her throat. Now only the memory of the flat, stale-tasting fluid remained, the memory of scant relief and the constant presence of searing sun on her unprotected skin. Her brain seemed to be curling at the edges, shriveling like a piece of fatty meat in a dry skillet. The raging punishment of the sun had even started on her smooth, well-tanned legs. The long columns of her thighs hurt. Even her sweat gave no protection. The strengthening gusts of wind dried the thin film as soon as it oozed from her pores. Through her closed lids Sharon's eyes burned with the bright pain of sand-reflected sunlight.
She'd lived through hotter days, and sun as bright, but never naked, without shelter. Somewhere during the eternity of passive torture her nerves became jaded. There was only so much pain, heat and wretched misery her skin and mind could absorb without becoming numb. Even when the sun beat harder and the wind blew hotter, Sharon was aware only of gradual increments of discomfort. The total pain added up to far more than she could actually feel. It became a background against which other thoughts and sensations formed. Now and then, for instance, Sharon would open her puffy eyes to see if somehow more water had appeared in the shallow bowl. She would twist her head and curl her upper lip, bringing the stale, pissy musk of the Arab woman's cunt-juice to her nose, but even her self-disgust at so eagerly gobbling a woman's pussy was a momentary flicker against the constant heat of the sun on her shrinking, reddening skin.
Her weakening body confused her. Sharon heard the crunch of approaching footsteps, but she couldn't respond. Sharon's face was imprinted with the multiple pockmarks of the rough-edged sand when Ben's hand pulled her up by her hair. Her jaw dropped and her glazed eyes opened. She recognized nothing.
Moving swiftly, Ben cut the thongs binding her to the rough framework of sticks. He dragged her to the shade of an open-sided tent and poured water on her face and neck. Sharon gradually came alive again. The splash of tepid water on her skin made her groggily resentful. What right does he have to stop me? I was so comfortable, she thought. And that mice! Why in the world is he shouting? Where did all those people come from? Sharon pulled her arms and legs in, curling into a fetal ball. The fiery skin on her baked back stretched painfully. Sharon straightened her limbs again, rolling on the grimy rug. The shade was almost cold . . . her body temperature had soared into the range of high fever. She heard the protests of the other Arabs and Ben's enraged shouts. She tried to break in but her tongue was too thick to work properly.
"Don't you goat-fucking offspring of camels understand words? Should I bleat at you like the cow-faced women who run your tents?" Ben raged. "If you have the stupidity of blasphemous swine, the Jews can take your land and welcome! If this one is to die, it must be publicly, with the greatest pain, before her family. Now, tend you to her before I spread your entrails for the vultures!"
"But, effendi" one of the men began.
Ben struck him left handed across the face. The other Arabs stopped, frozen like a snapshot. The man's hand moved tentatively toward his knife, then stopped. "Lower than a dog? I do not see the reason the British even accepted our aid in the war! I heard how you whimpered in your kennel when the German hung your parents on meat hooks. 'No, not Abdel,'I said, but I see that you have not the intelligence to seek revenge!" Ben folded his arms across his chest and stared at the cluster of silent Arabs. "How many of you will die from your stupidity? The Jews are searching for this girl, and you do not bother to watch the approaches to the camp!"
"But Omar . . . Commander . . . you brought her in the night. We did not think-"
"And that is why your land is being stolen. Across two oceans men have met and decided that the Jews can have half of Palestine. We cringe here in the desert and do not THINK!" Ben turned away. "Leave me. Lower the sides of this tent. Post watchmen near enough to warn us of any passing near."
The water he gave her bloomed through Sharon's whole body in seconds. She felt like a brittle sponge filling up, becoming flexible, swelling in size and weight. She tried to sit on the rug, but every second made her bright-red buttocks hurt more. She came out of the numb fog. Her body temperature dropped quickly, though the water was nearly eighty degrees. Sweat had time to gather on her skin again, and the salty sting reminded Sharon of the scrapes and scratches that the two women had gouged through her sunburn. She knelt shyly, half-shielding her heavy, bright-pink breasts with her upper arms. Ben waited for her to slow her drinking, then took the water jug from her hand.
"Please, sir, can I get dressed?" she asked meekly.
"No." Ben rubbed his clean-shaven chin and walked back and forth. "You would not have lived much longer." He circled her, shaking his head at the deepening red of her fiery asscheeks and back.
She still felt woozy. Her brain couldn't match up with anything around her. The one thing that really meshed was her decision to lie to the Arabs. She would tell Ben whatever he asked, whether it were true or not. Sharon waited, her eyes downcast, for his questions. His voice finally came from behind her.
"Where are the guns?"
She felt like a ragdoll draining, all its stuffing flowing out through a tear. "In the tractor shed. There's a trapdoor."
A blow, heavy and hard, landed across her shoulders. The stick Ben struck with had enough force to knock her half off her heels.
The searing heat of raw sunburn covered the dull ache of a bruise on her back. Sharon felt the injured muscles of her back stiffening. Hundreds of tiny blood vessels oozed their ruptured fluid into the impact zone. He won't hit me any more...I'll talk, and they'll all leave me alone. "On the north side, where the harrow is kept.. . . " Sharon thought quickly, trying to remember a definite mark that would mislead them ". . . a big nail with a square head beside a crack in the cement. There's another crack about a meter away, but it's covered with dust." She tensed, waiting for another blow.
"How many guns? How much ammunition is hidden, and how much is outside?"
The tip of the stick tapped gently up and down on her sunburned ass-cheek. In a strange, almost nauseating way, it felt good, like the fascination a child feels in peeling the scab from a skinned knee. Sharon tugged her mind away from the sensation. Ten rifles outside . . . no, there are nine, without the one you took. Maybe twenty inside . . . pistols for twelve people. If there is a machine gun, it would be in the hole . . . I don't know about bullets. They only allow fifteen for night guards . . . less in the daytime."
The stick cracked loud across her buttocks. Sharon jerked forward. Her breasts bounced with the speed of her reflexive lurch, and the tight, dry skin on her belly and thighs stung. A blaze of fresh heat set her sunburned ass afire again. "Don't lie, Sharon. You were carrying fifteen rounds." Ben stayed behind her, his feet padding almost noiselessly back and forth on the rugs.
"We . . . we take target practice with the Enfields . . . they have more bullets." Sharon clenched her asscheeks painfully tight, expecting the stick to strike any second.
"Do you want to have every man in this camp take you and fuck you and leave you on the desert to die?" Ben breathed. He sounded as if he his lips nearly touched her ear. "If you speak of imaginary things, I will personally bind you to the belly of a goat and let him fuck you until your stomach splits like an overripe melon."
A lance of pain speared the top of her raw, sand-chafed ass cleft and ripped down the tight valley. The stick caught in the lower edge of her rectum and pulled the tight ring out of shape. Sharon felt the brutal tug clear into her guts. "Aummphh!" she grunted. "Please, it's the truth . . . leave me alone, Effendi Daoud!" Sharon twisted to look over her shoulder.
Ben was twitching the stick back and forth like the tail of a stalking leopard. "Why did you lie so long?" he hissed. He ripped the very tip of the stick back and forth across her asscheeks twice, a quick forehand-backhand slash.
Fresh fire blazed in Sharon's abused skin. She jumped away, stumbling. The girl fell on her face, her hands going back to cover the vulnerable globes of her bottom. The strokes had striped her ass with white, but the skin reddened again almost instantly. Two brighter lines crossed each buttock, and the strip down her ass cleft oozed tiny droplets of blood. Her eyes were wide. Sharon goggled from side to side, but the tent was closed off. Even if she ran to burst through the cloth, which way was the center of the camp? Where were the guards?
"I told you, I told you," she whimpered. Ben stepped closer. She rolled half onto her back. Her knees drew up protectively. Her closed thighs accented the vee'ing depth of her cuntal zone, and her lush pink titties wobbled. She panted in pain and fright.
Ben reached across her hip and brought the stick down smartly. A crack like a small-bore pistol rang in the tent. "The other weapons! Grenades, rockets, land mines! Your farm is an outpost...where are the mines laid?"
The look of inspired fanaticism on Ben's face scared her more than the long limber stick he brandished. Sharon tried to sink through the rug, through the sand, completely out of sight. Her whole body was the picture of cringing submission. She shook her head, her mouth open wide. The girl was terrified.
Ben stepped close and swung his foot into her belly. Sharon doubled up, coughing and grunting with pain. The kick felt like it shoved all her guts up into her lungs. She could hardly breathe. "Don't ullgghh! . . know!"
It was a holy war, and Sharon was the enemy. The Arab lashed out with the stick, flailing at her breasts, her thighs, the rich exposed swell of her sunburned buttocks. White stripes flashed, then brighter red replaced them. At the outside of her wide hips, where her teenage skin was tightest drops of blood sprang out. The taut, baked tissues couldn't stand up to the repeated violent strokes of the stick.
Sharon felt her skin actually peeling away in places. She groveled, begging Ben to stop, but the inspired light in his eyes only blazed brighter. His mouth curled in a lusty sneer, then his lips went slack. Foaming spittle blew from his loose lower lip, spraying across her fevered body. His arm rose and fell like a cruel machine, flogging, beating, cutting strips of skin from her hips. He seemed to swell to twice his size before he flung the stick to the side and ripped his pants down.
Sharon saw the dark columns of his muscular thighs above her. She hardly dared look at the pillar of prickmeat that jutted from his groin like a ram's horn. She tried to turn her head away. She struggled to close her eyes.
The heat of the beating had inflamed her ass, and the warmth spread to her pussy. Sharon couldn't tell whether it was relief from terror or just the cessation of pain. All she knew was that her pussy was wet and her ass was so hot it itched. She writhed on the rug, lying on her side. Her breast touched the coarse wool, and the fire in her skin made her nipple rise. She skidded back and forth on her unbeaten hip, and the sun burnt swell of her ass-cheek heated further.
Ben stood over her like an avenging god. Sharon stared up at his body. She tried to see his face, but her eyes went to that massive length of prick and rose no further. From her angle on the floor, it seemed to rise forever. The wide wings of the head flared out far enough to block half his torso. Even in the dim light of the tent, Sharon noticed the angry red color of the skin. The shaft itself was the same mud-brown as the rest of his body, but the glans of his penis was an inflammatory reddish purple. It looked as hot and thrillingly painful as her own blistered asscheeks.
"On your back," Ben snarled. He undid his shirt, staring at the bottom button.
Sharon rolled onto her back. The scratchy wool and the tracked-in sand made her itch and burn from her shoulders to her asscheeks. The feeling was like the strange, half-needful tingle that was starting in her pussy. She pressed her heels against the floor. Her asscheeks rose from the rug, but the itchy discomfort in her shoulders increased.
Ben shrugged out of his shirt. He stood above her like a colossus, his legs spread. The weighty mass of his scrotum was covered with enough black hair to stuff a mattress, and the curls rose from his lower belly to the base of his throat. His legs were covered with hairs that looked as coarse and scratchy as barbed wire. He snarled, "Stay there," and walked away from her.
Sharon froze like a bug in amber. She was afraid to move, though her pussy was making its heat and need known more with each second. Blood roared in her ears, the separate pulses merged together into one continuous sound.
The strained, cuntally-presented position made her breasts rise toward her face, and the tug of gravity stretched the sensitive underswell of each tit. The fire of stretched sunburn spread from her beaten buttocks to her straining thighs, then up her belly until Sharon felt as if she'd been skinned alive. She tried to relax without moving. Her cuntal sphincter opened and a bubble of air entered. A dribble of oily pussy lube trickled from her hole, then another. Before Ben had crossed the tent, enough pussyjuice flowed that the whole thatch of light-brown hairs at the base of her pussy was soaked. Even the still-throbbing ring of her rectum was slippery and wet with her cream.
Ben stopped at the far side of the tent. The thick wad of hair at the bottom of his asscrack looked gnarled and evil, like the charred bole of a lightning struck tree. There was a star-shaped white scar at the outer edge of one buttock, the reminder of a British officer's encouragement in a long-ago infantry charge. He picked up a ceramic jar and brought it back to Sharon. He knelt between her upraised knees and stared into the gaping slot of her pussy.
Sharon felt a deep shame wash over her. She waited for Ben to offer her water, but he merely filled his mouth and swished the fluid loudly around his teeth. She heard a loud gulp, and her ass sagged toward the rug.
With a vicious stab, his thumb poked into her pussy. Sharon arched involuntarily off the ground. She grunted, too stunned by the rapid, cunt-battering entry to scream. She let herself down slowly, bracing her hips up with her hands.
Ben took another mouthful of water and washed his teeth again. Sharon watched the naked Arab as he lowered his face toward her crotch. She remembered the incredible hot wetness of the Arab woman's cunt on her mouth. A tremor of lust started in her clit and shivered through the rest of her body.
