There is no single word that can describe the terror of war, or the horrors that were endured by millions of innocent men, women and children as they were hunted down and taken prisoner by the enemy.
Mothers and fathers forced to watch their children being beaten and sexually ravaged by power-crazy men and women who stopped at nothing to fulfill their sadistic sickness. Men shackled helplessly being forced to witness their wives' torture, sometimes by three or four officers at a time.
It is no wonder that many brave men would rather have died than go on experiencing the pain of living at the mercy of the enemy.
This book is dedicated to the memory of seventeen year old Barbara Sanders who died in the jungles of the Philippines.
Born October 30, 1928 in Boston Massachusetts. Died May 5, 1945 in a Japanese prison camp.
CHAPTER ONE
Captain Sakata's cold, liquid brown eyes, studied the exhausted, fear filled form of the Australian nurse, Marie Winslow Smythe. She shuddered inside the hot, dimly lit hut, so afraid, she did not even bother to chase away the swarm of humming flies that landed and bit into her tender flesh.
Staring at her, Captain Sakata thought to himself, that this was just what he needed. Just what his men needed. "Yes," he thought, it had been a good thing that he had been assigned to the Philippines, free at last of the China theater of war. He had had his full fill of the cold, wind swept plains of North China and the petty politics of the puppet state of Manchukuo.
For a moment, his thoughts were broken by the multiple roar of pistons filling the sky. Stepping to the single window poking through a wall in the hut, he looked up at the cobalt blue of the Asian sky.
Swift, elegant winged Zero-sens sliced through the low cloud cover, on their way to bomb the retreating columns of MacArthur's fleeing army.
Captain Sakata smiled. It was good to be in the ranks of the victorious army. For weeks they had been slicing down the green hide of the jungle, mountainous, and vast Philippines archipelago. And everywhere they sounded their victory trumpets.
The Captain turned towards this new victim. He smiled. It was good to be in the interrogation section of General Yamashita's Army. "Yes," Sakata thought, "the General certainly knew what he was doing when he signed the orders making me chief interrogation officer for Sector 242. An uncanny man. The Japanese Tiger, an uncanny man."
He turned from the window. The well built, full-chested, ample fleshiness of this Caucasian woman was good to behold. Her face was oval, her chin rounded, her eyes wide apart, deep blue, and her nose, small, upturned.
She looked at him in fear, her face smudged from days on the jungle trails leading away from the main roads, and the advancing, cheerful, raping Japanese.
But now her luck had run out. She was here, in his clutches. He took a pack of American cigarettes from his open tunic and stuck one in his mouth. His troops had looted many cases of Camels from an American commissary. He would have no shortage of cigarettes or be forced to smoke the cheap weed most officers had to settle for.
Lighting his cigarette, he smoked, looking at her through slitted eyes. He liked his victims to be terrified a bit, before he began his labors on them.
In the roots of his loins, lust for this woman welled. He could feel his medium sized Asiatic balls, thick with sperm cells, waiting for the tender, wet folds of her Caucasian quim.
He drove this from his mind. He was here to question this girl, nothing more, nothing less.
But even he knew there were lies in this blanket statement. That did not matter. He was an officer in the Japanese Army. In these dying days of 1941, the Rising Sun was triumphant everywhere. Japanese troops were driving towards Singapore. Japanese troops were occupying the Solomons, threatening Port Moresby on New Guinea, moving west, now that an American fleet lay in gutted ruins at Pearl Harbor.
And for him, there was an Australian nurse by the name of Marie Winslow Smythe. She had been taken near a jungle waterhole, by a patrol and brought to him.
She was dressed in khaki battle fatigues, but without insignia and she wore no dog tags. She carried no papers, looked tired, disheveled, hungry and exhausted.
Under preliminary questioning she had told the officer of the patrol that she was a planter's daughter. That originally she and her father had come from Australia. When the war came she had fled south. Her clothes had been ripped. She found a destroyed supply truck, with battle fatigues lying around and took some, to put on, because her clothes were in tatters.
Sakata smiled. The bitch was lying. The bitch claimed she had lived in the Philippines for fifteen years, yet her skin was almost white, like snow. The bitch had been, a nurse at an American field hospital and now had run away to avoid rape and death, and was lying to hide her real identity.
He grinned. "She is hard," he thought, "but I can loosen this vixen's tongue. I have methods at my disposal."
Now he spoke to her. "You claim to have lived here much of your life, yet your skin is white as goat's milk, the true sign of a foreigner. This makes you a liar, Miss Smythe. Before I question you further, I should extend some of our oriental hospitality." She gave him a questioning look. "Each visitor to a tropic land wishes a good tan. We shall oblige you. It is hot today. Time enough for you to soak up ten hours of sun. To make extra sure your first tan is a good one, we will strip you naked and hang up by your wrists from the nearest tree, and place tin reflectors all around to intensify the sun's ray."
She winced. There was nothing worse than that first intensive tan; especially in such a tropic clime and worse yet, intensified. A true horror.
Captain Sakata clapped his hand. Two guards appeared. He spoke in rapid Japanese. They smiled grimly, studied the girl a second, and dragged her out. She was too horrified to speak, and was convinced it would do no good. This monster would have his way yet.
She was taken outside, to a tree near the center of the small village, the Japanese had occupied, and now called their own in this foreign land. .
She was stripped naked, offering little resistance in her frightened condition, as Sakata came out to watch, his olive drab cap perched jauntily on his close cropped bullet head.
He studied her upthrusting nipples and the gentle V between her loins. She was hung by her wrists and giant squares of sheet metal were placed around her at forty-five degree angles. She looked around her, without shame at being so exposed, but only with a questioning look that asked what would become of her.
Only one man knew that answer to that, the sadistically grinning Captain Sakata, standing there and beaming like a fighting cock at the ready.
Sakata returned to the hut, where a lunch of papaya fruit, orange juice, black bread, coconut juice, and rice whiskey, waited for him. He ate quickly and without thought of more mundane matters. When he was done eating he went out into the square.
Standing around the visibly uncomfortable woman, were a number of villagers, many children, gesticulating towards her open and wet cunt gash, grinning soldiers of the Imperial Japanese Army, stripped down to the waist, sweat running down their bodies in the full heat of the day.
Walking over, her grinning arch foe, Captain Sakata, looked her over. A deep red tan had covered her body from toe to head. Her eyes were closed, swollen in their sockets. Her mouth opened and closed like that of a fish, her tongue lolling in and out, wanting and needing water.
Sakata looked at his watch, then up at the ever present yellow globe of the hot, Asiatic sun. His eyes hurt and he had to look away. Staring at the now badly sunburned Australian nurse, he winced. He was glad it wasn't him up there.
Returning to his hut, he picked up the field telephone and called local headquarters. "This is Captain Sakata. Let me talk to First Lieutenant Shimokawa."
Shimokawa came on. "Honorable Captain, what is it you wish of me?"
"Son of a catfish. Where is that cold case of Askawi beer you promised to send over? And where are my friends, the ones you promised to give my message, that I wanted to see them?"
Shimokawa laughed. "I'm sorry sir. Keep your tunic on. I'll get the beer. I'll contact Bonaru and Funai. I know they've been your friends since your days on the Picadors. And I'm sorry I didn't take care of that and the beer earlier."
"I hear you have captured yourself a Caucasian nurse."
"That's none of your business. But since you ask, yes, she is my prisoner. She keeps claiming she is the daughter of a local planter, now dead; a convenient lie. I'm now loosening her tongue."
Shimokawa hissed in delight. "This sounds good. I would like to come and witness this-loosening."
"You are not invited, my friends are. Tell them to take their time. This loosening will take all day. I don't want that madman, Bonaru, to destroy any Kawasaki jeeps coming over here."
"He's not a madman on the road."
"Very well, he's not," Sakata said, not wanting to get into an argument over the phone. "Good day." he hung up, not waiting for the other to say his goodbyes.
Then he went out to check on his nurse. She was throwing her head from side to side, screaming, "mercy, mercy, mercy." But there was no mercy for her here.
By now Marie Winslow Smythe was almost delirious. Sakata went back into his hut, and spent the day drinking iced bourbon, liberated from a captured American commissary, spiced with cinnamon leaves. He filled out forms, part of his paperwork from the day before, and in this way killed most of the day, till night began falling upon the land.
From time to time he would stop and inquire about the nurse. He learned she had fainted several times and had to be revived by the use of pails of water, drawn from a local stream.
Sakata finally ordered her cut down and brought to his hut. She was placed on a straw cot and given water to drink. Her parched lips greedily devoured the liquid. Her lips and tongue lost some of their swelling and became less parched.
Now she was ready to talk. "What do you want?" she muttered.
"Oh, you are ready to talk? I knew the hot sun would loosen your tongue."
"Yes, it's loose, it's loose. What do you want?"
"Who are you?" he asked, bending close to her?
"I'm a nurse. I worked for the Americans. When the Japanese came, I ran away."
He stood straight. Smiling down he said, "I thought the sun would loosen your tongue and then you would tell me just what I expected."
"As long as you are a nurse, you are a prisoner. You served an enemy army. Now you are my prisoner."
Marie Smythe gasped. She knew this meant many things, some of which she did not yet understand.
"I am going to have my men place you in a small creek, near here. The cool water will take away your sunburn. Your skin may peel over the next few days, but don't worry. This shall be the least of your worries."
He clapped his hands. She was carried out. Sakata went to stare out of the single window in the hut, at the jungle growth, now becoming obscured by the fading daylight.
Marie Smythe smiled for the first time in days as she was immersed into the shallow, rapid waters of the creek, till only her neck and head poked out.
A guard was left with her. She felt the heat leaving her body now. Her tongue dipped into the water, as she turned her head sideways, and lapped up as much of the water as she could.
Her thirst knew no end.
Several minutes after she had been taken out, the two officers Sakata had invited over, arrived. They walked into the hut, one of them carrying a large slat board box full of clanking beer bottles.
"Isoroku," they exclaimed, beaming widely and slapping his back. "Who is the bitch hanging from that tree?" the tall, thin Jap on his left asked.
"The nurse we took prisoner this morning? Didn't Saburo Shimokawa tell you?"
"Not me," said Kakue Bonaru, while positioning the box he held under one arm.
"That young soldier is good for making children, nothing else," said Sakata sternly.
Funai waved that away. "He is young. Give him time."
Sakata pointed to the ground. "This is war. Things must be done quickly. There is no time to play children's games. When a man is told something, he should repeat it exactly. One day the life of a whole unit may depend on what he says."
Bonaru lifted the boxful of beers, then pointed out the hut. "This is no life, this is just beer. And that out there is cunt."
"It doesn't matter," Sakata said, still stern and angry.
"You are too strict," answered Eisaku Fanai. "Forget it. I'll speak to the lad, and he'll do it no more."
Gesturing with his head towards the beer, he said, "Where do you want this to go?"
"Take it to the edge of the village and put it in the stream. The water will make it cold." Wiping some sweat from the back of his neck, then looking at his palm, he said, "This is going to be a hot night."
Then, thinking of Marie Winslow Smythe, he said, "a very hot night." Bonaru and Funai knew what he meant and smiled sadistically.
As Bonaru started to walk out with the beer, Sakata said, "Get one of the younger soldiers to stand guard. Post him nearby and tell him to watch the beer." With a smile, he added, "in the jungle, beer and other items have a way of disappearing." Laughter spilled from the hut.
When Bonaru returned, Sakata threw his cigarette to the packed earth floor of the hut, and ground it out with his heel. "I'm going out to the stream, to take a look at my English bitch."
"I thought she was Australian," Funai said.
"Where do you think most Australians come from?" Sakata asked, then, without waiting for an answer, he walked out.
He walked past the camp fires, burning in the village square, which gave an orange and yellow illumination to his yellowish, sweat beaded face.
He walked to the edge of the gurgling creek, where Marie Smythe lay. "So, Australian bitch, are you enjoying the cool water?"
When she did not answer, he smiled at the soldier guarding her. "Tomorrow she will talk.
Tomorrow she will be alright." Then he walked away.
Bees of pain still traveled through her head. Even the ringing sound of Captain Sakata's voice made her brain reel.
Sakata returned to the hut. "How is the girl?" Bonaru wanted to know.
"Improving. By tomorrow she will be ready to cooperate with us in all our wants and needs."
Three pairs of slit eyes crinkled in joy. They had another smoke. This time his two guests forsook their native Shinsei cigarettes and let themselves be treated with his confiscated Camels.
When they were finished smoking and making Smalltalk, Sakata told Bonaru to go bring the beer. It would be nice and cool by now.
The case was fetched and put on the earthen floor of the hut. The wet wood made a small puddle, but that did not matter. The men soon had open bottles of beer and leaned back to enjoy the dark, tropic night, good' conversation, and the expectation of further good news from the advancing front to the far south.
Each felt the lust flowing through his roots, the urge for tender, Caucasian pussy flesh. Yes, that was just what these errant and hard fighting sons of the Rising Sun needed. And not too long would pass before they had it.
Soon these honorable Nipponese would be gleefully dishonoring their white captive slave-women. Just as the Japanese torpedoes slammed into the hulls of the battleships at Pearl Harbor, so would their own fleshy torpedoes slam into the gaping, wet gashes of the Caucasian females.
CHAPTER TWO
Sakata woke from his alcoholic stupor. For a second the room around him was blurred. He rubbed his eyes. Everything came into focus. It was one of those hot days that occasionally struck, when you weren't looking. A dog stood outside the hut, watching him with intent eyes, hoping he would be let in.
Sakata picked up a block of wood and tossed it. The dog ran off. Sakata fell back on his cot, sore all over, from sleeping in a bad position.
He looked for his cigarettes, found them, stuck one in his mouth and lit it. The smoke would do him good, he thought. It would help him face the day.
He was tired, as tired as a man can get, who has had to face so much, so soon. Sakata was young, yet eager. He hadn't seen enough of life, but still, it was not enough for him. He wanted more and always more. He was a man unsatisfied with what he had.
Even as a young boy he had tried to outrank those around him. Sakata did not forget he came from humble parentage. There were those who would not let him forget. For this, he hated them. But also, he wanted to be in their clique, but always as their leader.
He was driven by ruthless ambitions, needs, almost compulsions. He wanted what others had and more. And he would get it. He had grown up hard and this growth had left him twisted inside. He assuaged his twisted desires by finding delight in bringing pain to others.
In- Korea, he had found girls, who for pennies had been willing to allow him to torment them. In China there had been those vast and magnificent houses in Shanghai. Here, Japanese officers and Chinese playboys, had enjoyed multifarious delights, side by side.
Sakata looked up as a servile, bowing and hissing corporal came with his breakfast, on a tray. Fried rice cakes, dipping in sweet sugar sauce, sweet tea, deep fried, sweet onions, and a sliced quarter melon, dewy cold from being kept in the local stream.
Sakata nodded, saluted his man and told him to go. He quickly attacked his breakfast. His thoughts then turned to the Australian nurse. There was a burning in his genital roots, a lust for her body. Yes, he would go and take her.
Completing his meal, he rose, went to check in a small table mirror that he looked alright, and left the hut, walking quickly across the sandy square, towards the stream where she must still be. She was there alright, guarded by the same soldier. She was asleep, her head on the bank, her mouth slightly open, and her guard was asleep, not five feet from her, leaning against the trunk of a palm, snoring lightly.
Sakata walked towards him carefully, so as not to waken the soldier. Then, when he was only a few feet away, he brought his boot up hard.
It caught the soldier in the side. He was jolted awake by the sharp, stabbing pain in his side. He opened his eyes, confused, fear running through him. Then almost falling over, but not quite, pulled himself together and looked at the man who had carried out the assault.
The familiar face was full of hate now. "Idiot, you sleep at a time like this? Do you realize our prisoner could have escaped?"
Marie Smythe had woken up once she heard the sharp noises and frightened by the sudden sound, had slipped from the bank, her head going into the water.
Turning too quickly, her face went under the water and she began to choke. She rose from the water, thrusting her hands down to support herself. They rested in the muddy bottom of the creek, as she coughed and choked, until she had expelled the water from her mouth and nose and throat. Then she opened her eyes, rubbed the stinging water, that ran into them, quickly out, and looked at the Captain hissing his anger at the soldier who had been guarding her. Then he dismissed the soldier and turned his attention to her.
His eyes full of anger and hate, he stepped quickly into the water and shoved her, so that she went flying off balance, into the cold and quickly moving liquid.
"Up bitch. Up, I say."
Shaking, she rose. He glowered at her beauty. She was like Venus, rising out of the lake. He pointed towards the village. "Move."
She went, but perhaps not as quickly as he would have wanted.
She got a boot to the ass. That speeded her up some. Her buttocks were pinkish-red and jiggled with her movement, looking perfect, except for the muddy imprint of his boot on her left buttock. v The whole village looked as she walked towards his hut. They knew what he would do with her and all smiled. This slut would soon serve the conquering hero.
She could not bare to look at them and hung her head. He walked into the hut behind her, and threw down the cloth cover that closed the entrance.
"Alright, Caucasian slut-bitch. Now it is time to fulfill my needs. I wish to send my seed flowing into your tender fundus."
Marie Smythe, who understood that this meant he wanted to enjoy her pink, still virginal asshole, was stunned.
"No, no, you can't want that."
"But I do want that," he said, stepping up, close to her, showing her his sharp, little, yellow teeth. Her mind reeled with the thought of what this evil man was preparing for her.
She tried to push him away. He brought one hand up and using his wrist slapped her hand down. His teeth now pressed one against the other. Pure hatred emanated from his eyes.
"I will show you what it means to refuse an officer of the Imperial Japanese Army, young insolent, English bitch." Quickly, he left the hut and came back with a length of rope.
Pointing suddenly at the baked earth, he said, "Sit!"
"What are you going to do?" she asked, her voice quavering in fear. "You will see. Sit!"
She sat. "Lift your legs, high into the air, as high as they will go. Do it." she did it.
She saw he held two lengths of strong, yet narrow hemp, probably less than ten millimeters in diameter. He tied the end of one and the end of the second around each ankle.