Ben spurted a dribble of water across the vertical stripe of her cunt. Sharon squealed. The cool touch of the water and the instant chill as it evaporated made her clit erect to tingling stiffness in a single heartbeat. Sharon felt it mingle with the juice in her vagina. She shivered like a tree in a windstorm. Almost before she could react she felt the oversized projection of the Arab's nose press against her cunt-mouth and a gluey warmth attach itself to her asshole. A slippery, hot presence invaded her rectum, then a jet of water and saliva shot up her ass.
"Aww...ohhh," she moaned, the quantum jump of lewd heat in her loins made her skull feel ready to pop off. Sharon moved her hips from side to side. Her breasts rolled lustily on her chest. The heat of her sunburned skin increased in proportion to the cooling evaporation of the water on her cuntal crease. Sharon pushed against Ben's face.
The single second it took Ben to spit water up her ass had made her emotions shift from terror to pain-stimulated lust. The feeling imprinted on her cunt so strongly that Sharon didn't notice Ben's face leave her crotch until his nose pressed against her cunt-mouth again. She bore down, and the thick beak entered the ring of her sphincter simultaneously with his tongue shooting into the center of her asshole. Another, large jet of water flooded into her ass.
The sheer perverse pleasure of the feeling scared Sharon. She moved her hips away, then toward his face again. The jet of water kept going, then Ben's tongue left her ass. He pulled away for a moment. Sharon stared down at his lit-up eyes. Ben grinned carnivorously and set his mouth on the top of her muff.
The sudden sharp pain of teeth sinking into the tender flesh of her cuntlips made her lose control. Sharon felt the water jetting out of her ass. She felt shame and rage and excruciating pain. The sheer degradation of losing control of her asshole mode her want to die, but the agonizing fervor of the sensation at the top of her cunt made her want to grovel in the deepest pit of abused lust she could enter. Ben planned to oblige her.
He pulled back, letting her cuntlips escape slowly, tortuously, from his teeth. He kept his lips open, offering not one bit of wet, slick solace to the agonized tissues. When her labia were finally free of his teeth, he bit down and jerked away. Another batch of cunt-hairs ripped loose from her snatch.
Sharon sobbed. Her breath rattled in her throat. She tried over and over to beg for mercy, to remind Ben that she'd told him about the weapons, but the pain and the heat in her loins was too much. It overpowered her speech. Sharon could only gargle and groan with her cunty need and twisted pleasure in her own degradation.
Ben reached under her buttocks. His hands, strong and harshly calloused, dug into the firm muscles, The scraping ridges of his fingernails and the abrasive coarseness of his calluses inflamed her already tortured asscheeks like a welder's torch. The pain changed from sheets of blood-red on her nerves to pinpoints of blue-white agony, as sharp and hard and merciless as a diamond. Sharon shuddered. She tried to lift herself away from his clutching, moving, kneading hands, but she only succeeded in bringing her cunt-mound closer to his face.
Ben took the water jug in one hand again. He held her up like a gymnast caught in the middle of a handspring and rolled the hard stoneware across the gaping wound of her pussy.
Sharon screamed like a gut-shot rabbit. The gritty surface of the crude jug ground her clit down into the surrounding tissues. The lumps and bumps of sand in the baked clay flayed moist cells from the rim of her cunthole. The sloshing water from the brim washed sweat-salts into the raw follicles of her ripped labia, and with every increase in brutal pain, her cuntal hunger grew. It was a race of nerves . . . the pain could send her into shock profound enough to stop her heart, or the pleasure could send her into an orgasm intense enough to stop her mind. Her own fingernails dug into the flaming skin at the small of her back. Her hands turned to claws, inflicting more pain, and, in turn, more pleasure. Sharon arched until her thighs were nearly parallel with the floor. Her cunt, half-stripped of hair, was a red-centered mound of outstretched flesh, more crimson than even the beaten surfaces of her blazing ass. Her tits jiggled and bounced with the rasping sounds of her breath. Her face was twisted into a slack-lipped, heavy-eyed mask of absolute lust.
Ben swilled the last of the water from the jar and dropped it. He sprayed the last few sprinkles between his front teeth, dribbling just enough on her clit to sting the irritated nubbin into further chills. He gripped her asscheeks again and put her knees over his shoulders.
Sharon let herself flex down with relief. At last her hungry cunt would feel the heavy thickness of his meat. She would finally feel the long, rigid tube of Ben's cock assaulting her drenched cunt. She rolled her eyes down and stared at him, licking her lips in anticipation. Her pussy was already wound to the very edge of orgasm. All she needed was one or two firm strokes.
The sudden pressure of his cockhead against her asshole didn't surprise Sharon. She even let herself be folded backward until her thighs touched her breasts. The sunburned pain of her asscheeks protested, but if the hungry, gaping slot of her pussy would be filled . . .
Ben shoved, and half his cockhead slipped into the tight ring of her anus. Sharon screamed again, higher and louder. The invasion of this knob was ripping her in half. She tried frantically to pull away.
Ben let go of her left buttock and slapped her across the face. Sharon's head snapped to the side. "Quiet!" he roared, and shoved again.
The anal rape was tearing her rectum wider, wider, and Sharon could hardly see. the pain of the assault tore at her, hurting from the edges of her rectum to the center of her belly. She remembered the quivery delight of his tongue pressing through the tight muscle, and Sharon began to cry. There was no way that this horrible, awesomely painful invasion of her asshole could be anything but deadly.
Ben grunted. With a stab of pain like a blunt spike being mauled into her belly, Sharon felt his cockhead shift. Ben groaned with the sudden pain of his bent shaft. He gripped his cock by the middle and shoved forward again.
It was death, war, plagues and storms. Every prophetic cataclysm in the history of the world was working to split her asshole. The ache of the dull knob against her rectum was the worst pain she'd ever felt, but the ache alone wasn't all of it. The ring stretched dreadfully at the top and the bottom. Sharon could feel the skin splitting, tearing like a wet envelope in a careless hand. The heat of flowing blood at the base of her asscrack increased the bitter agony of the pressure.
But still Ben kept on. His prick worked around the a circling motion, corkscrewing, trying to find the precise angle that would let his knob puncture her asshole. Sharon felt the varying pressures threaten to rupture every part of her ass. the pain proceeded around the around, finding every painful nerve at the base of her ass cleft, seeking more leverage, more gruesome traction against her ass.
The Arab pushed until he skidded on the rug. His knees drove back, sliding out from under him. The shift made his cock shoot upward, tugging her asshole halfway into her cunt. Sharon wailed. At the obscene angle that his cock drove into her, both her cunt and her asshole ached. It felt like a boulder trying to shove all the way up into her cunt and her ass at the same time, or a sledgehammer bearing harder and harder against the floor of her pelvis.
Ben shifted his hand from her ass-cheek to her cunt. Sharon instinctively tried to push him away with her legs, but his weight bore down on her. Her thighs mashed her tits into two flat pads of heat. Her nipples struggled up at the tensed muscles of her legs. The added heat made her pussy gush a fresh spurt of juice.
And Ben's hand found her clit. He slipped one long finger halfway into her vagina and rolled her clit between his thumb and forefinger. Sharon moaned with the lusty increase in her cuntal heat. She jerked her hips unwillingly in a circle. The hot squeezes against her clit made her pussy clamp down on his probing finger, then loosen. With a shock, Sharon realized that her asshole was tied to the same nerves. More of his cockhead slipped in. His finger dove deeper into her cunt.
Sharon moaned. She stretched her arms out to her sides. Her hands up to her head. She pulled at her hair, rolling her head, swiveling her hips, drooling and working desperately to keep that thick bar of cockmeat out of her asshole.
But Ben technique was slowly conquering her shitter. Every circular motion of his prick wedged more of the knob into her chute. Every pinch of his fingers against her clit sent more juice gushing from her pussy, and the juices eased the entry. Sharon realized that her cunthole was betraying her, spasming open and helping her asshole to admit his prick, then tightening and increasing the pain of her splitting rectum.
Sharon gave up. Her arms waved uselessly. Her hands fluttered when Ben crushed her clit. Her toes curled and uncurled when Ben's prick found more room in her asshole. She could hardly believe that the incredible extension of her ass-ring hadn't already swallowed his prick, but the unmistakable shape of the top slope still pressed against the outside of the muscle.
Ben's motions slowed. He still circled, still braced his prick with one hand, but his rolling, sliding, juicy motions became almost voluptuous. The sensuous rhythm of his relaxing motions made it easier on Sharon's ass, and she reluctantly let herself respond.
Sharon rolled her upraised hips in counterpoint to the rotation of Ben's knob. She didn't know which angles would relieve the horrible pressure against her asshole, but she swiveled willingly, hoping. Over and over again the angle of the cockhead pressed the whole ring of her rectum in slow sequence. Over and over Ben kneaded her clitty, then the whole fat, squishy mound of her labia. Sharon felt herself relaxing, as much as anyone could relax while still hot for cock and half-guarding her asshole.
The ridge! Sharon felt the side of the head, the outstanding flare, press against the left side of her rectum, then the other section press against the right side. She bore down as if she were shitting. Sharon pushed her hips up. She rolled, presenting her cunt flesh to his fingers. Her back arched as if she were pulling down to offer her vagina to his prick, and the rim of the head slipped into her asshole.
The last tearing pain made her tighten, but too late. Sharon groaned with relief. The narrower neck of his cock was right at the entrance to her asshole now, and she sighed when her rectum collapsed partially around it. The pain faded, and Sharon felt a strange, lascivious fullness invade her nether passage.
It was like nothing she'd ever felt. It was somehow fuller, yet looser than the fit of a cock in her vagina. Sharon moved her hips experimentally. There was a strange, perverse pleasure to the feeling.
Ben rested after his knob had passed the stringent ring of her rectum. He lay on her thighs, pressing those long, lovely legs against the lush pillows of her tits. He let Sharon move under him. The cloying, dry walls of her asstube caressed the sides of his knob. He shifted slightly.
Sharon felt his hand leave her pussy. She didn't care. The stimulation of fingers on her clit and in her cunt was too distracting. She wanted to experience this novelty more fully. She moved down, trying to take more of his prick into her back chute, but the shoulders of his cock widened enough to remind her of the torn flesh at the top and bottom of her asshole. She moved the other way, and a lewd delight filled her.
It was almost unearthly. The wings of his cockhead were spread again, like the barb of a fishhook in her asshole. She felt the gentle tugging of Ben's glans against the inside of her sphincter, and it was like taking a long-delayed shit. The relief, the sheer sensuality of her asshole, impressed her. Sharon had never allowed herself to feel the lusty sensations around that forbidden part of her body, but now.. . .
Now, despite the lingering pain, it felt good. She hummed a little in her throat. Sharon moved down again, relieving the outward pressure on her rectum. She tried to take a little more of his prick into her ass.
Ben hummed in reply and moved forward. Sharon felt the broader portion of his prick start spreading her again. It hurt, but the fullness that rose up inside her ass made her want more, no matter how much pain it caused. She put her hands at the back of her knees and pulled her legs tighter against her chest. Sharon stared down at the center of the weird feeling.
She saw the bright-red stripe of her cuntal crease. The button of her clitty was standing erect, shrouded in the little hood of her inner labia. Beyond it, the curled-up girl could see the very edge of her vagina. She looked and watched as more of Ben's dark-brown meat disappeared from view.
There seemed to be much more going into her ass than disappearing from her vision. Sharon shook her head in disbelief. She felt a strange, complementary feeling rising in her pussy. She noticed how her cuntlips stretched down toward her asshole when Ben plunged deeper.
Still, she could see that only half his cock had gone into her. Sharon closed her eyes. She couldn't bear to think of how that eerie fullness would feel when his prick hit the end of her ass tube. Already it felt like the knob was halfway to her throat. She moved her hips in a circle, and the swiveling pressure of his knob searched out whole new areas of sensation.
Tension started coiling in her like a mainspring. Sharon moved up and down, adding a hot little vibration to the slow, easy strokes of Ben's cock. She jiggled back and forth, hot for more of the ass-reaming tool. The feeling of vulgar fullness in her belly increased. She stared up at the grinning Arab, her eyes as wide as saucers. Sharon reached down and grabbed her asscheeks with both hands.
"Oh, oh, oh! I can't stand it!" she babbled. Her voice was high and tight. "I couldn't have imagined!"
Ben grinned wider. He reached down to her rising columns of her thighs. He moved the long, supple-skinned limbs away from her tits and pinched at her nipples.