She was getting tired and wanted to let her legs down. When he saw her wavering, he said, "keep them up and don't let them drop, or I'll punish you worse than you are already being punished."
She did as ordered. As soon as he had them tied up in the air, he took the end of one rope and brought it back till it was over her shoulders on the right side.
"Lift your right arm. Come on, come on, do it. Be quick about it." She did, wondering what he planned to do. She found out soon enough. He passed the rope under her arm and then looped it around her shoulder and underarm again and pulled the end back towards her ankle.
He then tied the end of this rope around her ankle and in that manner kept her leg up in the air and the right side of her body pulled towards it.
He did the same with her left leg and left shoulder and underarm. In a short while she felt herself being pulled almost double, she felt the ropes cutting into her underarms and cutting her ankles and dragging her down, down, down, into a deep, dark pit, that was without beginning and without end.
Because she was being pulled almost double she had trouble breathing. The fact that her legs were forced up into the air, pulled at all the muscles behind the knees and the back of the upper legs and the bottom part of the buttocks.
Sakata walked out, chortling. "You will see, young, Caucasian bitch, you will see what it means to refuse a son of the Rising Sun."
A half hour of that position had set her muscles' on fire. She found her breathing harder and harder. Sweat ran down her face, from the hot forest of her hair, that now seemed to he so oppressive against the top of her head. Sweat ran in small trails down her taut back, out from her armpits, around the new rope that so cruelly cut and twisted, between her cleavage, down her breasts, even from her hot and now twitching asshole.
Heat waves swarmed in front of her eyes. The hut was dark and damp. Outside, there were the sounds of children playing, from far off Japanese soldiers laughed.
Flies were landing on her back, biting into the soft and pliable flesh. She hardly felt them. Then, from a corner of her eye she caught a movement.
She gasped. It was a four inch long, inch and half high tarantula. She watched it come towards her, black as sin and brown furred. It came slowly, with an arrogant walk and a slow caution.
Then it stopped. She stared at it, almost stopping breathing, sweat pouring from her as if she were a punctured radiator. A little trembling started up in her stretched taut thighs, then worked on down to her calves, and up into her midsection, which had already started to flutter. The fearful trembling ran on up into her conical breasts. It seized her face. She thought for a second her teeth would begin to clatter, but they didn't.
Then the tarantula began to move again. She watched it, almost hypnotized. It walked with steady sideways steps across the hard packed earth floor. The tarantula almost seemed to be gazing into her eyes as it came towards her.
Then it stopped again. It seemed to be feeling the air, smelling her body odor. The air pressed down on her like a thick wet blanket. The tarantula again moved, silently, like cotton across a thick floor of dark wool.
Her heart began to beat fast. Then faster. The tarantula, it was heading straight for her! It stopped and lifted, then put down its hairy legs.
It moved with sureness and speed, it had sniffed something good, something very good and tender to eat. Her gaping cunt gash. Now, Marie Smythe really gasped in fright.
She tried to move back, but when one is trussed up in the air, it is a very hard thing to move. She watched the hairy body come towards her spread apart and lifted legs, then stop in front of her gaping, pink-red cunt gash. The hairy legs lifted up. A hot rain of sweat erupted along her whole body. Her heart hit a hundred beats a minute. And then it happened. The tarantula started to climb up her furry muff and into her blazing wet cunt-gash.
Goose pimples rose on her body, as she thought of the creature touching her at all, and even more at it touching her there. The hairy legs, with the nail like tips, went up her body.
A small, "ooooh-ooooh-ooooh," sound escaped from her lips at this. But she was still trying to hold it in and not lose herself to hysteria. For then the tarantula would panic and take a bite out of her. And she couldn't bear to have that happen. Also, there was the danger of the bite being poisonous, though she couldn't remember if it was or wasn't. The hairy legs and the horrid body were halfway into her cunt gash, staying there, thinking, feeling her quivering cunt and wondering what was beyond.
The goose pimples now doubled in size. She tried to force the tremors all over her body to go down. But they wouldn't. She tried to breathe, but the panic was making her gasp, so that she was unable to force her lungs to function. Her head whirled and whirled. It seemed as if she wasn't going to make it. It seemed as if she would fall into an unending whirlpool of blackness and then never regain consciousness.
The tarantula moved deeper into her gash. He was ensconced fully in her hole and seemed to rub and rub and wedge his body against her cuntwalls.
She was about to faint, when the creature began to move out of her. He stopped and her partial relief turned to panic again. Perhaps he would go back in and stay there for hours or even begin eating, taking big chomps out of her sensitive inner cuntwalls.
She could kill him, she realized with sickening speed, if she brought her cunt together, and squeezed him to death, like an anaconda with a pig. But no, she didn't want to do that. The thought sickened her.
The tarantula started moving. He went out of her and continued up her cuntal vee towards her soft, bent, sweating, fluttering belly. He seemed to move slowly, unsure, unsteady, afraid he would fall off.
His clawlike feet dug into her, cutting the flesh, sending pinpricks of pain through her to merge with her fear. He moved and stopped, move and stopped, till he had reached the spot under her breasts.
Vomit danced in her belly, ready to come up and shoot from her gasping mouth. The tarantula was climbing onto her right breast, moving over her nipple.
Lord, she prayed, don't let him bite me there. She wanted to scream and yet, she couldn't. The fear had squashed her voice in her throat. She stayed in that contracted position, frozen by fear, held by the ropes and a lack of energy to fight anymore, confused by the heat, the weirdness of her captivity, this fierce insect from a primitive world, in this savage land, filled with war, violence and death.
The tarantula climbed again, over her nipples, up her breast, towards her breastbone, then onto her shoulders. She gasped. He was moving to her head.
She had read of chieftains, in olden times, on these islands, tying victims to stakes driven into the ground and then letting tarantulas climb all over them. Some would eat out their eyes.
The thought of that sent a sob through her body. The tarantula froze. She too froze, afraid her outburst would set the creature off on a biting frenzy. But the tarantula did not bite. He merely assumed this to be-the quaking of the earth under him and not of this creature he walked across.
For now she was lucky. But the fact that he had not bitten her yet, meant the threat was still there. And, in a way, the threat had become as massive as the actual bite itself could be.
The tarantula stopped at the bunched hair on her shoulder, as if inspecting this new substance, wondering what it was. Then he went on, up the hair, to the top of her head and stood there a moment, as if surveying the world from his lofty pinnacle.
She felt his presence and it seemed to her as if each of his sharp, nail like leg ends were digging into her scalp, digging into her hair, through the very bone of her scalp. She shivered again and this time could not so easily stop it, though she knew what it would mean if she did it long enough. That tarantula would not hold back forever.
That great, furry body, with all the poison and menace in the world threatened to destroy her. But then this thought died as the creature began to move again.
It did not move towards the back of her head, as she had expected, but down the front. It was coming to her face. She really shivered now, and cringed and grew full of goose bumps and gasped for air.
One by one the brown and black furred tarantula legs came down onto her forehead and then over her shut tight eyes and then onto her nose and cheek, stopping now to probe for the source of the fast gusts of air all about. She shut her mouth to avoid the legs getting in there.
Too frozen with fear and horror to shout or scream, she just stayed frozen without a word. One of the legs came into her left nostril. She wanted to move back, but didn't.
The tarantula seemed to freeze in its tracks and stayed there a long time. The sweat poured out of Marie Smythe as if she was a ruptured rain barrel. She thought the damned insect had been frozen to her face. She wanted to scream. Marie could feel the skin over her face wrinkling up in anticipation, as if it wanted to expel the insect all by itself. It seemed as if the damned thing had a life and a mind all its own.
The wait of this tarantula seemed to be endless. Finally, she began to believe the insect just wouldn't leave. To keep panic and tension from setting in, she began to count slowly from one to thirty and when she reached that number, she started over again.
An eternity had passed, before the vile creature began to move. It went down her face, across her lips, onto her chin and then slipped and dropped onto her raised legs.
It regained its footing and started on down her legs, which now had to take the burden of her hairy invader.
The fact that the strained position of her legs made the muscles shiver with the stress they were under, did little to make the tarantula feel he was not on some sort of dangerous spot.
He went to the edge and then finally fell off onto the ground. She breathed a sign of a relief, letting out a gust of air, as the giant insect began to walk slowly away from her.
Just then Sakata appeared. He smiled, an evil grin on his yellow, and satanic face. He understood in one glance what had happened. He went to where the insect was going and stamped his foot down hard, inches in front of it.
The tarantula froze, trying to hide, in the supposed camouflage around it. He moved his boot shod foot a few inches and nudged it. The tarantula scooted back some inches, then tried going sideways. Again, he brought down his foot and again the insect froze. When he nudged it, the tarantula went backwards several inches and then sideways in the other direction.
Marie watched this macabre dance in shocked wonder. In the back of her mind she knew this evil Nip was up to no good. His intention was nothing less then driving the insect back to her.
Finding supposed escape blocked on three sides, the tarantula turned back and scurried swiftly towards Marie. Now the sly and ruthless Jap jumped over the insect and ran towards Marie.
He grabbed her and shoved her over on her side. She wanted to scream, to say something. But all she could feel were his hands pressing down on her body to keep her that way, her sudden breathlessness at being pulled over so fast, the ropes cutting more deeply into her, constricting her circulation and her movement, his breath as he leaned over her, the sound of his voice deep inside his throat and his feverish eyes watching the tarantula coming.
Then all of a sudden, with a quick shout, he shoved her over. She screamed a long, piercing scream as the furry body was crushed and Sakata fell on her. She could feel the fur and the carapace collapse and the force of her back and body squash the insect with a sickening splat that sent sticky juice all over her back.
Sakata rose, pushing her from side to side, to rub the sticky insect juice all over her back. Then he rose, laughing, laughing, looking down at her, his eyes gleaming points in the hot, muggy darkness of the hut.
He walked out like that, leaving her there, lying on the stickiness, a thin sob escaping from her mouth, her cheeks twitching. He left her like that for ten minutes and then came back with one of those native bowls of clay, filled with water.
Roughly, shoving her over, he splashed her back with the water. Then he put the jug on the table against one wall, rubbed his face and said, "Will you let me have your tender fundus now?"
"Yes, yes, Lord yes. I'll let you do anything."
He threw back his head and laughed. "I knew you would cooperate. There isn't a white man or woman alive who can withstand the power and the genius of the oriental."
Walking out, he said, "I will return. And unlike your MacArthur, who has fled and said he will be back, but won't, I will return."
And return he did, with a knife to cut her ropes, which he did, with a clay jar full of crocodile fat and a cold bottle of beer. He already had a lit cigarette in his mouth and the beer was soon opened and he took a comfortable seat on his little cot-bed. Beer was soon opened and he took a comfortable seat on his little cot-bed.
He patted it. "It is here, that I will violate you." He smiled, a characteristic of his, she had early grown to hate. Then took a puff of his cigarette and a drink of his beer.
As soon as he had cut the rope she could feel the circulation returning to her arms and legs. With it came a sharp burning. The sudden release of her body from this strained position she had been forced to assume, created even worse tensions.
She now had to quickly and suddenly loosen the position she held and that fact alone, pulled apart muscles that had been pulled together and created a counterstrain that made her pretty, dirty streaked and sweat stained face, twisted with the pain.
It was minutes before she could sit up and rub her sore parts. Looking up, she saw him standing there. "I'm done with my beer and I'm finished smoking."
He turned and patted the cot. "Come. Get up on the cot. I want to see that young fundus. There's nothing better than a good asshole. I've fucked many tender, young assholes in my time, but never a Caucasian fundus. Now I am going to get to fuck a tender nurse. There is nothing better than to fuck a tender nurse."
She rose and went to the cot and looked down on it. "Well, don't delay. What are you waiting for, get on the cot!"
She got on the cot. "That's it. On your hands and knees. Then bow as if you're bending to an idol. Think of some friend you're bowing to, a boyfriend or a teacher you very much admired."
She bowed. "Excellent. This really spreads your cheeks." He studied her moderately haired groove and the rosette of her fundus. He hissed in delight.
He went and got the clay pot full of fat and took some onto his fingers and shoved his fingers hard into her rectum. She felt the rubbery flesh give as he pushed in and in and twirled those fingers around.
Then he put the pot down on the cot. Marie Smythe looked back and saw the Captain undo his belt and then his trouser buttons. They dropped down. He wore no underwear underneath. This was a man ready for quick action.
He grabbed the pot and shoved his raging six inch hard-on, large for an oriental, into the fat, then twirled the pot around so that his cockhead and shaft were slicked with lubricant.
He took the pot and put it on the table and turned to her, looking down at her ass groove, at her tender, virgin asshole. He hissed with delight. There was nothing he loved, more than a virgin asshole, especially a virgin asshole one could rape and fuck to one's delight.
When he came close to her in the damp, dark hut, she smelled his sweat and the odor of beer and tobacco, mixing in the fetid air around her.
He looked down at his cock, a purple-yellow lance, weaving back and forth, like a snake, ready to plunge into the depths of her bowels.
"All right, bitch, spread those cheeks! I want to see that young fundus grow big and wide." Without any hesitation she spread and exposed her young glories to his probing gaze.
He gazed, hypnotized, at her puckered asshole and the fiercely gleaming bushy sex beneath. The sight of a fresh young asshole never ceased to arouse him. He smiled in demented hunger and ordered her to hold that position.
Looking down at his erect cock he remembered the first time he ever fucked an unlubricated asshole. It had been a slow, hard ride and the girl had screamed too much. Now they didn't struggle so much and that made the fucking of these wild pussies so much easier. Nothing like grease to soften the road, one had to travel, he thought.
"Sweet bitch, soon you will know what it is to have a real man up that butterball ass. Spread wider. Use those hands to spread those cheeks. I'm coming in."
Marie Smythe's heart really pounded now. She put her head down and gashed her teeth as she waited for the reaming of her young life, Isoroku Sakata rested his flaming lance just over her anal orifice, the hot tip resting against her vibrating anal groove.
Then he let his cock drop and swung inward with his hips, and pushed the knobbed head in, against her fissure, impaling her. She gasped, her head came up, not so much in pain as surprise.
The puckered roseate mouth swallowed the head and closed in on it. The slickness of the fat made the journey no bother at all.
She began to gasp in fear and tried to rise. He pressed down on her back. "Stay, bitch flesh of Australia, or you know what you'll get."
She feared him and obeyed. Then with one lunge he buried fully half his lance in her. She gasped as tears appeared in her eyes and her head came up. "How does it feel to have a real man in you?"
Take it out. Please take it out! You're killing me! I can't take these assaults. Please! I'll die."
"Nonsense, my little slut. I'm merely reaming out your tender insides. In later years you shall thank me for this."
Ignoring her suffering pleas, he gave her two more inches. She felt as if an oar were being shoved up into her behind. Nevertheless, she did not try to rise and run. She shut her mouth, clenching her lips tight and endeavoring to take it like a good Girl Scout.
After letting her young asshole clench at his hot, throbbing cock, he lunged forward, and in one fast movement buried the rest of his greased shaft in her entrails until he was encased up to the gills.
Then he began the dancing plunge of love, as he drove his hot ram inside her twitching, convulsing bowels, emulating a giant piston of a great Diesel racing through the night to a distant destination.
She threw her head about, her open eyes rolling in pain. He did not pay her attention, ramming back and forth, back and forth, making of innocent gut an instrument of joy, ding his greased lance to her innermost depths, forcing small cries of anguish and suffering from the victim below him.
On and on he went, purple clouds of pleasure rippling through his brain, pure bliss ripping the tension from his mind. He went on and in, in and out, of her slicked anal passage, delighting in the howls of his victim, the moans and yelps of her suffering, the twitching of her anal sleeve under the assault of his oriental battering ram. It was made in Japan, and it was hot, hard and lethal.
Sakata wished this could go on forever. He wished to push himself to the sexual limit and hold back the flood now building in his roots and aiming for her guts. But he could not hold back the jismic flood that would soon flood from his passion-swollen cockhead to coat her suffering entrails.
He fed her resisting asshole as if it were a hungry mouth, a twitching thing, asking for more, more, more. Her ass wiggled in pain at his merciless assault against her nether passage. This served to raise his inflamed lance to steam heat and to force his cock to grow like a balloon being pumped full of gas.
He gritted his teeth as the flood came and struck her insides, first in great gobs, then in smaller pellets. She reacted by a shocked twitching of her rectum and colon that sent further spasms through her bowels, forcing them to squeeze his plunging shaft like hundreds of velvet fingers.
Then it was over. He pulled himself from her with a plop. He got off the cot and looked down at his now flaccid cock, hanging sperm and shit and grease covered in the matted jungle of his crotch. He took a clay bowl of water and went out around back of the hut to wash it off and used one of those large jungle leaves to wipe it off, first making sure there were no insects on it, like the jungle fire ants.
Then he came back into the hut. She was still in the same position on the cot, ass up in the air, asshole partially open from the reaming.
Sakata smiled in evil glee. "I knew you wouldn't be able to move for awhile." He patted his crotch. "Not after Super Nip takes care of an asshole. It will take a short while before you can rise and walk."
"But rise you will, and walk you will. And your asshole will be mine from now on. Your lips will be mine. They will become trained lips to work on my lance for as long as you live. Your warm, furry vagina will be mine."
"I like Caucasian women. Unlike oriental women. You are larger, you have more meat and there is more of a thrill to go into your young orifices and taste them to the hilt." "I go now to get some beer. When I return, flesh, I want you off my cot." With that, he stalked from the hut.
She tried to rise several times, but her sore rectum and colon hurt from his entrance into her pink rosette, hurt to the farthest reaches of her colon.
She finally did get off the cot and stand. But it brought many painful grimaces to her face and sweat broke out all over her body.
At that moment Sakata returned to the hut. He was smiling, carrying a bottle of cold beer in his hand. He strutted up to her and then around her, while she stood in an attention position and waited for his next move, not knowing what it would be, but fearing the first He walked all around her, twice. Then he stopped and said, "You will do. You will certainly do. I have friends. They are lonely in this godforsaken place. You will help put them at ease and give them the joy they require."
She said nothing. She was afraid to say no, yet did not want to say yes. He didn't ask her to. It seemed her will was not required in his plans. There were ways of making her cooperate, if he so chose.
He finished his beer in one long draught, then threw it out the hut window, in a long arc. He stood there, watching the brown glass bottle fly and fly, waiting for it to land. Finally, it disappeared behind some bushes and a second later there came a crash. He smiled, satisfied it was broken and there was no bottle the poor villagers could retrieve and use.
He didn't want to give anything to these filthy and lowly peasants. Like most of the Japanese, he hated those who were not of the same blood line.
He walked from the window back to her. Taking a cigarette from his tunic pocket and putting it in his mouth, he said, "Shortly, I will be transferred from this place.
"The orders haven't come down yet from our provisional headquarters, now being set up in Manila, but I've heard that General Homma has signed them and soon they'll arrive."
"And where I go, you will go with me." He lit the cigarette, threw back his head and began to laugh.
CHAPTER THREE
America had lost the Philippines. All that now remained was the completion of the job. MacArthur's forces were trapped on Bataan. Wainright held out at Corrigedor. Small groups fell back here and there.
Zeros easily triumphed over the heavier, shorter ranged, less maneuverable P-40 Warhawks and Bell P-39 fighters. Only the B-17 Fortress was good enough to hold on and keep its own. But there weren't too many of them to begin with and what was there soon was shot from the air.
America was a long way off, across the far Pacific. Few reinforcements would come to the Philippines. Japanese power was overwhelming, unending, triumphant.
Aside from Wainright and MacArthur, there were other commanders, who fought. Many couldn't make it to Bataan or Corrigedor. In those hot, horrid days, it was every man and every woman for themselves and the devil be damned. A lot were finding out that was the only way it would be for a long, long time.
Jane Thompson, an Australian nurse at an American field hospital, and her friend, Jeannie Laine, also known as Horsey Laine, because of her size, had run through the jungles for days on end. They were tired, exhausted, and hungry.
They had seen too much of the desolation of war, destroyed tanks, blackened trucks, burned, decapitated corpses, destroyed villages, hills denuded of foliage after huge, vicious battles, death all over.
Jane Thompson had been in the Philippines longer than Jeannie Laine. She was inured to a degree to what had happened and was still happening.
Jane Thompson was a girl of medium height, in her early twenties, with those long legs and ample thighs, sailors and soldiers so loved, and which looked great on the beach or on a picnic.
She had a 36C cup chest, a flat tummy, an oval shaped face, with sort of a pointy chin, but one hidden in flesh and looking alright, except when her face became grim and her skin tightened.
She had what were referred to as laughing blue eyes, a dimple on her left cheek, upper, full lips, an easy smile, and brunette hair.
Horsey Laine, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. She was very tall, thick of legs, thick of thighs, big of buttocks, with an embarrassingly small chest, but large nipples, good hips, a rounded midsection.
She had a fleshy, square face, pretty, a full mouth, brown eyes, dirty blonde hair, and high-strung air that made her quite nervous. Many men had referred to her as a cow, one to be fucked, and forgotten.
She didn't like that, but it wasn't one of her major concerns. She had just come to the Philippines to work and found the place fascinating. Of course, now that war had broken out, it had become what one could call ruthless, evil, a horror.
Jane Thompson and Horsey Laine, were making their way down a dry wash, that was covered with light vegetation, when the first Japanese patrol sighted them.
They didn't scream, they didn't shout. The corporal informed his second lieutenant, standing to the rear. The second lieutenant used his seven power binoculars to catch sight of them and then gave orders that a staff sergeant and a platoon of six be sent after them.
"Cunt," he thought. You didn't need a lot of power to get them. The two nurses were tired, sweating, scratched by thorns, dirty and grimy. They didn't feel like women, they didn't feel dainty. And they weren't at all aware of most of the things going on around them. At least not as aware as a professional soldier would have been.
They did not spot the Japanese moving up stealthily. And once they were in the trap, biting and scratching did not help. The Japanese had them and weren't shy about being rough and brutal, when they wished to be so. They clubbed the girls unconscious, then carried them back to the waiting lieutenant.
He saw them approaching with their bundles, raised his hand in a questioning signal, to inquire if they were dead. The sergeant leading his platoon shook his head, indicated with his rifle butt to show they had been knocked out and . nodded at the nurses indicating they were alright.
The two nurses awoke suddenly, when a pail of cold water was emptied over their head. They sat up too fast and felt sharp, needle like pains in their heads and necks.
They looked around, the water had been thrown over them by a white woman like themselves. Standing next to her was a short, satanic Jap. He glowered at them. The girls looked at one another, wondering what this was.
The Australian nurse spoke to them. "I'm white, like yourselves. We're the prisoners of this man. Captain Sakata. He speaks English. He likes sex. If you don't give it to him or cooperate with him in every way, he'll punish you."
The girls sat up and then started to rise. They were shocked by what she was saying. But it looked like the truth. Horsey Laine tried to look away. The Jap was admiring her.
He went over and looked her up and down. "Ah, just what I need. A young buffalo. I like big cattle, with much meat on them. It is a joy to take big flesh and then to ravish it. You, I will enjoy." She moved back, shocked by his tone. "Sir, what are you saying? You can't mean this. I am your prisoner. You must treat me honorably. Must I remind you of the Geneva Convention, sir?"
He looked at her incredulously. Then he threw back his head and laughed. Marie Smythe watched, shocked and speechless, this display of bravado; or was it stupidity, by one who knew no better?
Sakata pointed to the ground. "This is the Philippines, not Geneva."-He pounded his chest. "Here, we live by my rules. When I tell a huge buffalo, that I will enjoy all her orifices, you are expected to fall to the ground, spread your horsey legs and say, 'Master, which orifice do you want to put it into?' " "You shall learn your buffalo. I will make you a better person. You will learn." He turned his head and did some quick shouting.
Nimble guards appeared. "Strip her. Hang her from the tree in the square."
Turning to her, he said, "you will soon learn, my tender buffalo, that when a soldier of the Imperial Army tells you something, you obey. But you are just a cow. Cows must be hung up in the sun to be tanned and then whipped. I am well versed in training cows. In my youth I was a farmer."
"You still are," Horsey Laine spat.
"Ah, that lady has a temper. And the lady is also pale of skin, as was our Miss Smythe." He pointed towards the nude and now chastened nurse, red from her ordeal in the sun, the day before.
Horsey Laine suddenly understood. She wanted to beg forgiveness. Sakata made a sharp gesture. "None of that, you simpering buffalo. First you will suffer. Lessons are better learned under the duress of suffering. Then, and only then will you beg forgiveness, on you knees, while your willing lips are around Hirohito." He patted his crotch.
Then, beaming broadly, he motioned for his men to take her away. Changing his mind, he said to the new captive and Marie Smythe, "You come. You will watch the young buffalo being stripped and hung up."
They went with him to the village square, where an excited crowd had gathered and was watched her being led to the punishment tree, as it was by now known.
Horsey Laine tried to resist, but one of the grinning Japs kicked her in the ass, another shoved the sharp end of his bayonet under her chin. She understood and stood there numb and mute, as fear fluttered in her belly and eager fingers unbuttoned her blouse and then unlatched her bra from the back. Other fingers worked on her fatigue pants and quickly got them unbuttoned.
They stripped her blouse and bra off and let her pants drop and began to work the shoelaces on her field boots. She was nude from the waist up and below the waist dressed only in thigh length rough panties.
She hovered halfway between blushing and fear. Her breasts were small, but well formed. Because of her size they looked smaller than they would have on a more normal sized woman.
The delighted Japanese pressed them as if they were small spauldines. She protested in low key rage, deep down in her throat. They chortled and kept kneading the flesh, with gleeful oriental vigor and fanaticism.
Then one ripped off her- panties, exposing big, plump buttocks, and a fat, furry pussy. They laughed and soon had her totally naked from head to toe.
She was taken to the tree, tied around the wrists and then lifted and tied to a thick branch, so that she hung naked and exposed. Sakata went over to her and shoved several fingers into her wet cunt gash.
"That feels good, young buffalo."
She tore at the ropes and tried swinging her legs to back off from him. "Please don't do that. Stop, stop, stop."
"It will not help, cow meat. I will have you and enjoy you in all your holes."
With that, he pulled his fingers out, wiped them off on his pants and stepped back. He ordered his men to put the tin reflectors around her.
Looking up, he saw the sun had a long time to still shine. Pointing with his head, he said, "that globe is more than a million and a quarter kilometers in diameter. It is over a hundred-thirty million kilometers from us. Yet, you feel its heat more than the heat of a camp fire."
"It is amazing. And it is also amazing what it will do to your buffalo flesh." He turned around. Jane Thompson was hiding her face in her hands and sobbing. But Marie Smythe was staring at the girl. She was not shocked enough. She had seen much, and learned more.
Sakata ordered the women taken to a hut and held under watchful eyes till he would deal with them. The soldiers took them to a small hut, like the one Sakata had, at the other end of the village.
Here, Jane Thompson and Marie Smythe got a chance to be alone and talk. Jane Thompson quickly told of how she had been captured and what she had gone through in the days before that capture.
Then Marie Smythe related her life up till then. The other woman shook her head. "I thought till now I'd had it worse. It turns out you've been the unlucky one."
"Don't go counting who is the more unlucky," Marie Smythe answered. "This Sakata will soon turn his lusts on you. He has lusty appetites and much time on his hands."
"Maybe someone will come rescue us," Jane Thompson said, bending forward from the waist, the whites of her eyes glinting in the dimness of the hut.
"Don't think foolish things. There's no one. Twenty thousand American troops and a hundred-forty thousand Phillipinos couldn't do it. The dead are piled along the roads by the dozens, singly and in heaps."
"The nearest army is Australia's and they're hoping just to hold New Guinea. Don't think those stinking Japs are just going to settle for this place," she nodded with her head out of the hut, meaning the Philippines. "They want everything. The Pacific, the eastern chunk of Asia, a lot of the Indian Ocean and Australia."
Jane Thompson took a deep breath. "I should hate them coming down there. I have family, a sister, a mother and a brother. Dad's dead."
"Lots of people have families. I do too. But there's nothing that can be done about them. We have to think of the here and now. There are a lot of pussy hungry Japs out there. Tough, ruthless, and cunning. Our worry is here," she said, pointing at the ground.
"That Sakata," she nodded with her head outside the hut, "isn't going to be playing any games. Don't you believe he is, for one moment."
Jane Thompson shook her head and sat on the hard packed earth floor. She resigned herself to the inevitable.
Hours had passed, Horsey Laine was shaking her head. She was near delirium, her flesh burned red and raw and sore to the touch. Her eyes were gleaming whites in her puffed, red face. Her mouth was open and dry.
The pains of extreme sunburn were wracking her body, and waves of colored light danced before her eyes.
Sakata was eager to punish this giant bitch, who had refused him sex. He clenched his fists in eager anticipation and went to stare out of the single window in the hut, at the jungle growth, now becoming obscured by the fading daylight.
He went to the door of his hut and asked one of his men to run and see how Horsey Laine was doing. He came back in a minute to say she had fainted.
"Cut her down. Take her to one of the huts. Keep her there for two hours, so her sunburn will grow worse, then hang her from the tree again for one hours, so the ropes will cut into her tortured .wrists and draw blood. The soldier saluted and went to do the bidding.
He returned to say the order had been fulfilled. Sakata thanked, then dismissed him. He changed his mind and called him back. "Bring me two cold beers. No, on second thought, bring them and take one for yourself."
"Thank you sir, thank you." The soldier went and got his beers in record time, now that there was a reward in it.
Sakata sat back to drink his beer and smoke some and listen to the jungle crickets communicate across the vast jungle of night. He had read somewhere that the tropic life corrupted. Well, he certainly felt corrupted.
Time passed. Horsey Laine was hung from the tree. He went out to see her. The camp fires in the village square gave an orange and yellow glow to get her tormented, swollen, red, perspiration covered flesh. Her small breasts heaved up and down with her labored breathing.
She gazed at him out of her swollen eye sockets. "Are you ready to serve me, Australian bitch?"
"Yes, yes. I am ready to serve you. I am ready to do anything you want."
"Good. I knew the sun, intensified by tin reflectors, would do the trick, and now you will serve me with your magic mouth, yes?"
"Yes, yes, anything. But let me down from here." He looked at the tiny trails of blood running from her cut wrists.
"I think I will leave you up there a bit longer. It is good for you. I have known women who have done much promising while they were hanging by their wrists from a tree, and when it came time to fulfill the promises, they were less than willing."
"No, no, let me down you heartless swine bastard."
"You call me heartless? You call me swine? I will teach you to hold a civil tongue in your head, giant, loose-tongued buffalo."
Realizing her wrong move, she gasped in fear and tried to retrieve the moment. "Please, forgive me, sir. Don't do anything."
He shook his head from side to side. "Now you are giving me orders. Stupid buffalo, for this you will suffer even greater pains."
He turned and gave some orders to one of his men, a tall, muscular Jap, who stood there, stripped to the waist against the oppressive heat of the night time tropics.
The soldier smiled and nodded. He removed his thick, black, bullhide strap and flexed it in the air several times. Soldiers and villagers began to gather round to watch this interrogation.
Sakata, who had extremely long nails for a man, now cupped his hand. It looked like a claw about to strike. He stepped behind her and raked her back, slowly. She screamed a blood ' chilling cry and fainted. The white tattered rows began to fill with blood, a soldier came running with a pail of water and threw it on her.
As she regained consciousness, swarming bees of pain covered her body and glowering faces filled her field of vision. Sakata spoke again to his soldier. Horsey Laine barely heard him now, through the yellow delirium in front of her face.
Sakata was not yet ready for his man to use the black bullhide on this woman. He cupped his hand once more and repeated his maneuver. She screamed and danced on those ropes, but she couldn't get away from him. Purple darts and globes swam before her half open eyes. Flecks of blood and saliva covered her parted lips. The Japanese watched in sadistic glee, commenting on the thick beauty of her more than ample body.
Sakata stepped back and now gave his man permission to work on her. The soldier flexed his strap and stepped up behind her and then braced himself on the hard earth.
Sakata nodded and the strap was brought forward in a powerful stroke that cracked meanly across the base of her spine, leaving a swollen red welt. She uttered a loud, piercing scream, then hung her head and sobbed, shaking the end of the ropes.
The glowering Japanese troops watched in satisfied glee, the fire lights dancing off their sweat glistening yellowish skin.
Again, she was doused with water to sharpen her senses. It ran down her stringy hair into her mouth. The cold water felt good against her feverish skin. She licked the drops from her swollen lips.
Suddenly, the strap tore into her face, tearing a strip from her tongue. A burning like ten thousand needles wracked her. A purple flash followed by green gashes shot past her stunned eyes. She screamed more loudly for mercy than before, as the strap cracked across her abdomen, leaving a white strip, that began to fill with blood.
The grinning Japanese rubbed their crotches. "Please, please, no more. I'll do anything, anything at all."
He did not listen. A second welt joined the first, then a second time the strap came across her face without warning, leaving a yellow void and the buzzing of bees in her ears.
The pain was so bad it alternated from needle points of heat to shivers of cold, starting in her belly and dancing up into her brain. Green glashes whizzed before her on a background of light gray, before she fainted.
This time the water did not revive her.
They waited a minute, tried the water again, and this time it did the job. The muscular Jap, with the belt, walked slowly around her. He landed his belt across her upper thighs and buttocks, then across her breasts, leaving lacerated flesh, that soon filled with big red drops of blood, that ran down her body.
This time Sakata ordered her cut down and put in the stream so her wounds would heal and the swelling would go down.
An hour later he ordered that she be brought to his hut. She was laid out on the straw cot and moaned when the harsh material touched her.
Her body was covered by swollen welts and there were long scabs where Sakata's nails had penetrated. There were various black and blue marks where there had been subsurface ruptures. Her face was swollen in sunburned agony. To Sakata she looked like a boiled lobster.
He now began to rake her back. She rolled her eyes, which were no longer girlish, but pinpoints of dark knowledge inside swollen sockets. Her tongue was so swollen, she couldn't speak. She rolled weakly in agony.
Twice more Sakata slashed at her, then picked up a wooden bowl filled with course mine salt. He carefully salted her open, bloody wounds, so that she violently tossed from side to side.
Then he ordered the guards waiting outside his hut to take her out.
"Tomorrow, by evening, she will be well enough to cooperate."
He said this to no one in particular. He looked like a man satisfied with life and satisfied with himself. He could already relish the moment when he would ravage her, and her big buffalo flesh would be his to enjoy in every which way he wanted.
He rubbed and rubbed his crotch and licked his lips. This would be a good and wonderful time. He was glad to be alive, glad to be in the Philippines, and glad to be so lucky as to have the run of these three Australian nurses. What feasts would be his.
CHAPTER FOUR
Morning came to the sleepy village. The two nurses, Marie Smythe and Jane Thompson, had fallen asleep on the earthen floor of their hut, out of exhaustion. Horsey Laine fell asleep in the creek, her head on the bank.
She was revived by a kick to the ribs. Sakata stood half in and half out of the water. He was smiling down at her. "How does my little beauty like life now?"
She didn't answer, but looked at his yellowing teeth. "Get up," he had lost his smile and his face was hard.
When she rose, a bit unsteady on her feet and started to move, slowly at first, but faster, he gave her a boot to the behind. She wondered where he was taking her and what he would do with her.
He led her into the village, past the hut where the other nurses were. They saw her and started out of their hut towards her, but were held back, by a guard, who barred their way with his bayonet.
She turned and extended an arm towards them, as if she wished to go halfway and meet with them. A good kick to the rear, set her heart to fluttering and her head to turning.
Sakata stood behind her, his legs akimbo, his arms on his hips, a mad look on his Satanic yellow face.
"I told you to walk bitch. You are my prisoner. This is not the social hour. Move, young bitch."
She began, moving fast, afraid. of what he would do to her, if he really got his hands on her. But inside she knew even her haste now would not save her if he had some really strong things on his mind.