The heat built faster and faster in her body. Sharon felt his cock descending inch by inch into her asshole. Every cell in her body seemed to crush aside and welcome the descending piston of prick. Sharon shook her head in wonder. She dug her fingers into her asscheeks and spread herself further.
The Arab slipped more prick into her stretched asshole with every second. He reached bottom, and Sharon gasped. The stretching, tearing pain that ran the length of her ass tube was like knives, but they were knives of pleasure. His belly lowered to cover the Whole gaping stripe of her twat. Sharon moaned with ecstasy.
Sharon was beyond thought, beyond words, beyond everything but pure sensuality. She worked her ass up and down, swiveling suggestively. The marvelous fullness in her ass seemed to reach clear to her skull. The grinding of Ben's hairy belly against her clit sent streamers of sparks hurrying along her nerves. Sharon could even hear the copious gush of her cunt-juice as it bubbled from her vagina.
Sharon realized the connection wasn't just in the way the sphincters worked. She rolled her hips lasciviously, and the feeling in her ass added to the feeling in her cunt. She moved up and down, pressing her buttocks against his thighs. An incredible feeling of lust and perverse need surfaced in her. His cock's in my ass! I'm getting fucked half to death by a filthy, sweating ass fucker! she thought. Sharon let herself go.
Ben's strokes speeded up. Sharon was bobbing up and down like the frothing dasher in a washer machine. Her rapid flurries added to the strength and power of his cock strokes. Sharon felt his cock batter the kink at the top of her ass tube, but it didn't matter. If the insanely erotic feeling would continue, she would let Ben's prick split her ass in half.
Ben's balls swung loose. With every powerful stroke of his cock in her rectum, the sweaty masses slapped against her cheeks. The sting of his sweat and hairs and skin on her sunburn wound Sharon up. She felt herself spinning, ready to fly off into space like a crazy pinwheel. She rolled and arched, encouraging him. She matched the uphunching strokes of her ass to the pistoning thrusts of his plunging prick. With a groan, she felt the first wave of twisted orgasm start. It began at her asshole, spread to her clit, and her whole body exploded.
Sharon gyrated. She gasped. The slapping of his belly and the squirting of her cunt-juice filled her ears. Sharon let go of her ass and grabbed his hips. She pulled Ben down into the hot, friction-flamed circle of her asshole. She begged, babbling in English, in Hebrew, in Arabic. She wanted him to explode, to fill her guts with simmering jism, to rip her asshole out and push it clear to her throat. She begged for him to stop, to start, to finish, to begin. Every nerve in her body pulsed and fluctuated with the sheer power of her buggered orgasm.
Horrendous bucking, thrusting jolts of power jammed Ben's prick into her asshole. Her cuntlips mashed flat. The whole sopping zone of her crotch was filled with flames and spurts of fluid and the sheer fury of coming. Sharon kicked her legs up over her head. Her feet reached up and behind her. She dragged the ass fucking Arab deeper, deeper.
The friction at her asshole was too much to bear. Sharon's clitty felt like a glass button, and his pounding belly was sure to break it. Her cuntlips were pounded flat against the sinews of her thighs. Her whole belly plunged in and out with his prick. She screamed, "NO, NO, NO-OOO!"
Ben's thrusts slowed. The power of his cock slacked. His arms went limp, then his belly, and finally, his legs. Sharon's ass gradually slid toward the rug, still spasming around the mighty pole of prick that had driven her to frenzy. With the dizziness of the far side of orgasm, she wondered if Ben had come.
CHAPTER SIX
Katrina Weiss was nearly prostrate with grief and fear. Her daughter had been gone for over twenty-four hours, but the kibbutz couldn't afford to mount a search. The vote for partition had come in the middle of the night, and immediately, all outposts, kibbutzim, and enclaves of the Jews went on alert. Guards were posted. Field telephones were strung between villages. The children's dormitories were sandbagged first, then the rest of the settlements were fortified. No one, and especially her husband the major, had time for a single lost teenager. At the time Sharon was first missed some of the teenagers had gone out, circling a mile or so from the camp. They'd reported footprints and marks of mules and camels, but there was little hope in that. The traffic of the whole Middle East went through one part or another of Palestine. Five thousand years of traders and nomads and bandits had roved those hills and valleys . . . what good would a few score hoof prints do? Gold and spices, silks and cedar, pasta and matzohs had been crisscrossing the edge of the Negev before the time of Abraham. The teenage search party lost the tracks in a jumble within a mile of where they'd thought Sharon was captured. Katrina went on stuffing sandbags and clearing the trenches of the perimeter like an automaton, her eyes misting for her lost child.
* * *
When the women came back into the tent, they looked crestfallen. They moved slowly, but with great care. Neither of them said a word. Sharon could barely imagine the threats Ben had made after he'd left her. In spite of her aches and pains, she felt better as the Arab females brought her water and subserviently began to wash her arms and legs.
Sharon luxuriated in the treatment. The cool touch of water on her limbs made her feel good for the first time since the Arabs had taken her. She tried asking each of the women why she was being cared for, but they shook their heads, unwilling to speak. One of them washed her face carefully, almost ceremoniously, while the other oiled her sunburn. The cool, sleek touch of the aromatic oil eased the pain, soothing Sharon until she felt almost friendly toward the pair.
But only almost. Sharon stood in the center of the tent, the flapping cloth only inches above her head. The memory of near-death on the baking sands outside couldn't be erased by the oils and unguents so lavishly applied to her skin, or by strong-scented pastes drawing the pain from her whip stripes. With every moment, Sharon wondered why they had suddenly decided to treat her better . . . stories other Palestinians told of Arab tortures had never included mercy.
The heavier woman left the tent. Sharon asked the smaller one again, hoping she would speak, but the girl refused to answer. The other woman returned with clothing before Sharon could insist.
The short, vest-like jacket of green-dyed cotton barely covered her breasts. The billowing white cotton pants reached only halfway along her calves. Sharon put them on, glad at last for the shelter of clothes. True, the scents of sandalwood and cedar barely covered the reek of camel that had soaked into the fibers, but even the skimpy vest was better than leaving her seared bosom naked. Sharon took the comb from the smaller woman's hand and stroked her sun-streaked brown hair into a long drape over her shoulders. She felt human again.
The smaller woman gestured to a plate of dates and a jug of water before leaving. Sharon ate and drank, wondering. The tent cooled almost imperceptibly. The quality of light seeping through the cloth told her the sun was sinking.
Sharon's spirits leapt. The heavy rumble of a truck rose, then cut off outside. The asthmatic wheeze and unlubricated squeaks of a car died. It's daddy! They've found me! she thought, and burst through the tent flap.
Sharon was halfway to the car before the Arabs could react. Gamal dove from the paired line of a dozen men and knocked her to the ground. She kicked and struggled, clawing at his face, rolling a knee up at his crotch.
Other hands grabbed. Sharon felt the buttons of her little vest rip. Her bare breasts vibrated with her frantic motions. Three men held her, then dragged her erect to face the sheik.
Sharon drooped in their arms like a dying flower. The men's arms tightened on her body. Her knees buckled. She opened and closed her eyes in mute shock at the sight of the sheik.
He was short, perhaps five-five, with a small, pointed beard on his chin. A two-day stubble covered his cheeks. The sheik's eyes were little pellets of black in his muddy brown face. His eyebrows were flecked with silver, but the traditional band circling his headgear was gold. He wore a belted caftan rather than the loose, hooded djellaba of the tribesmen, and the shiny brown-and-black butt of a Luger projected from a holster under the robe. He glanced briefly at her, measuring Sharon's shapely form, before going down the line of men who still stood to greet him.
Sharon watched him like a rabbit hypnotized by a snake. She stayed limp in the men's arms, unable to move. The sheik kissed and embraced his way closer.
At last he stood in front of Sharon. He checked her again, reaching to pinch one of her nipples painfully. Sharon winced. The tip of her titty throbbed, erecting while he looked over her shoulder at Gamal. "Fifty English pounds." A huge body servant, nearly a foot taller than the sheik, appeared behind him. Coins clinked as the big man delved into a leather bag.
Gamal's voice was the perfect echo of regret. "Ef-fendi, I am truly sorry but she cannot be sold until tomorrow. Your cousin Omar Ibn Muhammad wishes her kept hostage until he determines the truth of her statement concerning the Zionists' armament."
The sheik's dark eyes narrowed evilly. When he spoke, the odor of bananas fried in camel fat floated like swamp gas over Sharon's face. "My cousin, I think, would understand if you sold this woman to me."
The manservant behind the sheik hitched the strap of his cross-slung Mauser. The long rifle looked like a toy on his immense frame.
Gamal was quick to answer. He let go of Sharon's arm and gestured to the tent behind. "Your forgiveness, Sheik, but I offer you the enjoyment of the Zionist's body."
The sheik considered for a long moment. The hands on Sharon's upper arms tightened and relaxed. The Arabs' palms felt sweaty. Sharon's own hands were cold despite the heat of the sun still slanting across the desert. "It shall be," he decided, nodding judiciously. He turned and walked to the tent.
The Arabs let go of Sharon's arms. She fell. The dusty bare feet of the sheik's bodyguard prodded her ribs. Sharon tried to push herself up again, but the tribesmen had to lift her to her feet before she could stumble across the few yards to the open flap of the tent.
The light behind her dimmed when the servant dropped the flap. Sharon saw the sheik standing in the center of the room. He looked back at her, a hint of a smile quirking the corner of his mouth. "Do you dance?" he asked.
Sharon shook her head.
"Do you speak?" The sheik stood with his arms upraised as the huge servant untied the sash at his waist and removed the sheik's caftan.
Sharon nodded. "I...I speak some Arabic." She tried to remain impassive when she saw the servant remove the gun and holster from the sheik's flowing pants. Her spirits fell when he took the pistol carefully to the far side of the tent and set it delicately atop the folded caftan.
The sheik allowed the servant to remove his tunic and pants. He scratched his balls, his limp cock flapping obscenely up and down. "Prepare me." He stepped out of his sandals and lay on his back on the rug.
Sharon took a half-step toward him. "I don't know how." She looked from the supine sheik to the towering servant. Sharon blinked back tears. It wasn't enough that the Arabs had captured her and raped her every orifice. Now the sheik commanded her to participate. She moved closer again. Her hands rose, as futile as a nestling's wings. "I don't know," she repeated in a thin, near-cracking voice.
"Caress me. Touch me with your hands. Kiss my body with your lips," the sheik said irritably. "You are old enough to be a wife!"
The manservant moved to Sharon's side. He un-slung his rifle and prodded her. Sharon's heart raced. She struggled to control her breathing. Reluctantly, she knelt beside the sheik and reached for his flaccid cock.
The limber organ felt unnaturally cool to the touch. Sharon's gorge rose. She was revolted by the limber, half-dead flopping of the sheik's shaft. She moved her fingers tentatively up and down the stem of his prick, not daring to lift it from his hairy belly. She petted it timidly, as she might pet a jackal guaranteed to be tame.
"Hold me! Rub my balls between your palms!" the sheik snapped. He reached to her tit and pinched her nipple again.
The little bud throbbed with pain. Sharon stifled a squeak. She slowly moved her left hand toward his balls.
The muzzle of the rifle swung up against the underside of her wrist. The small outer bone of her forearm nearly cracked with the dull smash of metal. The gun sight cut a half-inch of flesh from her arm. "Salaam, she is a Jew, and a European," the sheik broke in. The manservant stepped back, still scowling.
The sheik put his hand on her shoulder. He pushed Sharon down toward his cock. She looked at him, still frightened, but questioning. "Kiss me," he smiled. "There is nothing to fear." His stained, twisted teeth looked as fearsome and revolting as his limp, wrinkled organ.
Sharon kept glancing from the corner of her eye. She bent lower over the sheik's middle. She slipped her left hand between his thighs, pushing them open. Slowly, sinuously, she wiggled her fingers up to the damp, sweaty skin of his scrotum. Sharon rolled his balls into the palm of her hand.
The weighty warmth of the mobile eggs felt strangely nice to her hand. Sharon moved her fingers, finding a soft, thick extension of the line of his penis behind the slippery sac. Quickly, before she could lose her nerve, Sharon placed a quick peck on the sheik's prick.
With her right hand cradling the stubby length of the limber cock, Sharon grew bolder. She experimented. She ran the tip of her tongue up along the center of his cock, then gently slithered saliva around the sheik's small, shrunken knob. She felt a slight stirring in his prick. Sharon went further.
Sharon put her lips on the very tip of his glans. The sheik shifted his hand to her head. He pressed down. Sharon bent his prick up, holding her thumb in the center of the shaft. She lipped the whole glans, wetting her lips before and after. Slowly, as carefully as she could, she ran her tongue around the still-small shape of the cockhead and dragged her lips back off of it.