He pointed to his hut. "In there, brazen slut."
She went into the hut and turned around to face him. He looked her up and down. Standing at his full height Sakata came up only to her tits.
"My own buffalo," he exclaimed, excitedly, dry washing his hands.
Then he fumbled with his belt and let his pants fall down. His dong rose, hot and hard. Pointing to it, he said, "Kneel and take away the trouble."
She looked at him, her mouth agape. "Do it bitch," he shouted. Tremblingly, she went and dropped down, the earthen floor feeling hard and cold and uncomfortable on her knees.
She eyed it, yellow-dark, pre-cum dew in the slit in the head, weaving like a snake. He slapped her face, bringing her shocked eyes up.
"Suck, witch bitch." Her head dropped, her mouth opened. She began a slow, lifeless sucking. He tugged at her hair, "Harder witch bitch. Put your heart into it, as if you like it, as if you were doing it for one of your Australian boyfriends."
Knowing what she had to do, she started to suck harder. His head came back, his eyes closed. "Oh, that is it. Sweet Bhudda, you are good."
She took him from her mouth and began to lick the head with her soft tongue, licking the dew from the slit in the head, licking around the slit, licking under the head, along the underside of his shaft.
He was really hissing now, saying, "Good, good. You are doing well, my buffalo."
She dropped down to his balls and took one in her mouth and started to suck on it very hard and then she began to hum the Australian national anthem, patriotic fervor rising in her heart.
He gasped, the sensations were killing him. It was wonderful. Then she let his wet ball out of her mouth and took the other into her mouth. He felt that soft, silky wetness, loving every inch of that divine mouth.
She gave her all to him, doing what she could, not giving up. Then she let the ball fall from her mouth and began to nibble along the underside of his shaft, using her hand to lift it up. It felt strange to turn her head and work on an oriental organ. She had never done such a thing before. Her last blow had been given in Canberra, before leaving for the Philippines.
She had never imagined then that someday she would be this man's slut-slave and that she' would be sucking his hard dong in return for her well-being and possibly her life.
This last thought gave added impetus to her vile labors. She really put her mouth into it now. Stopping her nibble technique, she began to suck him into her mouth. Because of the oriental male's smaller size she was able to take much more of him into her captive mouth, than she would have been able to take with a western white male.
"Suck, suck, suck, bitch-slut," he said, his teeth set on edge, his eyes closed, the veins standing out on his forehead, his head to the side, the blood pounding through him, the sweat pouring from him.
He slapped her on the back with an open palm to emphasize his meaning. And suck she did, pistoning up and down on that hard yellow oriental meat, drumming those lips along the throbbing hardness, working to get that cream.
"Aaaaaaaaahhh. Suck, buffalo, suck!"
In and out his slicked, superheated meat went. In and out of her mouth, her lips working hard on him, to make this the best damn suck he had ever had.
She went hot and hard, on and on, her mouth an untiring, living tunnel of lust. She lifted him off the planet earth and sent him into orbit, with her gifted mouth. He was a Japanese satellite, traveling to the outer limits of lust.
She began to use her teeth now, to nibble and suck, to nibble and suck. He was growing harder and longer, and soon she knew would shoot his cream. She understood without having to be told, that she had to swallow. And swallow she would. Her captive lips would serve him to the best of her ability.
Her mouth was growing tired, her jaws were aching, her cheeks were starting to sag, but Horsey Laine did not give up. She had never before in her young life been called upon to work like this on superheated meat. She had given some great blows in her time, but not super blows.
Trying her best to make him like it, so he would not punish her anymore, she filled her mouth full of saliva, while pistoning the hard pole of flesh in and out, and in this way making the ride more velvet smooth for both of them.
She felt his balls trembling in desire and moved her hands up to them, taking a ball in each hand and then working them like exercise spauldine, but gently, to help milk him of his essence.
He was starting to reach the crescendo of his passion. He would now come. She pistoned her mouth quicker and quicker, drumming very fast over the meat, working those balls at a furious pace.
Sakata, was shaking his head, gasping and hissing, both at the same time. "You are wonderful, buffalo-flesh," he exclaimed, loudly for all the world to hear.
Her pistoning reached a fervid and feverish peak. She was going so fast she could no longer. think. She was just an automation working to milk those balls of every drop of that essence. She couldn't even feel her lips because of the fast sensations she was sending out, both in her own body and in his.
She felt a fire rising in her lips and that part of her mouth around the lips, both inside and outside. She was noticing that the skin of her lips was beginning to break open because of the fast pistoning.
She was wild with the sensations, crazy with the feel of him in her, ready to scream, to say, "No more, let me free." She wanted to rise and run into the jungles, to go away and escape far from this place.
But she couldn't. She was his slut-slave, forced to suck and work that meat to the best of her ability. She wasn't just singing for her supper, she was sucking for it. She knew that if she didn't give him one of the best sucks he had ever gotten he would punish her severely. He was that kind of man.
And then the blessed end came. He grew a half inch inside her mouth. She took as much of him into her, as possible and began to really work on that shaft and the knobbed head.
Her mouth and teeth and lips worked that flesh with as much energy as she could muster.
She felt that first jerk in his balls, the telltale sign he would come.
Her hands worked them and her mouth worked the shaft and then the explosion of the lust volcano inside his loins sent hot wads of milky scum, into her mouth in crooked trajectories. She almost choked, but she was able to adjust the position of her pistoning head and work that meat the right way, without loosening that fine bob of her lips, which kept up a steady tattoo on his heaving cock.
It jumped and bounced up. But her strong mouth held him. She felt the scum shoot to her every empty oral space, to coat the inside of her mouth with a foul tasting film.
Sensing this, she began to swallow and suck and swallow and suck. In that manner she worked his heated meat. Letting it stray only millimeters inside her mouth, keeping it strong and hard and hot and shooting, shooting, shooting that warm come.
Even when he stopped, she did not stop. From far above he screamed, "Work my manhood, work it. Don't stop. Make me come a second time in your sweet mouth."
And without a word of protest she worked that meat, taking it and licking and nipping, and twisting and laving and licking and shaking. He was soon hard and long and hot again, and ready to shoot, to drop his load into her one more time.
His coming was followed by screams of "Bhudda, Bhudda, the sensations are too great. Oh, you maddening slut bitch, you great cow. I cannot take this. I think I would die. My head is coming off!"
"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhh." And then he fainted dead away.
Horsey Laine looked up and let him fall from her mouth. Sperm and saliva ran out between her puffed, cracked, overworked lips. She looked at the unconscious Jap and tried to rise.
Her legs were tired under her and her feet would not obey the commands coming from her brain. When she did rise, it was in a wobbling manner.
She went to the door of the hut. As soon as she emerged into the bright exterior sunlight, she was stopped by a grim face, bayonet wielding Jap. He asked her in swift, staccato Japanese, what had become of his officer, while at the same time, almost unconsciously, looking up and down her body and developed an appetite for the big, soft flesh.
She looked down at the bulge in his pants and saw that his attention was not all on his work. Then he prodded her with his bayonet, pushing lightly at her belly.
She backed away. He pushed her till she was in the hut. Then he looked at Sakata. He must have screamed something like, "By the holy Gods, the Captain is dead, the bitch has murdered him," for Sakata opened one eye and weakly said, "I am alive. Go now. Thank you for bringing back my buffalo."
The soldier looked in confusion at her, then at Sakata, then suddenly down to his crotch. He understood, smiled and backed out, bowing several times, and backed out, bowing several times.
Rising slowly, his power sapped, he said, "You are very good with your mouth, my buffalo. I am glad our side captured you."
"A woman like you, on the side of the enemy, can suck many men and build up morale. That is not good for us."
Then he rose and shoved his cock in his parts, did them up and fixed his belt. "There, I am neat once more." Pointing his finger in the air, he said, "I have an idea. I will show you what it is, when I return shortly."
She stood there in the middle of the hut, naked as the day she was born, trembling, worried about what would come next.
Then he returned. He had several long lengths of strong narrow rope in his hand and a dangerous, wicked gleam in his eye. He strutted around her, gritted his teeth, tapped his chin and said, "I want you to touch your toes."
"But why?" she asked, putting her hands out from her body.
He gave her a swift knee to an ample buttock. "Do not ask slut. When your master commands, obey."
She touched her toes. "Excellent." He looked at her wide and deep groove and thought of a picture post card of the Grand Canyon he had once seen. Her asshole peeked out from a darkly forested groove, a brownish-pink puckered circle.
"Wonderful" he thought. "A truly grand fundus. Something for me to enjoy to my hearts desire."
Now he went around in front of her. He got on his knees. She looked at him, still touching her toes. "When can I stand straight?"
"Not yet, buffalo." He quickly threw a loop around her left wrist and ankle, before she knew what was happening. When she tried standing in shocked surprise, he pulled her back down by the hair.
"Do not move, my buffalo. You have not been given permission to move. Only when I give the command. Then you will move buffalo-flesh."
Seeing how she had no choice, she stayed and sweated it out, while he tied her wrist tight to her ankle and did the same with her other wrist and ankle.
She soon found small rivers of sweat trickling out of her. She found her breasts pressed tight against her body and her heart beating harder to fight against the constrained circulation of blood. Her muscles ached, her head hurt, the wounds of yesterday were exacerbated and old pains were brought into full bloom.
"Why are you doing this sir? Didn't I do a good job?"
"You did. But now there are more ways you can please me. I will leave the hut a moment, then return and show you." She wondered what he meant, as Sakata walked out.
He was back in a short while, with a clay bowl, mixing a concoction in it with a narrow twig. Then he threw the twig out the hut window.
He went behind her, looking down at that big ass, all open and pointing up at the sky. He looked down at the concoction in the bowl and smiled.
"What are you doing?" she asked in a hesitant, almost frightened voice. She was a bit afraid to know, but want to learn it now, before it happened.
"I have mixed pig fat, plus a goodly amount of freshly ground black pepper. I will now insert this into your fundus. And you will dance for me."
"Noooooo," she shouted. He slapped her hard on both cheeks, then again. The wail died in her throat.
He looked at her asshole, then took a thick job of the pepper discolored fat and insert it with full force into her fundus. She shivered in shock and felt an immediate warmth. He repeated this action, shoving more in and shoving the concoction deeper and deeper into her.
The warmth became a burning. "Ah, oh, you're killing me, no." He slapped her behind again. She tried to move, but couldn't. She started to fall. He pulled her straight. It took all the energy he had.
He began shoveling the mess in the bowl into her. The fire in her bowels grew by leaps and bounds. She began to wiggle her ass. -He watched in glee.
The heat spread and ran on into her colon, which twitched in agony. It spread outward into her behind, which seemed to be on fire. It was one of those under the skin sensation. She began to wiggle very hard now.
"Ohhhhhhh...please...mercy!!!" He slapped her behind. She wiggled and shook her head. Sparks flew in front of her eyes. She shook her head up and down and from side to side. It did not dissipate the heat.
Sakata took off his belt and began to lambaste her ass. First one cheek and then the next. The whipping added to her discomfort and made her cry out for mercy. He let her have full, hard blows to the center of each cheek and then to the top and then to the fleshy and sensitive under parts.
She was really dancing now, he pulled her back each time she was about to totter over and fall. Her head shook up and down and then in circles. The whites of her eyes showed, as they opened in shocked and numbed surprise at the horror occurring in her behind.
Sakata stopped slapping her and put his belt back on and walked out. He went to the hut, where the girls were and took them each by a hand and dragged them out to see what had happened to their friend.
They went into the hut and with open-mouthed and stunned wonder watched her shake from side to side. "Girls!" she shouted.... exhausted, almost speechless, "I can't move. I'm dying. He's shoved hot pepper into my rear."
He extended a hand towards her. "Look, just look at what I am doing to this wonderful buffalo."
Then he called a soldier and told him to take the girls back to their hut. He went back into the hut as they were led away. He started to undo his pants and the screaming, half-mad with pain Horsey Laine, saw he had a big erection for her.
She screamed even more, so loud the whole village looked to the hut, from which the sounds came. But the sounds of agony did not cause any of them to move. They did not want to suffer the wrath of the conqueror, as these girls were suffering it.
Isoroku Sakata looked down at her twitching asshole and chortled in glee. He aimed his hard prong and then ensconced his knobby head within the inflamed, twitching tunnel. The sensations of her convulsing asshole were simply marvelous. Added to the fact that she had probably never taken a man that way, made his delight even greater. Her shocked rectum pushed at his hard prong. But now that he had gained entrance, she would not so easily dislodge him.
Once he was in, Sakata endeavored to make it hard and fast. And to do a good job of fucking this young and well fleshed buffalo. He positioned his feet on the earth behind her, grabbed both sides of her plentiful hips, digging his fingers in deep to really hold that meat and anchor himself well. Then, he rammed forward as hard as he could, burying himself in her as deeply as he could, right up to the cods.
"Meeeerrrrccccyyyyy," she shouted in an unending wail. He had it all the way into her. The hotness of her tropic rectum and colon were unbelievable. It convulsed against his cock, but Sakata would not let himself be thrown loose by this cow.
He held and felt the marvelous pulsations of true ass meat being violated in high fashion. This wasn't just rape. This was systematic harvesting of the meat.
The hot pepper was now getting to his cock, inflaming it all beyond belief. He had to fuck and fuck now before, he lost his wad. He started to piston in and out of her, bringing his cock back all the way, till only the head was buried in her, then ramming her, hard. Her asshole fought him all the way, like a too tight girdle. But he fought and won and rammed his way through all opposition He plunged in and out till he was tired and exhausted and felt his cock was so hot it would come off. But he didn't give up. He kept right at it. He smashed into her big ass, thrilling to the delights each time his naked belly and crotch smashed up against her big, sweating, heaving cheeks and his cock rammed into the distended, twitching ring of her violated and suffering asshole.
This was ravagement of the purest kind, man triumphing over womanhood. A small man, by power, wit, superiority, triumphing over a giant cow.
He plunged, he rammed, he jabbed, he shoved, he stabbed his cock into her convulsing asshole in frantic, sadistic joy. The slickness of the grease and the secretions of her hole made his ride, hard, fast, and slicked.
"Eeeeeeiiiihhhyyyyy."
The wildly chortling Jap did not stop. He kept right on, he wouldn't give her one bit of mercy. She was shaking her head more frantically. The sweat ran down her body. She wanted to faint. She did not know how much more of this she could take.
The man bashing in and out of her could not care less. He felt his balls heave up and down a few times, as if he might shoot just then. But he didn't The blow had taken his edge off. His cock was numbed to all but the highest sensations. He kept right on and when he had reached a new plateau of lustfulness, he felt his cock start to heave and grow.
This looked like it. He plunged even harder and more ferociously into and out of her. He shook like a leaf, taking his large buffalo like a bull rutting in a field.
She was about to pass out when he came. He shot hard and heavy into her rectum. The touch of the scum against her private walls was like napalm on flesh. She heaved up, almost throwing him off.
He held onto her to prevent her from falling over as he continued to pump in and out, in and out. The flesh below him was a clutching silk sleeve. He was in heaven. His brain floated out over the Philippines. He was almost mad with the exertion, the heat, the sensations and the rampaging lust rushing through him.
"That is it, wiggle bitch-flesh, wiggle," he said, through clenched teeth, his face pointed heavenward in an orgy of lust.
He had never had such joy in his life. He had never fucked such a large woman either. He did his pumping as fast as he could, before he lost his hardon, before all his juice was gone. He fought that strong asshole all the way, gaining deep entrance in her and pulling on out again. The sensations were so great he was afraid they would tear the top off his head. Yet, he did not stop. He kept on plunging, shoving, pistoning, doing his thing.
He felt as if he were the temperature gauge on a boiler, as if an elevator were lifting up him and up. He gasped. He sweated. He shook his head and moaning, pushed hard and harder.
Finally, it was all over. He slowed, feeling tremendously tired. He could go on with this no longer. It had to end now. It was too much. He pulled himself from her and he walked two steps and he fell to earth. All the energy had gone out of his legs.
"Please, please, let me up. My rectum is on fire. I think I am going to die." "Then die, buffalo. I have had my joy with you. Die." He showed his teeth in vicious anger.
"I think I want to relieve myself." When he heard that, Sakata grew white. Not in his hut, she wouldn't. He tried to get to his feet. He found it hard, so weak had he become, so much energy had she taken from him.
This was truly great fuck-meat he realized as he did make it to his feet and ran for his knife. He took it, ran to her, bent and cut her bonds.
"Outside, in the bushes, cow," he said, pointing towards the entrance of his hut. She tried to straighten up and found it hard, in her confined position.
Her muscles hurt, her head hurt, her rectum hurt. Trying to stand up too fast, brought an implosion of blood in her head, she reeled. With it came a hard, sharp pain in her lower back.
She had no choice now. Forcing herself to stand, despite the horrid pain, she hobbled from the hut with her legs wide apart. The troops and villagers outside watched her run towards the bushes screaming, "I have to go. I have to go."
From the hut came Sakata's shrill laughter. Then he fell to his cot and lay there delirious, exhausted. He looked down. His cock was all covered with shit and grease. He forced himself up, went to his table, got his napkins and wiped himself clean. Then, he tossed these out his hut window.
A few minutes later Horsey Laine returned to the hut. She walked stiffly and was pale as death. That fucking had almost finished her. She was dizzy.
She hadn't thought of running off into the jungle because some patrol would catch her and then return her here. And the punishment for being bad would be horrid.
Sakata waited, smoking a cigarette, looking quite happy and corrupt. "So you returned," he said, as if he hadn't guessed she would.
"You missed me." she wanted to spit, but kept her face bland.
"You missed this," he said patting his crotch.
One of his men had already brought him a bottle of beer and some fruit. There were papayas and mangos. The bottle of beer was half finished. He rose and pointed at them.
"Eat. You will need the energy." He smiled and emphasized the last word. She rubbed her wrists, where the ropes had cut into them and where the marks still were.
"You will be my prisoner here. The guard will watch you. I am going to see your little friends. Then I will return to learn about you." Then, as if speaking to himself alone, he said, "After the war I may write my war memoirs. I think I'll call them, "East Meets West-And Caucasian Women Suck My Manhood Best," with that, he walked laughing from the hut.
Horsey Laine fell to the packed earth floor in a faint.
The two women, Jane Thompson and Marie Smythe, looked up, when Captain Sakata walked in. He told them in blunt words what he had done to Horsey Lane. They gasped, clutched each other, sobbed, tried to beg for mercy, fell speechless after a few words and in general shivered.
Sakata tapped his crotch. "When he has more energy, I will be back." He pointed at Jane Thompson "You will be the first to work on him with your tender teeth."
She gasped and fell back, clutching her throat. He threw back his head and let out a guffaw, then turned sharply on his heel, and strutted out. The two girls embraced each other like scared children in a dark, creaking attic.
Sakata was just walking into his hut, when a large command car roared into the village square. Several chickens, strutting along, clucked, cackled and flew out of the way. The car ground to a stop, a brash officer jumped out and asked one soldier, "Where is your commanding officers?" "Captain Sakata?"
"Yes, he is the man. Where can I find him?"
The soldier, pointed to Sakata, who smiled and walked over, then saluted. The other officer said, "may I speak with you in your hut?"
"It is a bit filthy:" He turned to the soldier who had first spoken to the other officer. "Empty your hut. I will use it for a short while. And get some beers for me and...?"
"First lieutenant Toshio Shimosaka."
"Yes, this was please," he pointed at the hut across the village on their right. The other soldier had already rushed there to herd out two of his compatriots in various stages of undress.
They went inside and sat down on opposite cots. There was a small stone table between them and the smell of recently eaten and cooked pork in soy sauce and rice.
"What can I do for you, lieutenant?"
"It is what I can do for you. There are orders." He brought out papers. "You will have a new headquarters. Your job will be to receive radio messages from Manila, then send them on to transports heading for New Guinea and Rabaul."
"I did not know we already had them," Sakata answered, his face brightening in expectant glee in search of some secret, heretofore not yet told news.
"We don't have them. But our army is moving fast." he wiped sweat from his brow. "I did not know the world was such a huge place till I got into the army."
"First Formosa, then China, then Hong Kong, then French Indochina, now the Philippines. I've been told they might send me to Guam. It's been taken you know." . "I thought they were still fighting there."
"No, it's over. Those Americans are no match for oriental troops. And besides, there were not many. In war you need numbers. No numbers, you lose."
"How's the battling on the Bataan Peninsula?"
"Still strong. The Filipinos are putting up a fight. In the entire war at least twenty thousand have died to date. Many Americans are also dead. Their Marines, who are the best troops they have, are putting up tough resistance, but crumbling quickly against our assaults."
"The Americans have tried to get reinforcements to the Philippines. But they have to come all the way across the Pacific from California. It's a big ocean. It takes a transport three weeks to come here. That's too long. And if they do make it, our Zeros and our fast destroyers are waiting for them."
Sakata nodded, satisfied. "Soon all Asia will be ours."
The other man slapped his shoulder. "These damned insects and this heat and the damp, I hate it."
"You should expect it. This is the tropics. If it wasn't here, where would it be."
"This isn't the tropics, it's hell."
Where are you from, originally, that you don't like this cold so much?"
"Hokkaido."
"Ah, the cold place. That's in the north. I'm from Okinawa."
The young officers face showed that he was curious if Sakata was of mixed blood. He looked about ready to cool off and end, the conversation. Sakata quickly added his parents were Japanese merchants, originally from Nagoya. The young officer looked relieved. Sakata pointed at the papers. "Tell me more about this new place I will be going to?"
"It is called Taybar Island. It is a mile off the west central coast of Luzon. It was owned by a Dutch sugar planter named Breevoort. He called it the Tiger's Castle." "When must I go there?" "As soon as possible."
"I will have to leave my friends and that makes me sad."
"You mean Bonaru and Funai?"
Sakata smiled. "Headquarters knows that?"
"Headquarters knows everything."
Sakata smiled again. "Your friends will come to stay with you from time to time. Do not fear. When can you leave?"
"I can begin packing now."
"Shall I send a transport for you?"
"Tomorrow, at ten hundred hours. How many of my men can I take?"
"Only a few. You won't need many. You are in protected waters. The rest will be transferred to others as this one is split up."
"I'll be sad to see them go."
"That's war, Captain. Men come, men go. Men become heroes, others die. These are hard times. We must all be brave. It is for the Emperor and the Empire."
"Yes," Sakata said, looking far off, as if he could see the sun behind the clouds. Then he rose.
"You look like a nice fellow. How would you like a whore?" "A geisha?"
"No, a western nurse. A buffalo. You can have her and so can your driver. Come with me.
They left the hut and walked across the village. Sakata indicated to the men who had been temporarily thrown out that they could go back to their hut.
He led the officer to his own hut and threw open the cloth over the entrance. Horsey Laine had regained her consciousness and was now eating.
He pointed at her. The other officer looked at her with open mouth.
"Have you ever seen such a big, wonderful horse?"
Dumbfounded, the other man shook his head. Sakata slapped him on the back. Just then the soldier who had been ordered to go get the beer, came running.
Sakata took a beer for himself and pressed the other into the man's hand. "There's an opener on my table. Go on," he gave the man a slight shove and the other stepped into the hut.
Horsey Laine looked up in fear. She knew what this was. And she didn't like it one bit.
Sakata walked away from there, and towards the hut where the other two girls were. He went and got Marie Smythe's clothes and came into the hut with them. "Get dressed," he started out and over his shoulder threw them the news, "we're leaving for a new base tomorrow. But have no fear, I will be your master there, too. My friends Bonaru and Funai will yet get the thrills they've been expecting."
Then turning, he pointed at Jane Thompson, "You will be last, but not least for my treatments. I will think up something new for you."
Returning to his hut, he looked in. Horsey Laine was on the cot. The young officer was naked and pistoning in and out of her huge, Amazonian cunt.
Sakata went looking for the driver. He would be next.
CHAPTER FIVE
The village was a flurry of goodbyes and trucks and dust and excited children, troops, barking dogs, chicken cackling, running, breaking into short, aborted flights.
Sakata was in a command car, sent by headquarters. The girls were tied hand and foot and sat in a truck, with several troops, who touched and squeezed and commented on how much meat there was here.
Horsey Laine thought of home and her town, which had a section known as Baker Street Meat. She now felt like the girls there.
The truck started up without warning, throwing them back and to the side, so that they felt the cut and the nip of the ropes around wrists and ankles. It wasn't going to be a pleasant ride, but one full of bumps.
Still, it was enough to stop the soldiers from feeling them and that was something good. As they pulled out of the village she looked back and saw the young children and the dogs run after the truck and the other vehicles, till they went too fast and far and only then did the children and dogs stop and wave goodbye. For a moment the girls felt like waving back. They had a feeling that where they were going there would be no coming back.
The convoy made its way from the village to the main road. It was thick with Japanese Army traffic. There were stops to let long columns of armored cars and light tanks pass.
There were long stretches, where the pavement was stained by burned fuel, sand, bits of debris, then lining the road, shoved off of it or destroyed, trying to get away, were smashed trucks, jeeps, rotting, decomposed bodies. Anything useable had been stripped and shipped out.
The jungle was everywhere and looked to be about the only thing that had survived the swift, fierce Japanese assault. The Japanese looked proud and were proud. They had accomplished much in a very short time.
The trucks and small command cars finally came to a turn in the road and went off on a smaller, less traveled side road. They went faster here. The road was shaded, cool.
They were coming to the sea. They heard waves, big ones, crashing on a beach, not too far off. Then they saw the beach, a long white fringe, touching green jungle. They were on an upland slope and the beach and jungle fringe were lower down on flatter terrain.
Far off on the blue-green water, was an emerald-blue haze. This was Taybar. A shiver passed through them. In this beautiful place death might very well wait.
The road took them to a pier, rotting wooden planks jutting out into deep water. From the look of the wood this was certainly a pier that had been put up before the coming of the Japanese and now was being utilized by them.
Sakata got off first, walking up and down along the line of vehicles, he did some counting and then ordered this and that man off. The others also got off on command, expect for the three women, tied in place.
Jane Thompson was the first to sight the motor launch coming for them, from the island. It bounced up and down on the waves. There was a good wind from the northwest and the water off the beach was choppy.
For awhile the girls just sat there, waiting, tired, their spirits low. They were suffering, but in their own way, the common malaise: Wartime Blues. Every soldier had them.
Wars were never all fun and thrills or all death and danger. There was a hell of a lot of time between battles and plenty of boredom. Sometimes the men were glad for the war. It gave them something to do other than clean rifles, dig ditches, shave or gamble.
The motor launch was clearly visible pn the beach and at the pier. It looked to be a hundred tonner, made mostly of wood and at some time had probably been a deep sea fishing vessel, now converted for wartime use.
It came closer, slowed, threw a line to the pier. Someone caught it and tied it around a thick wooden piling. Then, men and equipment were brought aboard. This took about ten minutes. Afterward the girls were untied and brought on. They were put near the bow.
Then the line was let off and the motor launch started away. The trucks on the beach pulled away. The girls looked at them, then at the island.
It was a small, rocky place, with a brief beach and a dark house, that was made of large quarried granite blocks and looked like a castle of some sort.
Horsey Laine knew a bit about it. The place had been owned by a man named Breevoort, a sugar cane planter, who had left years ago. His son had lived there awhile, and had probably fled during the war, leaving the island for the Japanese.
This was where Sakata would be having his headquarters and his pleasure palace. It would not be a pleasant place for them.
The walls of the castle, which looked black from a distance, looked gray, closer up. There were high tropic pines around the walls. Along the beach were stunted palms.
There did not seem to be much life on the island, just the sound of crickets coming low over the water. The girls shivered as they looked at where the launch was taking them.
They glanced at their guards, who stood impassive, displaying the cold outward appearance of the Orientals, which made them seem more like automatons than men.
The thought of automatons made them think of Captain Sakata, Captain Bonaru and Chief Warrant Officer Funai. This castle certainly would not be anything pleasant. It was far from shore. No girl could swim that water without drowning, and providing a handy meal for some hungry shark.
A cold wind came up across the water. The girls shivered and pulled their thin clothing tightly around them. The girls flinched as the sailor as the wheel killed full power and switched onto cruise, as they very slowly approached the pier on the island. They saw it had been newly built. Bomb craters, the charred remains of a previous pier showed the Japanese had bombed here not too long ago.
There was a slow unloading of the motor launch. The girls were guarded by a soldier holding a long rifle and bayonet. It made him look too small. In fact, the rifle looked as if it had been made for a giant and in another time and place, this might have been something to laugh at. But these girls were in no mood to laugh.
They just wondered whether the Captain might have a victory celebration in mind for that night. At last, he came for them. Turning, and pointing towards the castle, he said, "this will be your new home girls. Enjoy the view. This will be the last time you will see it from the outside."
There was something final about that statement and it made the girls shudder in horror. They were led off to the pier and then up a flagstone path that rose and ended in several sets of high steps, each of which had to be negotiated. Then the paths continued and ended in other steps.
They got to the top and stood in front of great oak doors. One was open. They were led through into a large courtyard. There was a whole pile of electronic gear on one side and on the roof of the castle, a team of Japanese from the communications section were setting up an antenna.
Sakata glanced at them briefly. But his eyes were really on the girls. Their behinds wiggled noticeably. Horsey Laine looked very uncomfortable. She had mostly recovered from her severe sunburn, as had Marie Smythe. Her skin was peeling badly.
But it was her rectum that was troubling her. The burning had gone down after she had had to relieve herself.
But the after-effect was a lingering infection and irritation. She moved about uncomfortably every time she sat. It would take time for her to heal the wounds. But Sakata wouldn't let that happen. He wasn't interested in that All he wanted was his very own cow to fuck. And that was what he had. But the other two weren't cattle. They were sheep. He giggled. The girls looked back. He smiled viciously. Their asses would soon be his.
He had been thinking of new tortures to show them and soon would do so. They were taken into a large stone floored hall, with a wooden table, chairs, old furniture against the cold, dim high, stone walls, a bed on the side, where Sakata would sleep, a small desk for him to work at and some kerosene lanterns.
There wouldn't be any electricity in this place, except for the generator to work the receiving and transmitting equipment. There would be fuel for that and fuel for the kerosene lamps and perhaps heating. But no fuel for a generator to make electricity for the castle. That was not needed, it had been decided.
As they passed the table the girls could see two pornographic books lying on it. Sakata went over to look. He thumped his chest. "For me," he said. "Yankee pornography. Left behind and now it will be read by all those Japanese who can understand your language. Maybe it will teach me some things." He grinned. The girls frowned and the girls read the titles and shuddered.
"The Joy of Gash," and, "The Wonderful World of Whipping," looked to be books that would teach him more than they wanted him to know.
"Come, I will show you where you will be staying." There was little percentage in saying no, so they went. Jane Thompson was so far the most fearless and the most eager to say no.
But then, she hadn't undergone any punishment at his hands.
He opened a wooden door and pointed down a long, dark passage. They went, Sakata behind them. The door had been left open to let in light.
There was a window, high up, off the floor. It was just a square chunk cut out of the rock, but it let in bright sunlight in a square, slanted shaft. As each of the girls went through it, i| bathed their faces in a soft halo, that made them look almost angelic.
Then it was Sakata's turn. He went through, but he didn't look angelic. He looked almost pale, sick, like a ghost. They continued till they came to stairs.
There were more high windows, sending down shafts of bright sunlight. They went down the stairs, a bit hesitant because of the scummy residue on them; probably the effect of years of dripping water and slimy small moss growing.
It was cooler, when they reached the cellar or dungeon, or whatever one might want to call it. He had a flashlight out. "Move, keep on going. I'll show you where your quarters are."
With trepidation they went on ahead. "Alright stop," he said. He motioned with the. flashlight to the center room down a long hall. They went in. It was large, high ceilinged, cold, clammy, everything a good nightmare requires.
There were iron chairs against one wall. There was a large round stone well like structure against the far wall. He pointed. "That is the bidet. There's water at the bottom. Everything is washed out to sea."
"This will be your chamber." He pointed the flashlight at the ceiling. There were steel rings in it. "That's to hang bales of tobacco from. This served as a slow drying room years ago. But no more."
"You can even smell a small underlying residue of tobacco." They sniffed. "If I do not get my way, that scent will be joined by stronger, overlying residues of blood."
They moved back a step or two. He turned the flashlight up, illuminating his face. It looked horrid, each hollow accented in shadow. The lights making the yellow skin more sick looking and dead.
Then he turned the flashlight back on them, shining it in their eyes. Each in turn got a dose and had to shield her face and cringe and pull away.
Then he started out of the room. At the door he turned and keeping the flashlight on the floor, so that it circled a wet, cracked, surface full of cobbled blocks of heavy stone, said, "You know, there are rats here."
The, women stifled a scream of horror, repulsive fear gurgling in their throats. "If you try to leave the room, white sluts, you won't get far. They are in the halls too. And sometimes wait on the stairs. And I will come around. If I find you out of this room," his hand appeared in the light, pointing at the chamber floor, "I will hang you from the rings in the ceiling. The rats will climb the walls, come across the ceiling and go down the rings to eat your flesh. And if you are hanging from the ceilings you won't be able to run."
"And rats, especially here, if you don't know, have rabies." He let the word hang in the air.
"Should I find you in the hall or on the steps, for that's as far as you can get without coming into my chamber, which is the only way out, I'll punish you like you've never imagined."
They shivered in fear and wanted to say something, but remained speechless. They listened to him retreat up to hall, and then mount the steps, his boots clicking the stone floors.
They sat down where they had stood, leaning against one another for comfort, support, and warmth. They had not been there very long, when they heard the scrape of tiny feet and a high keening noise.
Marie Smythe had remembered that noise of claws on earth and on flesh. Memories of the tarantula came back and merged with the new horror about to unfold for the three of them.
Horsey Laine, who had had the worst of it so far, broke out crying. "Nooooo. Heeelllppp. Come baaaack. We'll do anything. Come Baaaaaaaacccccccckkkkkk."
But no one came. The girls rose and started to back away against one of the walls. They almost tripped over small, cracked bits of one large block.
They saw the thin circle of beady, bright as night, red eyes, come at them in pairs. They shivered, each acting in her own way, thinking of the horror the word rats brought forth in them.
The keening noises grew higher. Then came closer. Some of the furry bodies ran back and forth in the pre-attack frenzy of the feeding rat.
The red eyes seemed to get brighter, to get wilder, to get closer and larger. Shrill screams escaped from the girls. They swooned in fear and felt the blood pounding through their veins. They now thought the hell would soon be upon them and even felt the first swoons of a faint coming on. But they forced it back. If they fainted now the rats would be all over them and in seconds they would be sheer food-meat.
The shrill screams frightened the rats off a bit. They backed away, making their high keening noises, running to and fro, advancing, retreating, bumping into one another, their frenzy growing, glowing, bouncing, crashing, smashing off the walls and each other.
The three women found that if they screamed in concert they cold chase the bolder rats off. Some ran from the room. Others went to the far corners, still more climbed up on the walls.
More rats, from outside the chamber, arrived and now there seemed to be hundreds of furry bodies around them. The room palpitated with a dense heat, the heat of primitive carnivorous creatures, lusting for blood and warm human flesh.
The women screamed in concert once more. But now the rats did not run away so far, not do it as fast. They weren't scared at all in some cases. They had seen through the screams to the frights underneath.
The three women visibly shivered. They were so scared their teeth chattered against one another. Finally, the rats started to come, from in front, from the sides, from the walls around them, from the roof above.
Horsey Laine stumbled back, against another pile of large cracked blocks of granite. She had an idea. With that speed the mind was split in two. One part scared, one part very cool and cruel.
She bent and picked up a rock and threw it. Where there had been a pair of red eyes, there was only a thud and then a high keening sound and one of the rats lay wounded, without moving.