A strange feeling of power rose inside her. Sharon felt the sheik's prick beginning to respond to her. Still experimenting, she ran her mouth as far down his cock as she could. Her lips touched, then gathered a tangled mess of cock hairs. She closed her jaw slightly and dragged her teeth up the length of his thickening cock. Sharon felt his hand leave her head as she approached the knob. She scraped her teeth along the curious, wrinkled surface of his glans and looked up, smiling. The sheik's head was bent back, his mouth stretched in a grimace of anticipated pain. As soon as his eyes opened, his face flared with rage.
A sledgehammer blow assaulted her crotch. Sharon tumbled halfway across the tent, her bruised cunt and flayed asscheeks rising over her head as she flew. Upside down in midair, she saw the giant bodyguard's foot still following through. His rifle was already trained on her when she hit the rug and rolled.
"Never again with the teeth," the sheik gasped. He stood and walked to where Sharon lay, his half-hard prick bobbing menacingly. "Never! Never! Never!" he said, his voice rising in pitch and volume. The wiry little man swelled up to regal size. Sharon tried to get to her feet. She reached behind her for support. She was still rising, her knees bent, when the sheik began slapping her.
Whack! his palm cracked on her cheek. Whack! the back of his hand smashed against her other cheek. Sharon's head snapped from side to side. She tried to raise her hands to ward off the blows, but the sheik's slaps smashed her again and again. He was deliberate, slow, and punishingly powerful. Sharon stumbled back. The guard's rifle rose toward her chest.
"Please!" she gasped. "I didn't mean-to hurt you, effendi!" Sharon curled forward, hunching her shoulders. Her breasts rose and fell with sobs. She put her hands up, her forearms sheltering her head. The ringing forehand slaps continued until she dropped to her knees.
Sharon wept. She heard the sheik's footsteps move away from her, then a foot shoved her from behind. She skidded forward onto the rug. The front of her pants slipped down, galling the sore spot at the top of her love mound. She felt a yank, then the waist of the pants tore. She lay sobbing, her ass shaking, naked before both men.
"Bite her. Show the Jew dog your teeth," the sheik snarled. He stood in back of her and watched as the massive guard bent over Sharon's naked ass.
A semicircle of pain found her left buttock and clamped on. Sharon screamed. The teeth locked into her flesh, then worked back and forth, scissoring. The sheik's man was trying to bite a chunk out of her ass, and it felt like he was succeeding. Sharon tried to get her screams under control. She gasped with relief when the teeth loosened, but the respite lasted only a second. The guard immediately bit down on her other cheek, and Sharon grunted with agony. She felt the skin break, and hot blood cascaded onto her burnt skin. The trickle flowed from the plumpest, most sensitive part of the lush hemisphere to the outside, where the beatings had already stripped skin from her hip.
"Enough," the sheik decided after the guard had moved to bite the tender junction of her ass-cheek and thigh. Sharon let herself cry with relief when the teeth finally released her ass. The big nerve that runs down the inside of the thigh had sent horrible twinges along her leg until her toes curled. Sharon lay on her face, shaking with suppressed fear and pain. With a grim knowledge of the flow starting in her pussy, she realized that she had only half-hated the biting. A part of her, the part that seemed to control her body in moments of pain and degradation, enjoyed the humiliating, agonizing gnawing on her asscheeks.
"Bring her to me," the sheik said, and Sharon felt big hands pick her up easily by the waist. She flopped like a rag doll, hardly daring to open her eyes. When she allowed herself to look, she saw the sheik lying on his back at the center of the tent, his prick jutting forward like the barrel of a cannon. It looked huge now, and the head was dark and angry. It looked ready to tear her insides out. Sharon shivered. The prick was out of all proportion to the sheik's body, seemingly twice the size it should have been.
The huge guard turned her upright. Sharon's legs flopped on either side of the sheik's hips. She let her legs collapse as the giant lowered her. The sheik reached down to his crotch.
Sharon closed her eyes. The grossly swollen mass of the sheik's prick stood upright in his fist. The head curved up and forward, like a road sign to his chin. Even the arrowhead indent at the top of the shaft stayed imprinted on her memory. Sharon's neck arched. Her head lolled back. The end of the sheik's cock touched the rim of her cunthole.
Now, now that she'd kissed and licked and fondled his prick, now the head was hot. Sharon shuddered at the warm touch. The head felt satiny against the smooth slickness of her juicing pussy. She lolled limp as a broken puppet in the giant bodyguard's arms. The bony center of the cockhead pressed against the front rim of her channel and skidded up across her clit. The inner labia peeled slickly back and the erected nubbin was bare to the hot, slippery touch. Sharon felt it like a flood of ice water in her veins. She moaned. Her thighs scissored shut reflexively. The sheik's hips were trapped between her long, luscious legs.
By his master's expression, the guard knew that the sheik's shaft had missed the cuntal target. He lifted Sharon by the armpits and moved her forward. Sharon felt her ass swing an inch, perhaps two, and the thick glans speared at her cunt ring.
The feeling was cruelly lascivious. The slippery center of her slit was sopping with cunt cream. Sharon's inner labia felt swollen, rich with blood and heat, and the enraged puffiness only increased when the sheik's cockhead touched her pussy. She shivered and moaned. Her knees moved closer together. The guard let go of her armpits. Sharon fell forward onto the sheik's chest.
The hairs on his washboard chest felt like rasps on her raw, irritated breasts. Her nipples poked into him, stiffening instantaneously at the touch. Sharon gasped, dragging a huge breath into her lungs. The warm, dry desert air felt like a Chicago winter to her overheated body. Her whole frame contracted around her lungs and the stretching mouth of her pussy. Sharon's vagina gushed a fresh flood of juice, and she began to move.
She couldn't help herself. The brutal blows of the sheik's bodyguard and the still-flaming imprints of his teeth on her ass had aroused her even beyond terror. Sharon's hips rolled forward and back, taking a little more of the sheik's prick with each lusty stroke. A tiny part of her stunned mind marveled at the rigid strength of the prick that had been so limp so soon before.
But even more marvelous was the rapid increase of swampiness in her cunt. Sharon's vagina sucked at the sheik's prick. Even without the steady, rolling rhythm of her hips, her cunthole alone could have sucked the sheik's cylinder into her channel. Sharon felt fantastically lewd ripples coursing up and down her cuntwalls, and every lusty shiver drew more meat into her pussy. She gripped the sheik' shoulders. Sharon shuddered. She slowly sat upright.
Her breasts felt heavy. Sharon moved her upper body in a slow, spiraling motion that made the ripe mounds sway seductively. Sharon's whole body heated gradually. A thin film of glossy sweat glistened all over her voluptuous body.
Sharon was the very picture of lust. Her pink-brown aureoles rose and fell in lewd crinkles. Her nipples poked forward like tiny twin gun turrets.
Her long hair floated down her back. When she leaned back, savoring the deeper penetration of the sheik's cock, her mouth opened in a soundless moan of lewd enjoyment. Sharon slid her hands down the sheik's chest. Her fingernails furrowed the brown skin. She ran her hands up the long, lusty slopes of her inner thighs and parted her cuntlips. The button of her hot clitty stood out like a pearly-pink pencil stub. She slithered her other hand down and moved the sheik's fingers away. With a sigh of contentment, Sharon rubbed her cunt-wet fingertips up and down the sides of the sheik's stem. She rose a fraction of an inch, and the wide flare of his knob slipped out of her cunt ring. The little muscle kissed at the tip of his prick. Sharon hissed as she slid down the hard pole. She swiveled, and the stiff rod screwed into her pussy like a bolt homing into a greased nut.
With half his prick wedged deep in Sharon's cunt, the sheik held still. He lay like a lusty statue. Even while Sharon's delicate fingers tugged his prick skin back and forth, the sheik concentrated on remaining perfectly immobile. With the sundry wonders of his home harem, he'd had plenty of practice. Even so, Sharon's cuntal grip made it difficult.
The hot blush on Sharon's delicious tits had spread to her belly. A whole vee'ing zone glowed even redder than her sunburn. The rosy tone smeared slowly further down her body. It reached from her throat to her navel, pinkening at the edges, flowing wider and deeper. She reached around his cock with both hands. Sharon pulled the cock skin slickly back and rotated further onto him.
The sucking sound of her opening cunthole slurped slowly down onto the sheik's cock. Sharon's fingers moved up and down, oscillating between the base of his cockshaft and the puffy swamp of her pussylips. She pried her labia apart, striving to get more of his hot cock into her slit.
Sharon rotated her hips in tiny circles. The lascivious wonder of the feeling was a welcome change from her brutal beating. She opened her eyes and stared at the huge bodyguard, daring him to become aroused while he watched her. From the feelings in her cunt at the moment, Sharon could have taken on the whole Arab camp and loved every pulsating second of the gang fuck. She bent forward. Her hair fell over her face, shrouding her from the guard's impassive stare. Sharon worked at getting the rest of the sheik's prick lodge in her dripping cunthole.
But even that joy would have to wait. Sharon flexed her thighs and rose an inch or two. The sheik's cock was the thickest she'd yet felt She moved up until the wide, barbed head tugged at the inside of her cunt ring again. With a little moan of delight, Sharon jiggled up and down. Her pussy mouth memorized the exact shape and size of the Arab chieftain's glans. Her talented sphincter ringed the narrow neck of his cock like a collar, squeezing down from the width of the head-ridge, narrowing on the oval of the thinnest portion of male meat. Sharon decided that she -liked the shape of a male prick-especially when it was in her cunt.
"She is a gifted woman," the sheik said grudgingly. He thrust his hips upward, but Sharon only let his prick take another inch. The same sense of power she'd felt when his limp weapon rose to partial stiffness grew inside her. She had the man beneath her in her power, even if it only lasted a few minutes. Sharon decided to make it last as long as she could.
But the passion in the pit of her pussy was growing by leaps and bounds. Sharon wanted more and more to feel the total impalement that would let her clitty grind against his lower belly. She bobbed in short, sharp, jerky strokes. The knob was still in that sensitive lower third of her cunt, where she could really, truly feel the shape and the heat of the glans. She was torn between the exquisite feeling of his knob at her pussy's entrance and her knowledge of clitoral satisfaction.
Sharon didn't know what to do about it. She bobbed and cried, and the lusty weight of her gyrating hips decided for her. With a slow, almost evilly sensuous slide, she slithered down the thick mass of meat until the nerves in her belly lost track of the flaring head of the sheik's pussy-pleasing prick.
So much juice had coated his prick that Sharon felt her cunt accelerating on the downward slide. She half-tried to slow herself down, but the magnetism between the sheik's pubes and her own throbbing clitty drew her down relentlessly. Every millimeter of cock slipped more easily, more pleasingly, into her cunt.
The sheik unlaced his fingers from behind his head. He reached up. Cindy's blushing, sunburned tits were the obvious target. They hung in front of him like delicious pink desserts, topped with some exotic, erogenous fruit that any man would love to taste. He slipped his palms over the proud crowns of her tits. His thumbs lifted and separated her cleavage. He twisted his hands like a radioman tuning in a distant station. The sweaty slickness of his palms made her nipples send radioactive waves of joyous heat along Sharon's nerves. She arched her back, presenting her tits more fully to the smiling sheik.
There was much more than two handfuls of tit. The sheik spread his fingers wide to capture the bountiful globes. His fingertips sought and dug into the ricliness of the sides. His thumbs ran from the underswell, up between, and straight to her nipples. He teased across the blunt, rubbery spikes of her titty-tips, and Sharon moved faster.
The intense thrill of the sensuous manipulations made Sharon lose the sifting, circling rhythm she'd strived so hard to establish. She pressed her hips down hard, and the hairy arch of his pubic bone met the puffy pad of her cuntlips. Sharon gasped. Her clitty began levering around in the soft nest of cunt flesh, and ripples of rangy hunger riveted her clit to his belly. She'd taken fully a third of his cock in one swift cuntal gulp, and now Sharon had to put up with the spine-tingling shock of the delightful penetration.
Sharon took her hands from her pussy. She pressed her palms against his chest and bore down.
She lifted herself partway off his prick, then jammed her cunt back down.
The force of her stroke turned her cuntlips inside out. Sharon hissed with pleasure as her labia tried to ride up into the center of her cunt. The tight, sloshing ring of her cunt-mouth stretched even further. Her vulva twisted. She reversed directions.
Sharon rose only far enough to let the frilly inner petals slip out before she started down onto his prick again. The sheik's cock felt hard as an iron bar in her cunt, and as durable. She felt a weird resolve grow in her belly. With her downward slide, Sharon knew she would wear out that cock before she stopped. Even though the sheik lay still under her, his only motion the twitching of his knob inside the tight sleeve of her cunt, Sharon would make that meaty bar melt before she finished fucking him. She ground her hips in a torrid circle. Sharon meshed her pubes with his.