The others skittered back, to the side, on top of each other. The sound of frenzy and panic rose to white hot pitch, like thousands of birds squawking together in an aviary.
They seemed confused about what to do. But then several of the larger, more ferocious rats moved forward. These were the tough bull rats. They wouldn't be intimidated by rocks, by death, by things like that.
These were creatures of darkness. Slime ran through their veins. And the girls were once more under feverish, deadly assault. Flesh in an island of stone. Hunted by sharp fanged, furry nightmares.
This time all the girls acted in concert, they bent and picked up rocks in both fists and began to throw them. Rocks hit. Rocks missed, ricocheted up and landed on other bodies.
Rats attacked rats. Rats ran blindly, bounced off jumping legs, bashed into walls, ran down walls and into rats running up walls. It was Jane Thompson who broke first.
She ran through the crowded rat bodies.
The others threw their last rocks and ran after her. They ran by, around or over rats. They flew like the wind, feeling fat, furry bodies almost squash under them, as they skittered out of the way.
But rats jumped, landed on backs, landed on feet, sank sharp little teeth into flesh and drew blood. Rats bit buttocks, hands, backs. Rats fell off, clawed at one another, dropped from the ceiling onto heads and shoulders.
Girls half mad with fear brushed them off, hit them, were bitten on elbows, the side of the neck, the fingers. Their blood rained down, made the other rats mad for more blood, and seeing the fear and escape, they went after them, out of the chamber into the hall, with the swiftness born of hunger and the lust for bleeding flesh. Rats bumped other rats out of the way, bit at them, jumped off furry bodies slightly ahead in the race for the fleshy bait.
The keening was so loud, it beat out all other sounds, even the loud pounding of blood in the ears of the shrieking, frightened, mad with fear and pain women whose hearts now felt as if they would jump out of their throats.
And then, as the women reached the stairs, standing in the halo of a slanting beam of light from a high window, was Sakata. He had a machine gun in his hand, a big club at his side.
He was laughing, his small white teeth, sharp and evil, his mouth a crooked scar, demon crazy. Then he lifted his weapon aimed and fired over their head.
The girls threw their arms to their ears, screamed, shouted, shook and danced. First Jane Thompson fell to the stone floor, then the others joined them.
The bullets flew from the heated muzzle of Captain Sakata's weapon with good accuracy. Long purple plumes blossomed briefly and then were gone to be replaced by others.
The air stank with the acrid scent of expended cordite. The bullets struck the floor with scrapes of lightning. Hot shards of broken stone blew here and there, some striking the girls, making them wince and throw their frightened bodies about.
The furry rat bodies were struck, ripped open, ripped in half, decapitated. Their blood shot onto walls, legs, floors and ceilings. Bits of fur and blood scarred the floor, making it sticky. Small bodies lay in various ruptured positions.
The remainder of the rats ran off, helter-skelter, They bumped into one another, jumping three feet in the air in a mad attempt to escape ruthless death. Their eyes were no longer blood hungry evil and red. They were quiet and shocked and stunned and wild with fear. Each set of eyes told a different tale, depending on the personality of the rat faced with his demise.
The air was filled with the burnt smell of expended powder, the sour smell of chipped rock and the slightly sour tinge of the girls sweat under the ordeal they had suffered.
Now that the danger was over the women started to get up. They found they were shaking like leaves. They looked back down the dim corridor and saw the rats were gone They also saw the carnage of broken, bleeding bodies strewn about.
Then they looked down at -themselves in horror. They looked to Sakata. He was grinning. He knew just what had happened. He knew that the rats would come. He knew they would leave the chamber against his orders. He knew the rats would bite and they would get rabies.
"I told you not to leave. I told you what would happen," he said, shaking his head. The women began to cry. This brutal monster would punish them. This monster would torture them after all they had gone through There would be no mercy for them.
They wanted to rise up and kill him with their bare hands. But there were too weak, too exhausted, too scared, too dispirited; and he had a submachine gun.
He started back up the stairs, where he had probably been waiting from the time after he left them and got his weapon. He knew they would fall into his evil hands at last.
They looked at one another in the semi-darkness. Jane Thompson finally asked, "What do you think he will do?"
"I almost hate to think about that part," Marie Smythe answered, a bit numb and still shaking from their experience. "I know that whatever he thinks of, won't be nice."
Then they all realized again that they'd been bitten and the serious implications of that. None of them mentioned that, as if not speaking about that might make it all go away.
Their answer as to what would be done to them, came quickly. He was back with several guards, ropes, ladders and his weapon, slung over the shoulder by a strap.
"No, no," Horsey Laine screamed.
"Yes, my buffalo. You and the rest will go on the iron rings."
"But the rats will devour us."
"I will put kerosene lamps in the chamber."
"They'll still come," Marie Smythe lustily exclaimed.
"Not after the hello I gave them."
Then Marie Smythe stuck out her arms. "Look, just look at what they have done to us."
"Rabies," he answered, seeming not very concerned. "We will talk about these thin later."
He pointed out to his men, where they were to go. They went, casting sideward glances at the girls, then passing the dead rats, stepping over them or on them.
Sakata then told the girls to go on ahead into the chamber. They stepped gingerly over the bodies of the dead animals and when they got to the chamber they found more dead and dying animals in it, those they had killed or badly maimed with the chunks of building blocks they threw or those that had been wounded by the whizzing bullets and had made it back as far as here before breathing their last, as the old cliche goes.
Kerosene lamps had been set at strategic locations throughout the chamber. They cast a flickering, orange glow, that forced the darkness to retreat into the corners and create and undulating square of weak orange light.
The room looked romantic and at the same time like one of those horror castles one read about as a child. The girls shuddered and waited for their next session at the hands of this Japanese torturer.
The men with the ladders were already tying ropes and pulleys to the rings in the ceiling. In the flickering light they looked like silent, thin lipped executioners putting finishing touches on the scaffold with which the condemned man would be put to death on the very next dawn.
When they were done, they came down off the ladders, folded up the ladders, and left. Now Sakata was all alone with them. He walked back and forth, looking from them to the three sets of pulleys and ropes hanging down from the iron ceiling rings.
"Strip," he commanded, his voice harsh.
"What for?" Jane Thompson asked, going forward, her arms out, her mouth and eyes angry, tired, scared.
He lifted his weapon. "Because I tell you to do so. Now obey the command."
Flashes of pale white flew in front of her eyes. There was no choice. She started to unbutton her blouse. The others watched in stunned silence and also did the same.
He studied Jane Thompson. She had a nice chest, her breasts jutted out, almost coming to points. The nipples and aureoles were darkish, almost purple and the skin milk white. He liked that.
She had a slim waist, a pleasantly rounded belly that was more than flat, yet not fat. She had wide hips, ample buttocks, a good pair of legs, fleshy thighs and a nicely furred cunt mound, which itself was plump, a real favorite of his.
When the women were undressed, he kicked aside the various dead rats. "Lie down on the floor under each set of pulleys and ropes. Do it!" he ordered in a more shrill voice, when he saw there was some hesitation.
They did so, hearts beating, the cold, dirty, and in some places slimy floor, covered with traces of rat blood, grating uncomfortably against their skin.
Sakata put his submachine gun on the floor a good fifteen feet from them. If any made a try for it, they would first have to rise. He could run and grab it right away.
If any of them had guts, she'd jump up and hold him, while the others went for the gun. But he doubted they would try. They were women, scared, numbed, beaten, afraid to take the chance. If they did make it without any prior planning or signal on any of their parts they could not get out of the castle alive.
He began to tie Jane Thompson's left hand. When it was tied he proceeded to her right and repeated the procedure once more. Then he went and started on her legs, first left, then right.
Done with her he went down the line to Horsey Laine. She went faster. Marie Smythe came last. Now he went back to Jane Thompson.
Grabbing the end of the rope designed to pull her up arid using the power of the pulleys to increase each pull in strength, he sweated and tugged and lifted, till Jane Thompson was about six feet off the ground.
Then he went to a hook in the wall next to him and tied the rope into a knot, leaving her suspended six feet in the air. He went and did the same with Horsey Laine. She was frightened as he lifted her up and wondered what would happen now.
Sakata had to pull with all his might to lift her. Sweat broke out on his face. His face exploded in a hundred strain lines as he pulled her up.
A few times he thought he wasn't going to make it. He felt as if his heart would come into his throat, as if his eyeballs were about to pop, as if the rope would cut through his fingers and toss them all over the floor.
But he made it, that big, nude body, hovering uncertainly over the floor, with her moaning for mercy. He held the rope taut, then played it out bit-by-bit, as he walked with the still ample end of it towards a second iron hook, buried in the wall, next to the first.
He had to go very slowly, playing the rope out bit by bit or he'd loose it, Horsey would come tumbling down, which didn't really matter, except for the fact that he would have to pull her up again.
At last he made it, tied the rope around the hook and let go. It held, she swayed a moment, then stayed. He looked at his hands. They were red and there were rope burns and impressions of rope strands in them.
His hands hurt so much he made audible sounds of pain. Horsey and Jane Thompson lifted their heads and turned them to look, as Sakata clasped one hand to the other and squeezed them tight.
His face broke into a mirror of pain. It stayed that way for ten seconds, then became serene. Again, he squeezed his hands together for ten more seconds, his face changing to an expression of pain.
Letting go of each hand he dropped his arms to his sides. "If you apply pressure against pain, sometimes, the pained area will no longer hurt as much," he explained, though no one had asked.
Waiting some seconds longer he went to Marie Smythe. He repeated the procedure, got her up into the air and again, walked slowly to the third wall hook, playing out the rope carefully in order not to lose it.
When this was securely tied, he let himself rest, the exhaustion showing in his body. He looked at the three girls suspended from the ceiling, frightened, unable to escape, the ropes cutting into their arms and legs.
"Good day girls. I leave you for now. I shall return later. Do not worry about the rats. They will not return, except for one or two bold ones. If they jump on you, sway. They should run away after they fall off. Most will not come." He pointed to the kerosene lamps. "The swaying lights will scare them."
With that he walked out, his footsteps retreating down the hall and up the steps. They shivered in fear.
The minutes passed in the unreal world of the suspended women. The strain was felt mainly in the legs and arms. The other parts of their bodies seemed almost weightless. In fact, they seemed like parts of a different body The arms and legs soon grew numb to a degree with some tingling due to a minor loss of circulation. It was a sensation they would have to learn to live with, for awhile at least.
The swaying lights were hypnotic. That and their exhaustion and fear combined to create a dreamy, dizzy, almost hallucinatory world in which neither of them wanted to speak to one another or even to think of Captain Sakata, the cruel, ruthless, evil, degenerate, despicable, vicious, merciless, aggressive captor who had them in his hands, to do with as he pleased.
Jane Thompson thought she was trapped in an evil web of intrigue, one she would never escape. Her mind felt as if it would break, collapse. Still, she held herself.
Then came the evil, telltale signs. Nails on stone. Rats! The women perked their ears. Their hearts woke somewhat from their somnambulistic slumber. The feet were not many, two or three rats at most.
They moved cautiously, hiding in the dark corners. The girls looked frantically, but could not see them, not even a telltale trace of luminescent red eyes.
Marie was the first to finally catch sight of a rat. He was scurrying up a wall. "There, girls, there, in the far left corner." They turned heads, strained necks and saw.
A second rodent and then a third followed it. The women watching, fast breath escaping from between parted lips, as the rats scurried to the ceiling and then across the ceiling.
Horsey Laine, Jane Thompson, and Marie Smythe held back screams, and watched the rats come for them, going as quickly as their small legs could carry them. They were hungry, wild with the blood scent. Their mouths open, showing sharp, predatory teeth, yellowed by age and decay, yet gleaming with the sheen of death. Sharp keening noises escaped from the open mouths.
The rodents now reached the iron rings, pausing, examining this new material, estimating what route they would have to take and which would be safest for them.
Then they started to come, slowly, hesitantly at first, than faster, more boldly. Their eyes gleaming with the certain knowledge that this would be the end for these girls and they would be no more upon the earth very soon.
The rats came head first down the ropes. "What'll we do?" Jane Thompson, shrieked.
"Swing, swing back and forth," Marie Smythe shouted. "They'll fall off."
Frantically, the girls began to swing. The rats stopped, frightened, lifted long heads, looking around, then they came on again, but more cautiously.
When they were close enough, they jumped, two on Horsey Laine, one on Jane Thompson. The girls screamed, joined by the third. They tossed and danced. But the rats stayed put, digging into soft bellies and plump wiggling tits.
Rat teeth bit into swaying tits and bellies. In shock at this, more than in pain, the girls danced up on the ropes, throwing one, two, and then the third rat off.
They skittered away, bunching up, bashing into each other. Shocked by the heave and their fall, and blindly started up what they thought was a wall, only to crash into a kerosene lamp. It tipped over, throwing them down and landed on them, pouring scalding, burning kerosene onto furry, keening bodies.
The keens turned to shrieks as a livid lake of orange flame spread in a wide swath across the floor against the far left wall. The rats jumped up and fell back down, as they burned, roasted, fried in the flames. Their fur ignited and burned like singed rugs. Their eyes closed and they fell, exhausted by the heat and the fire burning into their flesh. It was a sleep from which they would never waken.
The thing went on and on, almost without end. The sprawled bodies lay on their sides, shriveling, turning black, their hides bursting open as the fat inside them bubbled to the top and then emerged to burn in purple-violet, sputtering flames.
The women watching this grew hysterical, even more than they now were. Suddenly Horsey Laine began to vomit. Jane Thompson vomited after she did. Then Marie Smythe began to vomit.
It welled up out of their mouths, it ran down their faces, onto their throats, onto their chests, dripped onto the floor. It ended as swiftly as it had started.
The girls lay exhausted on their ropes, praying for a merciful end to the torture or at least for some Americans to land and save them. Inside, they knew none of these things would happen.
In the comers the flames were dying out. For awhile they had made the room brighter and more fiendish, like a chamber out of Poe's, "The Pit and the Pendelum," And inside the lake of still burning kerosene lay small, furry bodies, no longer alive. While they lived, they had time to bit their victims. Two of which now had their rabied saliva circulating through them.
Horsey Laine and Marie Smythe looked at the bites and thought about their dreaded future now.
Jane Thompson cried, small tears from her eyes running down onto her cheeks, then from there dripping onto the floor. Sakata had yet to deal with them.
In this flickering chamber, there rested the stench of horror and death and burned flesh and the promise of punishments to come. The girls shuddered, while sniffing it, and sensing the pain in this place.
Beneath the stench, hidden for the moment, was the original scent of tobacco harvests of long ago.
CHAPTER SIX
Sakata had contacted the mainland and learned that his two friends, Bonaru and Funai wanted to come out to the island. He sent the motor launch for them, and wondered a moment about the girls in the dungeon, before saying to himself, "The hell with them," and then turning to other business.
Bonaru and Funai arrived. He shook hands with them, told an orderly to bring cold Askawi beer, cigarettes, fried pork on rice with special sauce. Acting the gracious host of the castle, Sakata said, "Come to my home, gentlemen, come often. You are graciously welcome."
Bonaru poked Funai in the ribs, "Especially when it's the Army paying the bill." They both broke into laughter, but it died when they saw the look on Sakata's face.
He was turning into a strange man. One they recognized less and less, each time they saw him. The war, his life style, the stress under which he lived, many things were changing him.
Funai did not even think he realized himself how much he had changed. Men seldom see themselves as others do. The revelation can at times be shocking, even coming many months past the actual time when the event has occurred.
The food arrived. They sat down to eat and eat quickly. The succulent, deep-friend meat, the fat and the sauce, the rice, it was enough to delight the. heart of any man, and when they were done, the men sat back to smoke.
This time it was Pall Malls, a very popular American brand in the Philippines. On the tray were also Shinsei cigarettes, the main brand smoked by the Japanese officers, Piedmonts, an old American brand, that had been smoked in the United States till the depression, then discontinued, but still produced in the Philippines and mostly sold to Australia.
The men smoked and talked and drank beer, enjoying themselves, happy to be in this clean and solid place after weeks and months of hard living and especially after the horrors of the front line, in China all those years. They had known men who had been fighting since 1937. The United States was new to this war. Their turmoil had now been going on almost five years. There were men tired of it, exhausted by the pressures, filled with memories of men buried in far away places at previously unknown cemeteries.
Sakata had been affected badly by this, many men were. But unlike most the horrors of the war had merged with the horrors of his own soul. The man who came out as the end product was not at all like most of the others.
Those who knew him, respected and feared him. He was admired for his toughness, get-results nature and courage. At the same time he was held in a sort of awed contempt. The men with him disliked the side of him that was dark with slime, ruthless, sadistic, evil.
Bonaru and Funai were his friends from the time they spent together on the Picadors Archipelago. They had spent further time in China. They had fought in Manchuria, on the Russia border when the Russians sought to make troubles for the Japanese, while they occupied China.
Stubbing out his cigarette, Bonaru said, "I suppose you've heard, they've just taken the Bonsai Farm on Bataan, by the Chelate River?"
Sakata shook his head. "No, I haven't heard. What about this battle?"
"We were being held by the Americans. They had the ground in front of the river and behind it. The men behind the river were aiding those in front of the river. And the men in the positions before the Chelate River, prevented our men from reaching it."
Bonaru was interrupted by the arrival of an orderly with more beer. When he'd left and the beers had been opened and new cigarettes lit, the conversation was continued.
Bonaru told of the many attempts to take the crossing point, which had failed and the arguments at brigade headquarters till a plan was agreed upon.
Funai took over here and described the Bonsai Farm and how the final invasion force was gathered and briefed. He told about the men he had known, and some, whom Sakata had known. He related how many had died, who was crippled, who was blind. How far the unit had now gotten. The day seemed to have no end, as they talked.
Sakata wanted to know about the battle, how it had gone. It was clear he was agitated by the news. Bonaru wanted to tell, but Funai said he would.
The three officers sat around their table, filling the room with smoke, drinking, talking.
"It was terrible," Funai said. "They should have tried crossing the river north or south of the farm. But the commander said there was an opening between two units and his group could sneak- between them and cross. But the road they had to capture, and which ran up to the river, was overlooked by force din strong points and at the Bonsai Farm."
"It was horrible. The loss of lives was great. Many men died. I did not think it could be that bad. But it was."
Looking out in front of him, Sakata said, "It would not have happened had I been there. I would have done it differently."
Bonaru began to laugh and say, "but you were not there and you talk very grandly indeed for a man who has never been in combat."
Funai pulled at him. Sakata was mad, in no mood to be toyed with. He took a tennis racquet left behind by the Dutchman, from the rack to the side.
"I'm going downstairs," he announced to the others. He did not have to add that the party was over.
They remembered him from China, when he had fought so bravely at the Battle of The Fork of the Three Rivers. He'd held his ground and come through, despite enormous odds against. His stand had been one of the primary reasons the victory been Japan's and not the other way around.
The two men gathered their things and quickly left the room, without goodbyes. Sakata was already descending the stairs to the cellar or dungeon, as the girls called it. Their master was calling with his trusty racquet and when they heard him walk down the steps like that they knew their asses would be flamed. The punishment for which he had hung them up would soon be delivered.
In an oriental fashion!
He walked into their chamber, standing there with the tennis racket in hand. Looking around first at the carnage, he grinned. "I see our little friends have been back. I see they tipped over the lantern and were burned to death. That is no loss. There are many rats in the world." Then he turned his attention to them. "This is a tennis racquet left behind by the Dutchman who once built this place. Maybe he liked the game. I like the racquet, but not the game."
He walked towards them. "I will show you." He started with Jane Thompson, who had not yet received her measure. Stepping next to her, he grasped the tennis racquet firmly, with both hands and brought it up hard, like someone beating a rug. It hit her cheeks firmly, each of the lengths of hard twine, meeting at right angles and making small squares, digging into her behind, squeezing out small squares of shocked flesh between the strands.
He brought it back down. The jolt had come so suddenly, her behind for a minute was numb, and then grew hot, a gasp died in her throat. Before she wanted to do anything more he brought the racquet up, concentrating on her behind and upper thighs.
This time a long wail escaped from her twisted mouth and her eyes bulged in her face. "Noeooo." He brought the racket up again. The other girls began to wail.
"Dooooon't. Let her alllloooonnneeee."
Sakata brought it up again, reddening and really punishing the meat this time. She was shaking her head, jumping up on the ropes, but each time falling down. When she feil back, he would bring his racket up, with an audible splat sound and send her flying up into the air, as the others wailed for mercy for her, while also realizing it would soon be their turn to get warmed by the racquet.
He sweated and grinned, loving every moment of this. -There's nothing like a good bitch, when it comes to whipping," he thought. "There's nothing like a good bitch when it comes to letting off the tensions."
She shrieked, threw her head about, sending her tresses flying this way and that, danced to the left, then to the right, danced up and to the side. But that racquet kept coming up, biting into those plump asscheeks She felt the hundreds of small strands cut into her, then shocked coagulation of blood in her nethercheeks, the rise in the temperature of her behind, the fire that traveled up into her furry cunt, then down her legs, through her thighs, to the knees, up into her belly, up into her chest, up into her face, now red with screams, effort and shock.
The pain made her shake her head and shoulders. She twisted her cheeks, trying to get each up and out of the way. But this did not save the other from being stung. And because she was twisting, the racket caught her on the point of her bent ass, concentrating all the pressure of the blow there.
This sent a very hot jolt through her and up into her belly. She shivered with the lash of pain and the heat that came. Sakata was wild with what he was doing. He loved every moment. Sweat ran in giant beads down his face. His eyes glistened, reminding Horsey Laine of the rats in the corners.
Maybe he was one of them, granted human form by the spirits. He used that racquet with an exquisite grace, the mark of a true champion. He kept her legs shaking, her behind wiggling and swaying, her heart beating like hell, her face red, her neck knotted by the tension ropes of frayed muscles, her mouth a crooked scar, shrieking to the high ceiling of the chamber.
Then, he stopped, as suddenly as he had begun. He turned his face and his attention to Horsey Laine. This would be a real pleasure, he realized. He would get to work on her once more.
Stepping beside her and looking up at her hanging in the air, he said, "so, my young buffalo, we meet again. Are your big buttocks ready for a dose of this?" He displayed the racquet grandly, twirled it around a few times and letting it down, brought it up suddenly.
It landed with a dull thunk against those gargantuan cheeks. This wasn't Jane Thompson he was punishing, he quickly realized, but a young cow. And for young cows there are tougher measures to be employed.
His face was hard with tension. He wanted her very much. He wanted to punish her, to make her beg for his cock. He wanted to make her a slobbering, quivering mass of jelly, ready to do his every bidding.
He used the racquet harder, covering each cheek separately, watching the ample flesh depress under the squeezing motion of each dull smack, then spring back to life.
The little square red spots also now appeared on Horsey Laine's behind. She shook with a quaking force, each time the racquet landed. Instead of jumping up on the ropes, she just trembled, the tremor passing from the top of her head down to her toes and back again.
Her behind wiggled some. But other then that she just got red in the race and sobbed softly. Sakata hated this. He would make her dance. To him she was no more than a buffalo; the local neighborhood whore, to use, abuse, and then throw away.
Sakata felt very tired. His whole body was encased in sweat from his strenuous beating effort. His uniform was wet, his hair was glistening with sweat, his face was bathed in it. He realized his heartbeat was going abnormally fast.
But he had a job to do. A mission to accomplish. Young Caucasian bitches to punish and then to ravish. Ah, but it was sweet to be a conqueror, even if it was difficult.
Jane Thompson was crying. Some of it for herself her bruised behind, aching limbs, shocked libido, some for Horsey Laine, now getting an even worse dose of the racquet.
Marie Smythe was crying. It was her ass that would soon be feeling that racquet and her body giving him the thrills he sought in his demented hunger for pain.
Sakata twisted the racquet this way and that. He hit first one cheek, then the other. Horsey Laine was beginning to shake her head and scream for mercy. The tears welled from her eyes, ran down the side of her face and fell in dewy drops to the floor, beading as they did.
She was throwing her big body into the air and then it came down again, being stopped suddenly by the ropes in a fast pfuutt sound. Her legs twisted this way and that and so did her arms. She looked like a huge, fleshy puppet, out of control.
"That's it, my buffalo. Dance. You do it so wonderfully. I want you to dance and to keep on dancing."
"Mercy, mercy."
"There will be no mercy. Your destiny is to be beaten like a dog, then to be violated, again and again, like the lowliest geisha."
He beat her on the left and then on the right cheek. He went harder and harder, depressing the flesh, marking it, drawing bits of blood here and there, as the skin broke, sending waves of heat down to her knees, up into her belly, to her breasts, up to her face, red like a beet, on which the veins stuck out.
He let her have it along the upper thighs. Her legs apart and up, the flesh on the thighs shaking with the effort. Her mouth opened and closed without her being able to say one thing as the sensations overwhelmed her.
Finally, she was able to shriek once and then faint dead away her head falling to the side. Sakata dropped to his knees, letting the racket clatter to the floor. He looked up at the big body, hanging in the air, now motionless and smelled the sweaty woman flesh. He had an urge to whip her some more, to fuck her hard.
His cock was like a firecracker, sticking up from his pants. He needed and wanted her. But he was too exhausted to do anything now. He just watched her away at the end of the ropes, like a recently hung man, her shadow covering and uncovering sections of the floor that were lit by the still burning lanterns.
At last he had his strength and breath back. He rose and then with one last effort gave her a belt. Her unconscious body reacted with a heave. Her arms and legs shot into the air and fell back down. A gust of air escaped out of her mouth and her head changed direction from right to left. But she was still unconscious, her eyes shut tight.
He was now ready to take on Marie Smythe. His first white woman, though he was positive, she would not be his last. She watched him come towards her.
"With you I began. And, with you I will end."
He lifted his racquet. She gasped, pulling air quickly into her lungs and tightening her buttocks muscles, in preparation for this assault.
Bringing the racquet up, hard, he twisted it in midair, so it struck one buttock and her side on an angle and thereby increased the pressure and the pain.
Her head twisted to the left and her mouth came open, but quickly shut, as she vowed to take his punishment without giving in on one iota. Sakata, bringing his paddle back down, realized this, and vowed to give her a beating that would send her up the wall. When he would be done with her, she would climb the walls and walk across the ceiling, on his command.
He brought his racquet up and struck her on her other cheek, watching the paddle come down with the counter-impact, as the bouncy, rubbery flesh, flattened on impact, then bounced back, marked by dozens of small, red squares, their borders edged in white.
He brought it up again, this time centering the racquet on both of her buttocks, flattening them down almost to the grove. She felt the heat of this in her rectum. The fire in her backside, spread up into her furry fuckhole and on up into her rippling belly.
The pleasure of her pain, permeated Sakata's face, now a twisted map of lines and circles and wrinkled crows feet, filled with sweat, running across them like water going tover convoluted ground.
Bringing the racquet back down, he brought it up towards her upper cheeks and lower back. "Aaaaaahhhh," she screamed, dancing up almost two feet at the excruciating pain and twisting her gasping face up and to the right.
"Mercy, pleeeeeaaassseeee."
"No mercy, bitch. You will be punished. Harlot!"
He brought the racquet up and hit the lower, fleshier and more sensitive part of her ass and her thighs. Her mouth was an open O, screaming, twisting, shouting. But it was to no avail. This was one master of pain who would not let her up for a second. He was about to wrest every bit of pleasure he could from her body and this meant not giving in one anything, for even one second.
He let her have another dose with that racquet, along the bottom, fleshy, asscheeks and made her dance like a puppet under his hard assault.
Each time he brought his instrument up into her, a vast rush of heat would blossom through her body, traveling in waves, that sent shudders through her, from head to toe. Her legs would come up into the air. Her torso, from the waist up, twisted this way and that.
Her face had gone from pink to red, to dark red, to purple-red. The blue veins in her face and on the sides of her forehead, just below the hairline, stood out in thick bulges, the blue of the blood showing through her body could be easily seen.
Sakata watched her face with glee, every time she turned her head to him. He watched her mouth, he listened to her screams. He watched the sweat running from her body, onto her legs and down, down, down onto the floor.
He grinned as the racquet danced through the air with an easy facility, that made any part of her body an object for his fervent labors.
He cut hard along her upper thighs, stinging the sensitive meat and making her gasp and moan and yelp in pain. She was wild with the stinging. It seemed that no part of her body was free from his good aim and hard weapon. It seemed that no part of her body would ever be free of him.
The punishment seemed to go on and on, without end and relief in sight. He wanted to go on and on," forever. But that was impossible, and he knew it.
His body felt as if it must collapse under him, as if the end must come now and not later. Forcing himself to continue this vigorous beating, making almost superhuman efforts, he danced the racquet along her twisting, twitching, dancing form from her upper thighs to her lower back and on back again.
When he was done, his heart had hit a hundred-fifty beats a minute. His mind had turned into a frantic animal. He gasped, and his brain twirled in an orgy, of hate, lust, exhaustion, fear of the unknown, and desire to go on.
His mind was still willing, but his body could not go on. Sakata staggered back. His orgy of lust-hate was over. He dropped the racquet. It clattered to the floor, with him looking after it, sorry to see it go, but too tired to retrieve it.
He felt his legs buckle under him, as he fell and hit the floor with the side of his butt. An audible, "oooh," escaped from his mouth and then he struck his shoulder, rolled, hitting a few rats in the process and came to rest on the floor, with his cheek against the cold, damp stone and his nostrils sniffing the vile scent of the floor.
He wanted to move, but was unable too. And then blackness fell all around him. He lost consciousness and slept.
Marie Smythe watched all this, but was powerless to do anything. She hung from the ropes, crying, her sobs shaking them. Jane Thompson too saw what was the matter. She lay on the ropes and watched numbly.
Horsey Laine noticed nothing. She was out cold.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Captain slowly opened one eye. For a moment he did not know where he was. Then he realized he was in the chamber by the smell of things. Looking straight at him was a curious rat. From this perspective he looked bigger and more ferocious, then he would have looked, had Sakata been standing.
The rat watched hypnotically, his twin red eyes, glowering in the orange glow of the flickering lanterns. His nose twitched, his long gray-white whiskers moved, making light sounds upon the floor.
Sakata brought his hand up and slapped the floor, suddenly, hard. The rat turned and with the sound of many claws striking the stones below, scurried off and out of the chamber.
Sakata noted that he was all wet, with his own sweat. All his muscles seemed to hurt. He looked up at the girls, lying there on the ropes, all watching him, all awake now.
He rose slowly, picking up his racket. He walked like a dead man, all his muscles aching. But he forced himself on. He had lusts and desires to be satisfied. He headed for the wall iron on which Jane Thompson's rope was tied. Putting the racquet down under it, he untied it, then held, feeling the sudden tug in his body, the tiredness in his muscles. They hurt so badly now. But Sakata was strong, as well as tough in the mind.
He held and then slowly began to let her down. She looked back at him, turning her head at a severe angle and almost pulling some muscles as she did.
This was it, she understood. This was the end for her. He had her now. And he would get what he wanted. She was in no mood to resist. Her body hurt and was too sore, and her spirit had been broken.
When he let her down slowly on the floor, she hit with a light splat sound, sending up dust. Lying spread-eagled, she wondered what would happen now.
The hotness in her behind was killed somewhat by the coolness of the floor. Though she hardly felt it in the beginning. Then Sakata was over her, grinning. He seemed to have recovered some.
He bent and began untying her hands. She lifted them after they were untied to look at the pale white and blue rope cuts. Her hands below the rope cuts were white and in places mottled blue-purple.
They felt very cold and numb. Her elbows felt hot. Her heart seemed to be beating very slowly now. He started to work on her legs, and soon had one untied.
She noticed that her hands were beginning to hurt now that blood was starting to flow back into them. The same was starting to happen to her legs. Sakata had the last of her limbs untied and began to put the gear to the side, out of the way.
Jane Thompson felt a hot burning in her limbs as the circulation returned. The burning got very hot and hurt. Sakata stood over her now, his hands on his hips, glowering. "Rise, slut!"
"I can't My legs hurt; I haven't got any feeling in them."
He kicked her hard. "Rise, bitch!"
She saw this was no joke and protest would only serve to hurt her worse. So, she started. But her legs just would not respond. They didn't move when she told them to and they didn't move fast enough. She looked up at him several times. He was getting impatient and his face was starting to turn hard.
She held up a hand. "I'm doing it, I'm doing it," she lied.
Getting up was hard, but by superhuman willpower, she made it. Her legs were growing very tired now. She was shaking like a leaf. This was all happening as the oxygen was flowing back into her feet that had been mostly cut off from circulation. The hotness and the pain here were excruciating.
Sakata knew this and smiled in sadistic oriental glee. She was standing now, doing the impossible, shaking like a leaf, trying not to fall.
"So, white cunt flesh, you are standing. You did not think you could do this. But you could. After my little weapon," he nodded towards the tennis racquet, "you will be able to do almost anything and in fact, will want to."
"Now walk twat life."
"I can't, I can't. Please, mercy."
"Do you want your tender nethercheeks lambasted once more?"
"No, no, not that. I couldn't stand it."
"Then walk, punished meat," he said, pointing at the chamber opening.
She walked. Every step a nightmare, hundreds of tiny, painful bubbles rising up into her. The strain caused hundreds of strain marks to show in her face and back and chest.
She walked like an automaton. The other girls were crying, saying, "Show her mercy, show her mercy."
"Mercy," he laughed, throwing back his head. "There is no mercy for sluts." Tapping his crotch, he added, "there is only the hardness of the steel lance of Nippon."
Walking up behind her, he gave her his boot to the ass a few times. She felt the stinging blows, dancing forward and speeding up. "That is good, Nurse Thompson. You are learning. And learning is the first step to understanding."
Another boot to the ass. She went faster. The hall was even cooler than the chamber, she soon found. She knew she was stepping on dead rats. But by now she had become so shocked and stunned that she no longer cared.
She kept on moving. He went on behind her, chortling in glee, thinking of the joys he would find in her wide, pink folds of her cunt sleeve.
She reached the stairs and started up them. The circulation had returned completely. There was no longer any stinging or burning in her legs or hands.
She reached the top of the stairs and went down the hall to the doors at the end. She opened it and stepped from the Stygian depths of the dungeon to the main hall, which was bright and warm. It was like being in another world.
He came out behind her and shut the door. Then he went to his table and used a small stand telephone to call for the guard, who soon appeared, gaped open mouthed at the nakedness of this woman, and saluted.
Sakata looked from him to the girl, thinking, "You would like to have some, wouldn't you soldier. Well, you won't. This is for the officers. You can find yourself a cat."
"Get us some beer, and be quick about it."
The soldier saluted. "Yes sir."
He left and Sakata turned to the girl. "You will find cooperation can be beautiful." She didn't answer. "In my country women such as yourself are barracks' whores, nothing more."
Still, she did not answer. The soldier returned with the beers, on a tray. Sakata was feeling generous and threw him a pack of Camels. "Here. You shouldn't be smoking that Shinsei shit all your life."
The soldier hissed and bowed. "Thank you, thank you." He left. Sakata opened the beers and handed her one. She drank, thirsty from the hell she had been through. He drank, looking at her over the rim of the bottle.
Finally, she put her bottle down and asked, "Why do you do these things? Why are you so cruel?"
"Because you deserve it. You have it coming. This is your fate." He rose and walked towards her. She retreated. He wiped his mouth and looked at her hatefully and then stepped closer, very close, so that he was almost next to her.
Sakata stared deeply into the frightened eyes of the woman before him. "Slut, daughter of a white whore, do you know what this war means? You understand nothing. You are lied to by your depraved media. They tell you thing, deceive you."
"When we marched into China your media lambasted us. But we were there to help prevent the spread of communism. We and no one else. But your media lied. They rarely admitted who the communists were, instead, calling them agrarian reformers. They were made the white saints and we the villains."