The sheik gasped. The wet heat of Sharon's cuntwalls churned around him. The slippery tube fit his cock like a glove full of butter. He felt the heat of her spread cuntlips burning through his coarse black cock-bush into his belly. The sheik lifted his hips and let Sharon ride for all she was worth.
And even in Arabic, she was worth a lot. Sharon rocked forward, then back again. She rubbed the hot little button of her clit against the front of his pelvis. Her fingers clawed into his chest, spasming every time the hard, hot head of the sheik's cock nudged past her womb. With a shudder of delight, Sharon realized she was ready to come. She arched her back and let the overloaded nerves of her pussy move her body with huge waves of pleasure.
Sharon leaned back. Her long hair all but touched the sheik's shins. The wavy brown curtain of hair rippled. Sharon shook her head. Her mouth opened wide, dragging in air to fuel the glorious reaction taking place in her cunt. Ecstasy overwhelmed her. Sharon let go, floating on a cloud of delirious joy.
The sheik watched her writhe. The regular, even-spaced ripples of her cuntwalls wrung out his cock. His royal balls were fully charged with sperm but he held off, wondering if the teenaged Zionist could keep going. His whole crotch ached with the effort, but he held off. The sheik wouldn't allow himself to send the steaming load up into her cunt in spite of the furious heat of her frothing pussy.
Sharon loved the incredible wet slipperiness of the junction of their bodies. The Arab's whole crotch was soaked with her cunt cream. Her ass slipped and slid on his thighs like a duck on ice skates. She struggled to gain a fraction of control over her clasping cunt. She forced herself down from her frenzied peak, more determined than ever to wring the jizz from the sheik's balls.
Sharon arched her back. The backward slant of her torso forced the sheik's knob against the front of her belly. The motion of the cockhead showed as a traveling lump under the smooth red skin of her belly. She pulled her hand up across the wet, gaping stripe of her cunt, past her clitty, through the wet mass of her cunt-hairs. She rubbed the surging tip of the sheik's cock with both palms. He tensed, and
Sharon knew he was just seconds away from filling her innards with hot, thick semen.
The sheik slipped his hands behind Sharon. He cupped the ripe mounds of her ass. The flood of cunt-juice had greased the luscious globes until they . were almost impossible to grip. His finger rambled lustily over the smooth surfaces. He pressed her cheeks together. Her cunt tightened on the base of his prick. The sheik kneaded her ass. He let go of his rigid immobility and began to stroke back and forth in her cunt.
Sharon straightened. She still pressed her fingers against the moving bulge of cock at the front of her torso. Her belly indented under her hands. She rose and fell, wrapping hot friction around the sheik's cock. Every motion made her orgasm build higher, but Sharon refused to let her cunt take control of her body again.
Her pink tits swayed with her motions. The lush mounds quivered each time her clitty hit bottom against the sheik's pelvis. Sharon responded to the hinting pressure of his fingers on her ass by rising and falling. Her tits responded to the motions by sending hot jiggles of excitement through her nerves. She moved faster. Sharon's mouth stayed open. Her eyelids went up like window shades. She stared straight ahead, seeing nothing but the sheets of orgasmic color that filled her brain.
The sheik kept on with his lewd caresses. He urged her on with sinuous motions of his fingers. He quickened the pace until her cunt worked up and down on his cock like a concave jackhammer. The sheik shoved his cock brutally up into Sharon's guts. She sobbed with pleasure.
Sharon panted and jiggled on the thick impaler like a madwoman. She tightened her cunt like a wet fist on the sheik's shaft. Sharon shimmied. She shivered. Her ass moved only fractions of an inch, but she moved it like lightning. The tips of her nipples blurred with motorized speed of her quivering moves. Sharon began to beg the Arab to come.
"Oh, now, come on, come on, you big, thick bastard," she whispered. Her voice hissed. Spittle floated off her lips. "Move it, move it good, Sheik! Move that good thing, shake me, ram me, jam me, baby! You gotta, you gotta, you gotta do it! You gotta do all of it, Sheik! You gotta shoot, you gotta shoot hard!" She gasped for air, still mumbling, still shaking, still grinding her clit mercilessly against the base of his belly. Sharon tried to take longer strokes, but her muscles were beyond control. She quivered. Her ass moved in stutters. Sharon struggled up until only the very tip of his prick was still inside her cunt. She milked the knob with the constricting band of her cunt ring.
The sheik gritted his teeth. He strained to hold his seed in. Her pussy worked furiously to drag it out. He swiveled his hips in a sharp series of tight circles. He reamed the swampy cunt flesh until his cockhead burned. He clenched his hands on Sharon's ass. His fingers bruised the opulent cheeks. The sheik let his seed shoot.
Sharon screamed. She drove herself down onto his prick. The mass of spewing meat split her cunt like a nail splits a pine plank. She writhed desperately on his pistoning cock. Her limbs flexed. She ground at his pubic arch.
The sheer power of her orgasm was agonizing. Sharon's mind shredded. The earth-shattering sensations consumed her. Sharon's clasping cunt tried to lock around the sheik's cock forever.
Powerful, ripping blasts of pleasure blasted along the whole length of the sheik's prick. He could feel the heavy pulses of jism start at the front edge of his asshole and rocked right to the tip of his cock and beyond. He drove his shaft upward, hoping to split the Jew's belly with the force of his cockspew. His knob beat against her womb. The nerves in his prickhead were so overloaded that the sheik didn't care if Sharon's cunt ripped the spurting organ from his loins. Her crotch was soaked with juices, both hers and his. The raging flow finally faded to trickles.
Sharon ground at the sheik's cock long after the viscous jets had faded away. She gleamed all over with the hot, aromatic fuck sweat of her lusty exertions. She teetered like a half-cut tree, then collapsed. Her breasts mashed into his chest. Tremors of spent sensuality rippled through her body. Sharon closed her eyes again and lay still.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sharon's chilly sweat dried on her skin. An aching emptiness at the center of her pussy told her that the sheik's cock had popped out of her vagina. A thick; soupy mess of semen and cunt cream flowed from her pussy like gruel. She lay on her side in the tent, half-listening to the voices of two men.
It was dimmer in the tent. Sharon realized vaguely that the sun had gone down. The short, clipped syllables of one voice reminded her of something. It was hard to focus. The girl strained to remember. Not until hard, callused hands took her ankles and lifted her did it come to her. Ben, the British-trained Arab commander, was back. She sorted through the fog in her head, but all she remembered of the conversation was a tone of betrayed rage.
The heavy tent flap brushed her side. The sky outside was still bright enough to hurt her eyes. Sharon squeezed her whole face tight. The measured, powerful tones of the sheik's voice came to her ears.
". . . has betrayed and lied to our cousin. It nearly cost the life of this brave soldier of Allah. Now we show what the wrath of God holds for the Zionist who seeks to steal our land, our very life, from us!"
Sharon shook her head. Whoops of joy and rage assaulted her ears. It was like a zoo cage with the cacophony of cries and calls. More hands gripped her. She opened her eyes, and a bearded face pushed against hers. Twisted, brown-stained teeth and breath like a moldy ashtray all but shocked her. A knife jabbed the outside of her thigh. She arched, rolling onto her side.
The hard hand that bounced into her crotch grabbed a fistful of still-wet cunt flesh. Sharon cried out in pain as the man's ragged fingernails scraped her labia. His fingers pried and twisted at her. One digit stabbed into the center of her vagina. Sharon winced as the nail scraped cream and semen from her cuntwalls. The sensitive skin ripped inside. Other hands attacked her ass, kneading, molding, pressing her taut cheeks into distorted masses of heat.
Naked on the sand, she felt coarse cloth brush against her belly. In the next instant, a prickhead stabbed against the bruised pad of her labia. The fingers in her cunt slipped out, tugging cruelly at the inside of her sphincter. She felt a pulse of heat travel to the glans that pressed against her pudendum. With a squirming, half-limp wiggle, the knob squirted into her cunt. Sharon felt it deflect inside her sleeve, bending with the eager rush of the Arab's first insertion.
Sharon lifted her knee automatically. She bore down to ease the cock head's way into her slot. With a gasp of pain, insult, and heat, she felt the semi-flaccid head slide further into her cunt. A hand writhed between her belly and the Arab's. Fingers poked and pried around her clit. Sharp little bursts of pain and heat flared outward from the button as it grew.
Sharon was amazed. The Arab was flogging his half-erect cock back and forth in her like a madman, shouting incoherently in her ear. His fingers ripped at her cunt-hairs. His nails scraped and dug at her clit. The whole soft pit of moist tissues around her clitty was raw from his gouging, and the pain sent her heat rising like a starshell in a night sky. She arched her back and ground against him.
More hands ran over her body. Sharon leaned back, away from the Arab. She stayed welded to him at the hips, grinding and rolling. She was amazed and disgusted with herself for the lewd abandon of her motions. It was still nearly full daylight, and wherever she looked she saw Arabs, both male and female, watching the lusty exhibition. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the stiffening cock that reamed so steadily, so frantically, in her cunt.
But those hands on her tits and her ass didn't allow her to concentrate. Fingers probed the shallow curve where her thighs met her asscheeks. A hand dug at the long, shallow cleft of her ass. Sharon squirmed. She found herself moving simultaneously back and forth, pushing her pussy at one man, shoving her buttocks back at the multitude of hands on her ass. Even her shoulders moved in a separate rhythm, twisting, gyrating, seeking the hot slaps and pinches of the half-dozen hands that grasped her tits. One man kept beating down at her chest one-handed, trying to sting the convex surfaces of her breast, hitting the other Arabs more often than he struck Sharon. Another man bent from the hips and stuck his face between Sharon and the man who was fucking her cunt. His mouth locked around the whole hot rim of her nipple. He bit down.
The pain was excruciating. Sharon wailed like a steam whistle. She tried to reach his head with both hands. She gouged at his face with her thumb. More hands ripped at her arms. Sharon felt hot blood spurting from the sides of her nipple.
At last, after an eternity of pain, the man moved away. Sharon heard voices marveling, but the agonized tip of her tit didn't let her listen. Her mind was completely dominated by the searing pain. She felt the whole naked mass of her tit throbbing. A hot fluid oozed out from the rim of her aureole. Sharon moaned.
But her hips kept working, shoving, churning, wrapping the wet heat of her cunt up and down the length of a thrusting prick. It wasn't a big one, as far as Sharon knew, but it was definitely hard, and it plunged back and forth in her box like a piston. She rolled and swiveled, trying to milk her sleeve back and forth on the rod. Sharon tried frantically to milk the maximum of sensation from the cock. She felt a worried hurry rise inside her. The man's strokes were hot and hard and fast, and she was nowhere near coming. With all the energy of potential frustration, Sharon churned her hips, cunt sleeve working wildly up and down the Arab's prick. She threw her leg over his hips. Crooking her knee, Sharon pulled the hunching Arab closer. She had to get her pussy off. That strange knot of tension in her belly would tie her up, congest her whole center if she didn't. Sharon fucked at him like a maniac. She got an arm free of the other hands and pulled him close.
The Arab's robes touched the tips of her tits, then his wool-shrouded chest pressed the aching mounds into flattened pads of heat. Sharon winced at the pain of her bleeding nipple. She twisted her tits against him, opening her mouth wide with the wrenching power of the pain and the pleasure. Her intact tit sent streamers of heat to her belly, and her torn nipple threatened to make her pass out from tortured pain. She screamed again, her voice rising and falling with each jackhammer stroke of the Arab's prick.
The man's jerky motions slowed for an instant. Sharon reached for him with her cunt. She bore down, opening herself for his fiery stabs. His prick plunged back and forth in her cunt like a connecting rod, jabbing the sides, the front, the back of her tube on the way to maximum depth, then flailing back toward the mouth of her cunt. She felt a pulse travel the length of his dick. The tube at the underside of his meat shuddered. Sharon clamped down, trying to speed her own orgasm. It didn't work. With a wrenching sensation at the pit of her stomach, she felt the spurting jabs of his prick slow.
Tears of self-pity, disgust and frustration filled her eyes. Sharon squeezed the man with her thighs. She bent her knee tighter, pressing his belly against her cunt. She wanted him to keep stroking. Only a few more seconds of cock-cunt friction, of his belly on her clit, would have made her go off. She wept.
With a quick slide, then a pop that uncorked a fresh gusher of semen from her vagina, Sharon felt his knob leave her cunt. She bit her lower lip, mindful again of the circle of Arabs. She didn't want them to see her crying, naked on the sand, it was as if the crowd of tribesmen and women could see into her soul. Tears wouldn't be bad, but tears of cuntal frustration would be too degrading to stand.
Almost immediately another man took the first Arab's place. Sharon gasped, all thought of concealment gone. She threw herself at the rigid mass of his cockhead. Her cunt opened like a hothouse orchid. She was wet as a seal, and hot as the mistral itself. Sharon's legs splayed wide. She tried to roll onto her back and carry the man to climax, but he resisted. In the space of three heartbeats, Sharon found herself riding atop the man's rigid prick. She looked around her, drooling, grinning, gasping with sheer cunty heat. Fully twenty people stood around her, watching. Hands watched the scene with outright animal lust written all over their faces. She saw one of the men take a length of rope from inside his djellaba, and Sharon knew what would happen. She ground her cunt viciously up and down on the cocksman beneath her. The edge of her peak was upon her.
With a riotous sense of relief, Sharon felt the first rippling pulse of pleasure travel outward from her cunt. Her clitty was boring a hot little hole in the man's pubes. She rolled and writhed, drilling the little spear of her clitty into his belly. Ripples turned to waves, and her cunt flesh wrenched at his prick. Savagely, Sharon pictured herself ripping the man's prick from his belly. She tightened her cunt-muscle hard as any fist and rotated like a dervish.
The sheer ecstasy of her orgasm made Sharon forget about the watching crowd. She milked the Arab's cock until she could hardly stand to sit astride him. Her tits bounced. Her ass rippled. The walls of her cuntal tube massaged the whole length of his prick, urging the Arab to shove more cock up into her. Sharon babbled, begging him to fuck, to fuck strong, to fuck hard. She reached down and dug her fingers into his chest. Every cell in her body screamed for more, stronger, harder release.
A blast of pain flashed along her back. Sharon arched. Another stripe assailed her shoulder. With a sense of total, fatalistic abandon, she realized that at least one of the Arabs was whipping her. She bowed her shoulders, curving them forward to present a wider, tighter target. Another whip crack slashed along her spine. Sharon screamed.
It was rage and pain and hatred and pure, unalloyed sex. She rocked back and forth on the supine man, sliding her juice-greased ass up and down his hard, hairy thighs. Her cuntlips were mashed into a long, wide pad of juicy meat. Her whole crotch felt stuffed full, and still hungry. Sharon wanted to feel another cock, then another and another reaming into her box. She wanted the skin to lift from her back under the whip strokes. She hated herself for furiously fucking the Arabs, and she hated the Arabs for fucking her. She wanted to spread the diseased, rotten slime of her spoiled body over every man's cock in the entire desert. She felt an awesome rage and heat fill her belly. Sharon knew then that she could fuck every one of the dozen or more men and enjoy the low, bestial degradation of every second. Her cunt was polluted with their seed, and she could spread the filthy, unspeakable vileness among all the Arabs by wrapping her fevered cunt-folds around their spurting, stabbing, jabbing pricks. Her vision went red from the pain of the whipping and the hatred in her mind. She vowed to kill every one of them with her cunt. If she had to live a cripple, no arms, no legs, no tits, she would go rolling into their tents and smother them in the filthy, wretched slime of her abused cunt. Sharon roared with power. She fucked ravenously, hardly noticing when the Arab beneath her stabbed harder, pumping his poisonous seed up into her twat. Every wiggling sperm in his load was fuel for her rage. Every squamous cunt cell that touched his prick was a separate source of virulent power. Sharon worked at ripping his prick from his loins.
The rope end rose and fell, beating her back until the skin peeled away in strips. Sharon arched and bucked, grinding against his pubes until she felt the Arab's cock wilting. The man shoved up at her hips, pushing his hands against her belly. He wanted someone else to fuck her now.
"You can't! You can't, you sonofabitch!" Sharon shouted. She beat at his chest with her fists. The rope the other Arab wielded wrapped around her neck and jerked tight. Sharon gagged in mid-curse. The Arab yanked. She fell backward off the supine man's prick.
A howl of pain and outrage from the man started all the Arabs at her. Sharon's naked, sperm-slicked body submerged under a wave of wool robes and fists and kicking, sandaled feet. She felt blows hail down on her from every direction. The rope end flogged up and down, striking the Arabs more often than her. Their fists battered at her rib cage and her tits and the wrists and knuckles of their neighbors. Sharon's whole body became a target, a single huge bull's-eye of pain. She felt ribs cracking. The frantic, still-horny girl fought back.
Fingers clawed into her mouth. Sharon bit them. Men stomped her legs. She kicked them. Sandals swung at her ribs. Sharon grabbed every foot that came near. She twisted and rolled. She was balled up on her side, still kicking, still screaming, still battling with the dozens of enraged nomads.
Sheer numbers held out. Sharon's arms were captured, then her legs. It took eight men to hold her limbs out straight. Two women rushed in and jammed Sharon's mouth with rags. Another woman ran up and began beating at her cunt with a doubled fist.
The sledgehammer blows sent shocks through her. Sharon felt her clit ready to rupture. Fingers still tweaked and pinched and twisted her tits. The inflamed rage and heat in her loins made her keep struggling. She roared curses in Arabic and Hebrew. She blasted them with vermin, disease, disgusting habits...all the essentials of desert life. Her throat rasped raw with the shrieking volume of her screams. The Arabs began a chorus around her. They shouted her down. A man jumped in front of her, his cock ragingly erect. The other Arabs lifted her. The single man held his cock in front of him like a crowbar, his fist wrapped around the thick middle. With a single cunt busting stroke, the Arabs plunged Sharon forward and down onto his prick.
The man immediately started grinding his hips. The motion of his combined in-out strokes and his lascivious swiveling was degrading. The hateful leer on his face as his prick speared into Sharon's belly made the voluptuous motions doubly disgusting to her. She loathed the feeling even as her body began to respond again.
Sharon was on an endless merry-go-round of orgasm. She hardly felt his pubes mash her bruised clit before the come trigger started the pulses traveling in her cunt. She rolled her hips, out of control. The sudden stab of meat into her channel set her off again. Sharon stopped struggling with the hands that held her and started gyrating madly on the thick, stiff shaft of the Arab's prick.
The hands slowly released her. Sharon lifted her legs and put them around the man's waist. She let her head fall back. Her breasts, one tip bloodied, both mounds bare, circled on her chest like twin molds of pudding. She panted, gasping great lungfuls of air in and out with lusty grunts of overwhelming passion.
Something touched her perineum. Sharon didn't bother to pay attention. The hot, horny orgasm still rising in her cunt flesh took all her mind, all her soul, all the sensuous nerves in her body. She bogged and circled, not caring if the Arab came soon, or ever. All she wanted was a hard prick and the coarse grinding of a belly against her clit. Wave on wave of orgasm built up in her. The sensations went higher and higher. Her entire body was slicker than coconut oil as she slithered up and down the Arab's torso. She revolved. She pushed. She pulled back again, depriving her clit just for the cunty joy of moving back against the Arab's crotch.
With a rending shock that split her whole crotch open, Sharon felt the pressure against her 'tween flesh move back and up. A cockhead pierced her asshole in a single flash of agony. She screamed. Her arms and legs fell away from the man in front of her. Sharon tried to die, to fall away, to disappear from the pain and heat and ongoing pulses of continuous orgasm.
It was useless. The second man's prick was thrust well and truly into her asshole. Every desperate motion of her hips drove the prong deeper. Each gyration of her insanely hot cunt made her ass tube stretch wider around the second Arab's pulsing cock. She felt the kink at the top of her ass walls give way. The searing, stabbing pain ran from the torn ring of her rectum to the middle of her belly.
The cocks moved together, then apart. The rhythms were different. Sharon felt both knobs pressing, tearing, ripping at the thin membrane between her holes. She felt the whole gaping zone of her crotch tearing. The man whose cock was in her cunt stroked stronger. She knew that he was ready to come. She begged, her voice rising into the supersonic range of prayers and wounded bats. She wailed. Her cunt was working up and down like a mad vacuum cleaner, sucking and rolling and churning at his meat. The heat infected her split asshole.
The front fucker blasted come up into her. Sharon felt the hot jizz squirt from the edges of her cunt ring. She sobbed. She pushed herself against the ass-fucker.
The cock in her asshole shoved more strongly. Sharon felt it plunging higher into her. She could hardly breathe with the horrible, awesomely fiery pain in her ass and the shocking intensity of the orgasm that ripped through her whole crotch. She twisted like a belly dancer, reveling in the feeling of having two cocks at once. With a shock of gruesome dismay, she felt the front fucker slide out.
Sharon threw herself back against the ass fucker.
She rolled her cheeks against his belly. Her flayed, sunburned, bitten mounds were on fire. The mixed sweat and semen and splashing cunt-juice that covered her whole lower body greased the contact of her buttocks and his belly as well as it had greased the first eager slide of his prick into her shitter. Sharon writhed like an eel. Her body was slippery as a barrel of snakes. Her mou th was wide open. The ass fucker trembled. The growing charge in his balls was making him weak. He laid Sharon down on her side.
Instantly, another hard-pricked Arab jammed his meat into her box. Sharon gasped. She could barely breathe fast enough to keep the fantastic fury of her double orgasm going. She tossed her head from side to side, no longer sure if she was begging for the men to stop or to keep on. With a lurching speed that blotted out the light, a robe fell over her head. Sharon inhaled the ripe reek of a man's sweaty, overcharged balls. In another instant, she tasted his prick.
The cock jamming into her mouth was salty, bitter, hot and meaty. Sharon didn't waste time running her tongue up and down the organ. She sucked voraciously at it. Her mouth became a third cunt. Her lips wrapped around the shaft of his prick like slices of warm liver. She inhaled the end of his knob. It went to the back of her throat in a single plunging stroke, and withdrew.
Sharon gulped for it. The pounding, ramming, jamming strokes of the two pricks in her crotch speeded up. She felt the ass fucker readying himself to come. With a hot friction that threatened to turn her asshole inside out, she expected him to shoot any minute. She sucked the prick in her mouth harder. Her tongue lashed the sensitive ridge at the rim of the head. Her face bobbed up and down. The Arab jammed it to her, plunging past the back of her mouth and into her throat. Sharon took all she could. She swallowed cock. Her cunt sucked cock. Her asshole blazed around a red-hot tower of cock. All she felt was pistoning, plunging, hard-fucking meat and the wet heat of her spasming body wrapping around it. She didn't care if there were cocks jamming between her tits, into her armpits, in her hands. All she cared about was the fantastic plunging rhythm of the masses of meat in her holes.
She felt the beat of the prick in her ass match the rhythm of the cock in her cunt. Sharon sucked the wand into her mouth in the same twice-a-second tempo. The throb in her throat matched the trembles in her crotch. A wild hope hit her. As soon as she thought of all three pricks going off at once, she knew it could never happen.
It did. Jism blasted into her mouth. Sharon gargled. She struggled to swallow, but the jetting lava burning the inside of her ass tube stopped her throat-motions. The pistoning, blasting beat of the cock in her cunt, the hard nudges against her womb, told her that her cunt fucker was blasting seed into her. Jism leaked from the corners of her mouth, and it still kept blasting. Semen coated the insides of her thighs. Sperm wiggled all over her lush asscheeks. Sharon passed out in a total excess of lewd ecstasy. She lost track of everything, everyone, even the continuing come-crest in her loins. Her mind blanked out in a mixture of loathing, disgust, anger, and incredibly hot orgasm. Her body went on for hours, until every Arab's balls were dry.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The sheikh's bodyguard was mute, but he was neither deaf nor stupid. His immense size was partly a byproduct of his former sheikh's castrating him for wooing a girl above his class. The huge man stood at the outer edge of the knot of milling, flogging, rampaging Arabs and listened to the discussion between Ben and the sheik.
"Our cousin Gamal tells me you have a recipe for the Zionist concubine," the sheikh observed. "I was prepared to buy her. Sheikh Anwar el'Urabi "has some interesting coursing hounds. I believe he might change his demands for my larger Citroen if I offered him the fair-skinned girl."
Ben watched the slowing action around Sharon's frothing, twisting, desperately hunching body. He rubbed the bandaged wound on his left wrist. One of the afternoon sentries at the kibbutz had been more alert than Sharon. "I am not completely decided, esteemed cousin. I begin to believe she knows nothing about the Jewish outpost's defenses. Still . . . "
The sheikh drew cigarettes and a polished Zippo from his caftan. "You worked with her father against the Germans. Will he trade her for their village, or does the Haganah feel it is too important?"
"He is a strange man," Ben said slowly. "He spoke often of her and her mother, but he possesses no fear for himself." He paused, then added, "you should keep the woman away from her. Neither of us profits if she dies."
"You will know in a few days?" the sheikh asked. When Ben nodded, the sheikh gestured to the mute eunuch. The sheikh turned and walked away from the dissolving group of males. The women still stood respectfully away from Sharon. "A good hunt today, but I am afraid I will have to pen Nefertiti," he said.
"Until you speak with el'Urabi." Ben stood beside his cousin and stared out at the desert. The military commander knew his cousin took his dog breeding seriously. Ben rubbed his arm again and wished for the simplicity of war against the Germans. The sheikh's bodyguard waited for the last nomad to finish with Sharon, then carried her to the truck.
* * *
Chaim Gavno whispered his plan to David ben
Ari, the youngest of the native-born Israelis.
Chaim Gavno whispered his plan to David ben Ari, the youngest of the native-born Israelis. Chaim knew without asking that Major Weiss wouldn't allow anyone to leave the kibbutz to search for Sharon. David had come to relieve Chaim at the northeast corner of the compound, near the tractor shed. Half the population of the kibbutz was still awake, discussing the murder of two sentries that afternoon.
"Look, I won't be caught," Chaim hissed eagerly. "I can move anywhere in disguise-that's why the major uses me as his courier. I think they took her away from Beersheba, somewhere over near the Jordan. All you have to do is let me go out...you don't even have to watch. Just look the other way for two minutes, that's all I ask."
David looked at Chaim uncertainly, then nodded. He fumbled under his shirt and pulled out a tiny, flat automatic. "Here-it's not much, but you might need it."
Chaim's lips pulled back in a tigerish grin. He tugged a huge revolver from his sleeve. The lanyard tightened, jerking the cloth tight on a line from his shoulder to his wrist. "Keep your popgun, David...I stole this from the Englishman, the one who's always drunk." He clasped David's shoulder and scudded off into the night.
* * *
The hard slats of the third-class bunk shifted uncomfortably under Sharon, but it didn't matter.
Her family was going to Israel! Every mile the ancient liner steamed brought her closer to the storied land. She tossed in her sleep, trying to recapture the dream she'd been having. Yes, Canaan, the promised, the original one-and-only land of milk and honey. A strip of yellow on a map, up against the blue of the Mediterranean, dotted with sprinkles of cities and towns . . . in her dream, even the buildings and the trees were yellow, but you could look from the River Jordan to the Mediterranean in a single glance. She rolled over.
A growl and the snap of closing teeth jolted her awake. Sharon opened her eyes. There were no stars in the cabin . . . no portholes, either. She shook her head. She touched something warm and fuzzy. Another growl, menacing, with a yelp at the end of it brought her back to the present.
Or what she could find of it. Everything after the huge man had lifted her onto the sheik's prick was blank. Her whole body ached. She felt the sticky sides of a wound in her thigh tear open. Her left nipple was on fire, throbbing like an infected cuticle. Why was she riding a truck full of dogs? A wet nose snuffled at her crotch. Sharon jerked her legs shut. The dog weaved, his legs as well adapted as a sailor's and sniffed beneath a smaller dog's tail. Again the growl and the snap. The little female hound spun around, staying on her side. She wasn't going to allow any advances from the half-dozen other animals in the truck, but still Nefertiti refused to rise from her long-legged sprawl.
Sharon sat up. A massive shadow against the tailgate stirred. She looked from the eunuch to the dogs. Sharon tentatively reached to stroke one animal's muzzle. The dog lowered its narrow head. The tufted ears dragged onto the floorboards. Sharon stroked the flat top of the head. There was almost no rise to the skull at all. The dogs looked like greyhounds, but the odd patches of long hair were like nothing she'd ever seen before. Sharon's innocent curiosity was aroused. "Yes, good doggy, nice dog," she cooed. Another long, large-nosed muzzle pressed up under her hand. The dog who'd been molesting the bitch, Nefertiti, walked over to her. Sharon reached to pet him with her other hand.
The beasts were long-legged, tall, with deep, narrow chests and wide, furry feet, as if they wore slippers. The pale starlight didn't shine brightly enough for Sharon to tell their colors, but the tones of their coats weren't all the same. The standing dog licked her face.
Sharon pulled back. She wiped her cheek with her hand. It hurt her to move, but the affectionate response of the dogs was worth it. "Hey, there, silly," she said, stroking the big male's dangling ear. The reclining bitch wagged her tail and scooted forward on her elbows. Sharon leaned to touch Nefertiti, ignoring the sore, overstretched feeling in her loins. She accepted the sticky spots on her skin as semen without thinking about them. A vague, unfocused feeling at the back of her mind told her not to try to remember.
The huge shadow moved from the tailgate. The sheik's bodyguard hissed through his teeth in short, soothing rhythms. Nefertiti stood, her hindquarters rising high. She stretched her forepaws out and yawned.
Sharon shrank back from the big man. She leaned away as he stooped down and petted the dog familiarly. His big hands ruffled the bitch's long ears, swatted her deep hest, and scratched the base of her spine. He turned his face toward Sharon and smiled.
The starlight on his teeth, or perhaps the deep shadow around his eyes, scared Sharon. She lifted herself on her palms and scooted back. She brushed two or three dogs aside and huddled against the sides of the ancient stake bed truck. The wood creaked with the jolts of the dirt road.
Nefertiti growled, but the big man hissed and pulled his hand away from the base of her tail. He stroked her head again with his other hand. The bitch sniffed up at it.
Sharon's heart started booming in her chest. It took her a second to realize that the Arab had broken custom. He held his right hand away from the dog, while every Arab used the left hand only for ass wiping. Sharon curled herself into a tight ball. She hugged her knees against her chest.
The bodyguard wasn't smiling now. He stepped over a dog's back. His face was in shadow, but Sharon could feel his eyes on her. For the hundredth time she wished for clothes to cover her nakedness. He gestured, flipping his right hand sharply upward. Feeling like a puppet under the implied threat of the eunuch's huge size, Sharon stood. He made a stirring motion. She turned around.
His big hand invaded her crotch. Sharon felt him rub his fingers up and down, wiping each one along the abused line from her vagina to her rectum. The hot air dried the fluid his fingers deposited on her crotch. A chill went through her body, starting at her cunt-mouth and rising along her spine. Sharon realized his intention, and a stronger, scarier chill went from the nape of her neck to her thighs.
Don't believe that eunuchs don't have sex lives. Even without balls, with the nerve cords that trigger erection severed, a castrated male has desires. They may be less intense, the frequency and opportunity-may be lower, but everyone has a sexual urge of some kind. The sheik's bodyguard was a specialist in voyeurism, and a jaded, over-trained specialist at that. Now he had the time and the chance to take advantage of Sharon. With a single push of his hand against her shoulder blades, the eunuch knocked Sharon to the floor of the truck.
The young male dog who's been pestering Nefertiti was confused. He sniffed the Saluki bitch again. She growled. Without waiting for the snap, the hound swung his head to Sharon's buttocks. The cold black pad of his nose leather whuffed up and down between her cheeks.
The cool touch felt good. Sharon ached inside. Cold dog nose on her sunburned ass actually felt pleasant! She felt guiltier than she had when the Arabs had force-fucked her. Then, at least, there was pain or threats or violence, or all three. Now, the unknowing dog was soothing her seared skin.
The long, wet slap of his tongue against her crack sent a shiver of frightening sensuality down her spine.
The dog growled, as he would growl at any unfamiliar thing. The pissy, musky, come-drenched scent of Sharon's cunt wasn't right, but the pheromones of bitch-heat overlay the human odors. He sniffed again.
Sharon groaned. She didn't dare move. The eunuch still carried that long Mauser slung across his back. Even without the gun, she wouldn't stand a chance if she tried to resist him or anything he wanted her to do. Her inner labia cooled, then heated with a fresh gush of pussyjuice. The dog's olfactory inspection of her loins made her pussy petals ripple like a pennant in the breeze. With a hungry little throb, her clitty started erecting.
The other dogs had become watchful. Oddities upset them, and this female human on all fours in their midst was an extreme oddity. One of the other females sniffed at Sharon's face. A male dog circled behind her. The one at her crotch stopped sniffing and snarled, a sound that made chills break out all over Sharon. His voice undulated, rising and falling in a horrible, almost musical series of notes.
Sharon felt the other dog slink away. She looked around. She was the center of all the dogs' attention, just as she'd been the center of.. . .
The black curtain in her mind snapped down. She didn't want the memory. Sharon tried to concentrate on the hounds. One sat in front of her, his feet tucked tidily together. He looked as proud and regal as an Egyptian cat. He opened his mouth. Inch upon inch of gleaming ivory fangs glistened at her, damming up the sides of his lolling tongue.
A hairy paw touched her ass-cheek. Sharon quivered. The dog behind her had decided. She could imagine what was happening from looking at the belly of the dog in front of her. A long blunt thing was growing under the dog's belly. For a flashing second Sharon wondered why the dogs didn't all attack her, like.. . .
Claws raked along her ribs. Sharon grunted. She stiffened her arms. The deep bony chest of the dog pressed against her spine. He raised himself on his elbows. She felt a jerking motion start in the dog's body. Sharon closed her eyes tight, trying to will herself into invisible safety. If the dog couldn't see her or smell her, then he would leave her alone. She could even escape from the back of the open truck!
A dagger of pain stabbed at her thigh. The dog hunched himself higher. A hot drop of saliva fell on her back, intensifying the sunburned pain of her skin. The dog's forepaws shifted, digging into the sides of her tits. The sore nipple throbbed again, hotter and harder. It felt like a lump of lit charcoal blazing into her tit.
But the second stab of the dog's prick lanced all other sensation from her mind. Sharon gasped. The pointed end of the dog's prick jabbed into her cunt like a spear. The half-wet walls of her cunt sleeve rebelled, blasted with pain.
His prick slipped out again. Sharon let her elbows collapse. She lumped down until her tits hit the bed of the truck. The dog's elbows ground into her back below her shoulder blades. His paws tangled in her long hair. The jerky motions of his hunching spine made his paws tug at her hair. Sharon moaned low, anticipating the next thrust of the dog's cock.
But the dog's stiff, pointed prick didn't find her vagina again for a while. His strokes accelerated, guided by blind instinct. The bony tip of his cock stabbed again and again at the puffy sides of her cuntlips. Sharon felt the tender tissues swelling up, bruised under the impact. She squirmed with the combination of fear and arousal. Now that she was hurting, now that there was no way to get away from the drooling hound, the heat began to grow in her loins.
Over and over the dog's cock jabbed against every wrong part of her cunt. Sharon didn't know how the animal could stand it. The battering pain when his cock spear stabbed her pubic bone was enough to make her jerk like a spastic puppet. When his prick grazed across the tip of her clitty, the shock was so intense that Sharon thought her head would explode. Every stroke of his weapon against her flesh seemed to light a fresh fire in her loins, and the heat from the blazes fanned through her like lightning.
With a harsh, deep jab, the end of the dog dick found her slit again. Sharon winced. Her cuntwalls were wetter now, greased with juice that the brutal battering of her clit had released. The hard-driving spike of the dog's penis slipped halfway to her womb, and the sleek hairs of his belly rubbed like satin on her asscheeks. Sharon pushed her ass back at him. She heard the hissing approval of the mute giant who watched her. She hoped it looked like she was trying to buck the dog off.
But now that the dog prick pistoned so fervently back and forth in her cunt, that was the last thing Sharon wanted. She moved back and forth in time to the hound's powerful prick thrusts. He fucked into her like a machine. His cock drove in hard, then pulled back just as fast. Sharon's cuntwalls vibrated to the hearty strokes. She felt her vagina loosen up, then start working around the dog's cock. With a mixture of abased horror and cuntal glee, Sharon let her cunt clamp down on the dog's out-strokes, then loosen to allow more of that powerful spear into her belly.
The tip blasted past her womb. Sharon marveled at the length and speed of the dog's strokes. She'd never felt anything move so fast and so hard in her life, and it seemed like it would never stop. She slowly managed to raise herself on her hands again. Her tits jiggled back and forth, two pudding-like blurs hanging full and heavy beneath her chest. The urgency of her own feelings and the instinctive swiftness of the plunging prick made her forget about all pain, all shame, everything but the pistoning length of skinny dog cock in her guts.
The tip of his prick was reaching unknown regions. Sharon gasped. She felt her internal organs moving out of the way of the hunching dog's horrendously hard prick. The upper top side of the cockshaft dragged back and forth on her cervix so fast that the numb, nerveless little organ made her guts churn. Sharon felt the heavy, dull feeling of her womb moving back and forth, lagging a fraction of a stroke behind the pounding beat of the dog's prick.
Something hard banged against the base of her pussy. Sharon gasped. She felt the hairs of his cock sheath stabbing into her inner labia, but they didn't hit until that heavy mass had already beaten against her cunt-mouth. With a horrible sinking feeling in her belly, she remembered watching dogs fuck.
Now the hard knob battered her cunt ring with every stroke. Sharon moaned. She was lost. The width of that mass alone was too much for her cunt. The big ball at the middle of the dog's cock reached from her asshole to her clit. Shocks like little jolts of lightning already flashed from her come trigger when the bulbous knob struck her crotch.
The dog growled. The low, thrumming vibration of his voice went through Sharon like light through a window. He sounded demanding. She tried to force her cuntal sphincter open.
The slack in her cunt ring let the dog's cock slap around, bouncing from side to side. Sharon's cunt sucked air then let it out. The air dried some of the lube from her cuntwalls. The repeated thrusts of dog cock tore at the tender lining of her cuntwalls. Sharon arched her back. She gave the dog the clearest possible angle at her cunt. She bore down with every ounce of strength in her body.
With a sickening pop, the bulbous bulge stretched her cunt-mouth wider than a fist could have. The knot in the middle of the dog's cock was bigger than a baseball, and now it was locked inside her cunt. Sharon felt the mass slide higher into her cunt. The bony point of his cock was stabbing deep, deep inside her. She imagined the spear point of his prick puncturing her stomach, her lungs, every organ in her body. Sharon felt sick, but the dog kept fucking heartily into her cunt
The huge width and depth of his knob was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to Sharon. She felt the whole center of her pelvis open around it, then close down as it withdrew. The backside of the knob was too big to leave the spasming mouth of her pussy. Sharon felt it tug her cunt-ring outward. It felt bigger than her head. It pulled back against the inside of her sphincter, then rebounded to plunge deeper again. She tried to bear down, to shove it out, but she didn't have the strength.
Sharon surrendered. There was no way she could get that huge dog cock out of her cunt. Even as she tried to push it out, it was thrusting into her hole again. The furious friction of the dog's superheated strokes dragged her clitty halfway into her hole. The sharp, stiff hairs and the fleshy heat of his cock sheath attached her clit. It was like needles and tongues simultaneously assaulting the sensitive nubbin. Sharon felt the grandmother of all orgasms building up inside her. She knew her body was tense enough to snap like a spring. With her loins tensing, readying themselves for the explosion, Sharon tried to hold off. The sheer power of the impending come threatened to burn her nerves out like overloaded wires.
Sharon sobbed. She twitched. Her ass kept moving, circling against the pile driver strokes of the dog's cock. She wondered if the beast would ever come. His pulsing thrusts had never speeded or slackened since his cock had first jabbed into her cunt. She held her breath. Sharon wanted the release, and feared it.
The dog's claws scrabbled on her ribs. The washboard thrumming of her chest under the attack of his forepaws set up more hot vibrations in her nerves. Sharon suddenly became aware of her tits again. The swinging, swaying, jiggling motions of the mounds had forced blood into the tips. Her nipples were as engorged as the dog's bloated prick. Centrifugal force had filled the hot tips until they felt ready to burst.
Every part of her body was ready. Sharon wanted to end it. She wished she could stop, fall out from under the dog, disappear in a puff of smoke. Anything that would unwind the tension in her nerves and muscles would cure her. She was scared to death of coming.
The beat of the dog's cock changed. Even though it had moved with blinding speed since it had shoved into her slit, it sped up. Sharon couldn't tell now whether the dog was fucking in or pulling back. Her cunt couldn't keep up with the motions. A constant blur of sensation filled her hole. Her cunt ring stretched outward and plunged back in before she could distinguish the feelings. Her clitty was a white-hot blaze of excitement. It quivered like a tuning fork. A constant stream of sensuality roared through her. A final heavy blast of the dog's surging cock knocked her to the bed of the truck. Sharon felt her cuntwalls implode.
The dog's prick jerked steadily back and forth in her cunt. The hot wash of viscous fluid gushing around the huge knob told her that the dog was coming. Sharon's own orgasm picked her up and slammed her down. She didn't care if the dog was coming or if a cannon was going off in her cunt. She lay on her face. Sharon turned blue from lack of air. Her every muscle was paralyzed with the gut-wrenching strength of her orgasm. She wished she could black out. The rushing, roaring waves of her come covered her. They went on and on. She was utterly lost in the sensations inside and outside her body.
Sharon's flesh was glowing. She was the cascade of colors in her mind. She knew she was still in the truck, still full of the dog's slowing cock, but she was also far away. Sharon heard things. She saw things. She felt and touched and smelled things that she'd forgotten existed, and other things that she'd had no idea of, ever. Her body was a rippling pool and a roaring ocean and a floating cloud of unearthly beauty. She didn't mind that the spent dog was whimpering, trying to pull his trapped prick from her cunt. She didn't care that the eunuch had opened his robes. A reeking, deep-yellow shower of piss that scalded down onto her head and shoulders was just another fragment of the whole wonderful excess of her orgasm. Sharon lay smiling on the floor of the truck, sadly wishing she didn't have to go back into her bruised body. A string of thoughts surfaced like pearls in her mind.
Tm ruined. Completely. Now.
The eunuch turned away, shaking his prick. His robes fell back around him. He clambered onto the cab of the truck, opened the door, and disappeared. Sharon let a bubble of pleased laughter well up from the center of her being.
CHAPTER NINE
Even after her orgasm had faded it seemed to take forever for the dog's prick to shrink. Sharon tried to help the frantic animal, but the dog only became more frightened.
The hound twisted and turned. The steel-hard bone that ran down the center of his prick stabbed at the exhausted sides of Sharon's vagina. The knob stayed engorged, the blood trapped in it by the relentless grip of her cuntal sphincter. At one point, the dog turned halfway around. His tail whacked against Sharon's ribs.
Her muscles felt useless, heavy as sandbags. Her arms barely worked. Sharon turned herself around slowly. The swiveling, twisting motion of the dog prick reamed a wide cone of pressure that started at her belly and wound up at the small of her back. The pressure it put on her bladder nearly made her piss. Sharon clamped her pelvic muscles down to keep the urine in. She knew it would mean the dog would be stuck in her for a little longer, but she didn't want the whole coursing pack to be sniffing at her crotch again. She hoped the frothing gushes of her cunt-juice had wiped away whatever was left of the bitch's heat-scent, but if it still lingered . . .
She leaned back on her elbows. The dog jumped back and forth, his forepaws hitting her breasts as he swung. Sharon spoke softly, soothingly to the tired, frightened dog, and he calmed down. The Saluki weighed only forty pounds, but it was forty pounds too much when he lay down between her thighs. His long body reached from her crotch to her throat. Sharon petted him and waited.
She couldn't tell if it had been fifteen minutes or half an hour. The youthful restlessness in her was impatient, but Sharon had learned to put up with a lot in the last two-and-a-half days. She stroked the dog's sleek, bony back and felt his prick-knob begin to shrink.
She didn't realize how weak she was until she tried to stand. The last trembling shiver of sensation in her cunt, when the dog's bony prick had shrunk enough to slip out, had nearly knocked her out. Sharon had to wrap her fingers around the slats of the stake bed truck to haul herself to her feet. When she managed to lock her knees rigidly enough to stay upright, Sharon peered over the roof of the cab.
The single taillight of the sheik's car moved up, down and sideways in front of the truck. The car's headlights cast only a pale, sickly glow. Since before the war, no one used any more light in the nighttime desert than was absolutely necessary. The truck itself ran nearly blind, depending on the driver's memory and the watery starlight to pick out the clearest path on the crude road.
Sharon looked up. The black-velvet sky was covered with stars. The curving sweep of the Milky Way caught her eye first. It was like an old friend. She checked the sky again, making sure of her first impression. They were heading a little east of north. If the course had been steady, Sharon guessed they would pass over the Jordan to East Palestine, somewhere north of Jerusalem. She looked back. The slight rise and fall of the bare ground had hardly a trace of a track. If it had been flat, she could have seen the scars of passage for miles, even in the dimness.
Ahead rose more hills, with nothing visible beyond. It had to be the river or the sink of the Dead Sea past the ridges. A hound nuzzled her hip. Sharon reached to stroke its head idly. She didn't want to cross the river, or head up toward Lebanon, if that was the destination. There were villages nearby, she knew. Whether friendly Arabs, unfriendly Arabs, or Jews, she didn't know. Sharon had heard a new kibbutz was planned near the river.
The truck slowed. The lurch of a rear wheel in a rut nearly threw her across the bed. Dogs slipped and skidded on the planks. The truck nearly overran the sheik's bouncing, jolting car. The suddenly applied brakes fought to throw her forward. Sharon swung a leg over the side of the truck bed and dropped cat-like to the road. She froze, a dark blot against the pale desert. One of the dogs whined. The truck rolled on, picking up speed. Now for those rumored caves in the foothills.
* * *
Chaim Gavno hummed a Russian folk song under his breath. It was high adventure. He kept the stolen horse trotting steadily along. Sunrise was approaching. It had been easier than the young immigrant could have imagined. He'd kept the big We-bley revolver clubbed in his fist while he whispered to the horses. No one in the Arab village had stirred. Even the few half-starved sight hounds the richest man in the village kept for sport had ignored him. Knowing every house of the village, he'd stolen a bridle from the local chief before taking the off-black mare from the stake. Now he jogged up and down and thought of the praises the kibbutzniks would shower on him for rescuing the prettiest girl in the Negev. He dismounted only to check the dim crossroads. As soon as he'd cut the tracks where the bald tires of the six-by-six overlaid new, deep-cut auto treads, he'd followed. Chaim kept imagining the wink of a taillight on the horizon, but its nonexistence didn't bother him. He saved the horse. Chaim knew he would need a last burst of speed to gallop past the two vehicles and set up an ambush. His thoughts swelled bigger and bigger. I may become the first hero of a brand-new nation! He patted the hilt of his knife and squeezed the reassuring grip of the revolver.
* * *
"You let him do WHAT? Son of the Lion! Son of an ox!" Major Charles Weiss roared. The red-haired man worked his fingers as if he were strangling David ben Ari. "Don't you desert assholes understand? Have you lost the power of thought?"
David hung his head. He'd been cursing himself since five minutes after Chaim had left, but he'd respected his duty too much to leave his post to report the other boy's absence. "At least he is armed, sir."
"Bloody stupid rotten idiots! Farmers! Yokels! Cactus-headed lizards! The last thing we need is a boy with a gun playing Wild West! We have three hundred Arabs surrounding the forty of us. We need everyone here, and everyone calm." He scowled around the bedroom of his little house. Katrina had locked herself into the only other room as soon as David awakened them. "We have other women, other children to think of!" The major's voice was anguished. He hung his head for a moment, then grabbed a shirt from the crate by the door. Tucking his shirttails into the shorts he'd slept in, he ordered David to bring the "staff car," a creaky, ancient military jeep. "I have to find that boy before he gets us all killed. Hurry!"
David stopped at the door. "Major, what about your daughter?"
The major stared levelly at the young man. "What about the other two sentries?" He couldn't bring himself to answer the question.
The caves were harder to find than Sharon thought. She finally settled for a haphazard heap of sun-bleached rocks. She took a small stone in her right hand and poked a withered branch around until she was satisfied that no unfriendly neighbors had yet found her day-shelter. She tore her fingers moving one slab out of the way. The sand beneath it was wet. She gouged enough grit from the indentation to fill her mouth with moisture, then wiggled into the tiny parcel of shade. She looked down at the road. If even a single friendly-looking car passed, she was ready to run to it. If unfriendly . . . well, I have plenty of rocks, she told herself. She stacked a cairn of hand-sized stones in easy reach.
The gray of pre-dawn turned bluish. Was it her tired eyes, or did she see a shape moving to the south? Sharon squinted. A hillock hid the motion briefly. Robes flapped around a lone figure on horseback. She looked from her cool nest to the road. Too far.
Sharon took advantage of the next dip in the rider's road to sneak nearer. She was less than twenty feet from the tire-tracked path. The few footprints she'd left on the road split off a good fifty yards further on. She tightened her grip on the biggest rock. The easy, loping beat of hooves on sand came closer. They were still distant enough to be out of synch with the puffs of dust.
The rider passed. His hood was drawn up across the lower part of his face. Sharon waited until he was just abreast of her. She gathered her legs and sprang, pitching the rock with all her strength.
The rider toppled. The rock struck his head with the sickening impact of a melon bursting on a sidewalk. The horse bolted.
Sharon ran up to the prone form. The hilt of a knife projected from the sash at the rider's waist. Sharon grabbed it. She stabbed again and again, slashing, tearing, cutting like a madwoman.
Chaim rolled over, his back arching in a rictus of agony. The hood fell away from his face.