Pointing to himself he said, "If we are the villains, then what are the communists, who axe a thousand times worse?"
But she was too frightened to answer him. "That's it, cower." He shook his head. There was a stern, pitying look on his face.
"You know only what you are told. And if you are fed lies you can only repeat lies. The truth is always there, yet rarely evident. But what do you understand."
"I speak to a slut, a child of western civilization, one who knows only that she wants nice things, clothes, cars, good times. She does not know that these things do not buy security." "Look at where we are, and look at where you are. While you and your corrupt system spent money on goodies, we armed. Therefore, we are winning, and you are losing."
"While we were developing new designs like the Zero, you wasted your time throwing good money after bad, building the Warhawk. You called us warmongering warlords. We dismissed you with one glance and smiled inside."
"We have seen the future. It is ours. You are done for. You are to be our slaves. You and those like you."
"Now, come serve me, or you will be severely punished." She looked at him, with tears in her eyes, but nevertheless, came. He had broken the stick his way. He was the victor and she was the vanquished.
He stared down at her long, lean, sunburned legs, covered with a light stubble of yellow hairs that looked like peach fuzz. He went to her, strutting almost, took the beer from her hand and put it on his table.
He pointed to a cot, against the near wall. She retreated slowly, hesitantly. Then he took her in his arms. She resisted a moment, then her body went slack. A high color showed in her cheeks.
Her head fell back, she closed her eyes, so as not to look at him. He began to kiss her, pressing his lips feverishly against her chin and then on her mouth. His tongue probed at her shut lips. She decided to respond and let her mouth fall open. He felt her breath, moist and warm against his face.
His heart was beating fast. Horny as hell, he pressed his mouth hard against hers and probed the wet cavern of darkness, with his tongue. His hands wandered down her smooth, slim back and grabbed at her ass, digging fingers into firm chunks of good ass meat. Her flesh was tense and ample. He chortled down deep in his throat. It was good to have this woman. There was no thrill greater than the thrill of ravagement and he was doing his best to make his dreams of ravagement come true.
He pressed his body to hers, his cock hard against her. Then his head dipped down and he began to nibble hard on her nipples. That hurt her. She moaned in pain and tried to pull back.
He pulled her back to him, hard. She knew enough not to do what she had done, again. She stayed, biting her lower lip and wincing as he nibbled hard at her. Then he stopped.
He looked down at her plump mound, covered by a light forest of hairs and said, "Sweet fuck, you are better than at first, even I believed."
He kissed her again, long, slow and sultry. All the while he explored her bare, hot, silken skin. She took it, closing her eyes, hoping the nightmarish assault would be over, so she could return to the dungeon, which even now looked good compared to what she had to go through.
But her dreaded fate was not yet done with. She was at the hands of the man they had called the pervert's pervert back at the Toskikko Barracks outside of Kyoto, when he had started his military career back in 1930.
Her buttocks were alive with ripples of fear. He grabbed the cheeks again and again, digging his fingers into the warm meat. He quaked as the passion seed began to slip inside his brain. Feeling his hardness through the fabric of his pants, she tried to move away, but he made her rub her cunt mound against him.
Then their mouths parted and he said to her, "Kneel and fellate me. I want your tender mouth around me. Do your best."
She dropped to her knees, as he undid his pants and unlimbered his swollen organ. She pressed her face into his crotch, licking and laving him, scenting the man-smell and not liking it. Then she twisted her head, opened her mouth wide and engulfed one of his testicles. The man above her slowly buckled to his knees, gasping under the sensations traveling through his roots, up into his testicles and from there into his quivering dork.
He then tapped her on the shoulder. She rose and lay down on the small cot, spreading her tawny limbs wide so he could see the raging red eye of her cunt.
With unsteady hands he unbuckled his belt and got out of his pants. Then he advanced upon the bed, knelt between her parted loins, pried apart her fleshy labia and began to ensconce himself till he was deeply housed inside her vaginal tunnel. He made her spread as fully as possible as he gained full penetration, then, once he was inside, she was ordered to circle his waist with her legs. He pulled back partially and then rammed home. The friction of her wet membranes, rubbing against his cock brought gasps from him. When he thrust in, she came up to meet him, creating a counterforce that drove him mad.
Scared that he shouldn't be satisfied, she resolved to do as good a job as possible for him, and with her long, nimble fingers raked his sweating back. Her legs pumped up and down around his waist. His cock twitched with lust and soon the sperm rose and in the swift ride from him balls, flooded the tubes leading to his cockhead.
Her quivering cunt contracted and sucked the come from Sakata's cock and squeezed and squeezed as his meat madly pistoned in and out of her.
He drove his cock in all the way to her stomach. Savored the joy of just being in her, then her hips began to pound up against him. Faster and faster he went, deeper and deeper. He was gasping with each thrust as he fucked the living shit out of her.
Sakata's hips were like a pile driver, driving his pile, right up into her cunt. His skin burned with heat and sweat. The smell of his body mixed with the scent of her body and caused the animal within him to thrust even harder.
He pushed his mouth onto hers and his lips sweated her lips. His tongue was molten fire as it flicked and flayed- at hers. Her lips pounded up into him stronger and harder.
The lust within him kept increasing. He picked up her legs now and put them on his shoulders. Now he could really go all the way in.
She felt his body begin to tremble and her legs begin to shake on her shoulders. His body began to shake very violently now and to reach a peak. It snapped like a whip and it was almost like an earthquake occurring inside of him.
The sweat poured from her body. She screamed as his sperm shot into her. A second time he pounded away, not wanting to miss one second of this dream come true.
The spending was hot and hard. His bullets of white come shot from his heaving dick into her clutching, dripping pussy, captive to all his needs and desires.
As he shot his last seed and started to come down from the high heavens, he rocked and rocked more and more slowly. Then he became aware of the world around him, the woman below him, his shrinking cock inside her wet quim.
He grinned, pulled himself from her, and nude from the waist down, went to his table to find a cloth to wipe himself off. Then he went to dress. She lay on the cot, her legs apart, his sap drooling out from her.
Jane Thompson's eyes were glassy, cold. He went to her and gave her the beer. "Sit up. Drink this. When you're finished, I'll give you some cigarettes."
"I think I will call my friends tonight. We will have a party. It should be a good party." Her eyes flashed fear and hate. He caught the emotion, but only smirked. It did not matter what she thought. He was the master. He would decide.
He called his orderly in. "I want you to contact Luzon. Tell them I want Bonaru and Funai here," looking at his watch, he said, "at 0700 hours. Tell them there will be a good meal prepared for them." Smiling at Jane Thompson, he added, "There will be entertainment."
The orderly smiled an understanding smile, and saluted, then left. Sakata went to Jane Thompson. "It's time you were returned to your cell."
She went without any struggle. When they got down there, she was repelled once more by the dank atmosphere, the dead rats, the nurses she knew, hanging from ropes, like sides of beef. Then she realized, that was just what they were, in a way.
Looking around, Sakata said, "I think it would be wise to let your friends down. They can rest up for the good times that will be coming."
He went to the wall hooks and untied the rope holding Horsey Laine up, then he gasped as the heavy pull grew massive, now that her weight was no longer being held up by the wall and the hook in it.
"Grab the rope," he shouted at Jane Thompson, from between clenched teeth. She went and grabbed hold. He let most of the weight fall on her.
She gasped and her stomach muscles felt as they were being pulled out. But she dared not slacken her efforts. She did not want Sakata mad at her and she did not want her friend falling to the ground from a height of six feet and perhaps cracking a few ribs in the process, or even worse, breaking her spine.
Sweat beaded on her forehead, ran down into her eyes, so that she had to close them. Sometimes, she did not close those eyes quickly enough. The burning sensations of the salty sweat could not be ended, by wiping her eyes. She had to hold that rope.
Being a woman, she did not have the needed muscles, so, despite her will and efforts, the rope slowly slid from her hands, letting Horsey Laine down a few inches at a time.
She felt the rope burns, the savage muscle strain pains in her shoulders and back, in her chest, in her throat, now bunched in long ropes of straining muscle and in her reddening face. Horsey Laine was looking back, scared, sweating, swaying, shouting encouragement, but even that did not help.
"Walk towards her, while still holding the rope," Sakata shouted, his face, vicious and wicked. Jane Thompson started. At that moment, he let go of the rope. She felt the heavy weight at the end of it give a jerk. For one second Jane Thompson ran forward; thinking she would lose Horsey Laine.
Then she regained control, while a bemused Sakata, chortled in glee. She had to lean back and then try to use her feet as friction skids. She went a few inches forward, even with her feet flat on the floor. The movement tore some of the skin off her feet. The burning and bleeding flesh hurt, like a thousand needles going through her feet, right up to her knees.
The sudden weight she had to pull back, almost pulled the muscles out of her stomach, or so it felt. She gasped, even feeling her breasts tightening with the tug of the weight on her whole body.
All her muscles had gone taut with the huge weight, from her ankles, on up to the top of her head. She could feel her head and then every vein in her sweating, exhausted body suffering from the pull Moving forward one step at a time, straining terribly, she let Horsey Laine down. The big woman went down a bit too fast towards the end, when Jane Thompson thought she had reached her last and let her down too fast.
She hit the floor with a splat, her plump back and Tat buttocks flattening out underneath her. Jane Thompson let go of the rope and heard the think ling of pulleys, free at last of their great weight, and the ropes unwinding and going slack.
She dropped to the ground, her muscles suddenly beginning to hurt terribly, now that they were free of the painful task. She stared down at her hands, reddened and scarred by the rope burns. They hurt so much she couldn't close them.
Sakata kicked at her. He pointed at the last rope on the wall. "Let that woman down too. I'll go untie my buffalo."
Stunned by the news that her nightmare wasn't yet over and must go on and on without end, she rose, her spirit defeated, the oppressive yoke that much more painful around her neck.
Sakata began untying Horsey and in minutes she found herself free hand and foot, the tingle of blood returning to cold and weak and mottled hands and feet, which were numb and without feeling heretofore.
Jane Thompson, untied the last rope and then held, as it came loose and the whole weight of the last woman fell on her, once more her muscles were strained to the limit.
Because the pain came on top of the pain of her muscles being wrenched before, it was excruciating to a greater degree, then she would never have believed possible.
But instead of being able to let go, she had to hold and hold hard. Marie Smythe looked back at her, fear in her eyes, as she swung to and fro, hoping hard she wouldn't now be dropped.
Jane Thompson felt her burned hands shiver with the pains passing through them and her head begin to pound in sudden pain at the headache she was suffering.
She moved forward slowly, step by step, holding back and feeling the heavy weight tugging her forward. Because she held back with her feet, the friction on the bottoms of her feet, hurt her even more.
Finally, she let herself come forward at a fast run. But it was too much. Marie Smythe was sliding down too fast, screaming, "Lord, lord, you're letting me down so fast. 'Stop, stop it."
Jane Thompson tried holding by digging her legs into the floor and leaning back. It didn't work. She had to sit down and lean backwards, almost lying down and then digging her heels into the floor, to hold Marie Smythe from falling down.
Then, after a few seconds, feeling dizzy,as if she were about to faint, she rose, starting to let Marie Smythe down ever so gently. It took about a minute more to let her hit the stone floor with a light splat.
And then Jane Thompson let go of the rope, looked at her sore hands, that were now numb, almost without feeling and so paralyzed, they couldn't be closed anymore.
She rocked to and fro on the floor, moaning in long, low pains. Purple and green incandescent streaks flew in front of her eyes. And deep down she knew the end was a long way off. Deeper still, there was the certain knowledge that the rabies bites from the rats were flowing, flowing, flowing through her veins and those of her fellow bondage slaves. And soon, if they weren't stopped, they would kill, by eating the brain, as they proliferated through the bloodstream. Madness, and heat, and pain and terror would follow. Screaming and bleeding and an agonizing end, without mercy, surcease from suffering, or a helping hand. And in the end would be only the grave.
Horsey Laine still lay on the floor, without any movement, moaning as her hands became very hot and tingled horribly with the returning circulation.
She gritted her teeth against the pain and closed her eyes so tight she saw incandescent flashes behind them. Then, when the pains were gone, she opened her eyes again, but saw only bright flashes against a deeper darkness. She lay there a minute, till she heard Jane Thompson rocking and moaning and now the high, pained sound of Marie Smythe, whining that her arms hurt and that she couldn't move them.
"Wait a moment, girl, that circulation'll return, then you'll be alright," Horsey said to her. And Marie Smythe fell still, rolling from side to side on the ground, waiting for the pains to go away. But they didn't go away so quickly.
They became worse. The hotness climbed into her once cold hands and then down her wrists to her elbows. Her face became an echo of pain, beaded by hundreds of tiny marbles of sweat and dirt. Then she opened her eyes and her face became serene for the moment. The circulation had returned to her arms and legs. She let out a gust of air. That had been some painful experience. She didn't want to' go through anymore of it.
Sakata looked around the chamber. "I go now. Soon, I shall return. I will take you to wash and then you will have guests."
The sound of his retreating boots was all there was to be heard in the room. The girls were stunned and knew that the hells he had planned for them would not end so very soon.
There would be agony, agony, and more agony.
Sakata stood out in the yard, under a large can, punctured by many holes, surrounded by a stall, open at the bottom and top and took a quick shower, lathering himself well, while an orderly kept pouring on buckets of water to replace that which had run out of the punctured can.
The water came from a large, pool-sized, stone reservoir outside the castle grounds. It had been dug out of solid stone and now held hundreds of thousands of gallons for drinking and washing. Algae and small tadpoles lived in it. So, the water for drinking, was boiled before use.
When Sakata was done, he toweled himself off, put on a new uniform, and left the yard to go back to his room, saluting a few orderlies on the way. They returned the salute.
Once in his room, he called up the chef, now working on a hibachi stove. "How is the meal going?"
"The steaks are wonderful, the potatoes are well. And the mushrooms are excellent, though I would have liked the variety grown in Japan. The tropical mushrooms are larger, but not as tasty."
"We have no choice. This is war. We make do what is around."
"Yessir, I understand. And I have put twenty-four bottles of beer down at the bottom of the cold well so they will be cooled."
"Very good." The chef bowed and left. Sakata sighed, looking around him. Except for some small problems, which could be solved, life was very, very good to him.
He took a cigarette from a large teak box on his table and lit it. Then he smoked awhile. The sound of feet on the stone steps leading from the courtyard to the yard entrance to the chamber, drew his attention.
There was a knock. "Who is it?"
"The rising cocks of the Nipponese Sun."
"Enter." Bonaru and Funai came in laughing.
"You shouldn't joke about such matters."
Bonaru waved that way. "You are too serious Isoroku. Where are the pussies."
Sakata rose. "First we eat, then we go to the pussies."
"I want pussy now," Funai said.
"You will wait. I will get the pussies and have them washed. We will eat while they are washed. Then I will have two more cots brought in and we'll proceed with the lovemaking. This Australian pussy is very grand meat."
Sakata left his friends, saying, "take cigarettes, smoke. Sit down. Get comfortable. The food will soon be ready."
"There is only one food I want," Funai called after him.
Chortling, Sakata quickly descended the steps to the dungeon chamber. The girls heard him coming. They sat still as stone. This was it He came into the room and noticed the lanterns were starting to die down. That didn't matter now. They were going upstairs. He ordered them to stand and walk out into the hall.
They went hesitantly. He stood to the left the door, so that he was behind them. Pointing towards the stairs, he said, "Up!"
They went to the stairs, holding back a little when they began to walk on the bodies of dead rats. He gave Jane Thompson, who was last on line, a lick in the ass. That speeded her up and she soon took those stairs with the best of them.
They walked down a shorter, dark hall, with him right behind, stopped at the door to his chamber and were told to open it and go on in.
As they emerged, Bonaru and Funai rose and bowed. Cigarette smoke jetted from their nostrils, as they spoke, "Is this what you have promised us?"
"Not yet," Sakata said, holding up a hand.
"We will wash them first, making their pussies tender and clean. Then, and only then, will they get ready for your honorable wang."
The other officers laughed, as he led the girls to the door pointing out into the courtyard. Pointing to one of the orderlies, who stood gaping, he said, "Take this Caucasian flesh and have them given showers. See that they wash everything well."
The orderly gave Sakata a knowing grin and told the girls to follow him. He pointed to the shower stall, asked who would be first, and called to one of the thin circle of soldiers, who had gathered around to gape and rub their crotches, to go get water.
Sakata closed the door and went back to his friends. "Soon, my comrades you will learn the true joys of Caucasian flesh. You will satisfy yourself in an orifice you wish. In their tender mouth, in their pink, and soft, and tender fundus, in their wet, pink gash. You will feel and see and know true joys, such as you have never before known."
There was a knock on the inside door. "Enter, son of a Formosan dog."
The chef came in, carrying a heavily laden tray. He bowed and hissed and walked to the table, where the eager, hungry salivating officers waited. Putting his tray down, he began to place dishes in front of each officer.
The dishes were quickly uncovered and the men feasted grandly and hurriedly. The meats were succulent and tender, the rice good, not under or over cooked. The sauces and vegetables were delicious.
The chef lost his smile, bowed, turned and left. "Dog," thought Sakata. "He dares to play games with me. And with my guests also. A chef should serve the meal and leave. He must think this is some restaurant in Yokohama."
They ate and quickly finished with their meal. Then Sakata again called the chef. He came and quickly took away the dishes. He knew what the officers had planned and that they wouldn't like being delayed. Their plans were well known. For hours the whole small island had been abuzz with the news.
Downstairs, in the courtyard, the first girl was in the shower stall, washing herself all over and then having the water trickle quickly down on her head. One Jap stood and kept emptying a pail into the water can, looking down at the jiggling breasts and the pink, live body below him. There was lust in his Nipponese genitals. But he knew it wouldn't be satisfied with these girls. They were for the officers only. There was nothing he could do about that.
Some of the other soldiers peeked into the stall, and asked, in broken English, if the girl needed someone to help wash her down. The girl turned her face from him. She didn't have to take such insolence from a common soldier, who could do her no harm.
When she was done, she stepped from the stall and was handed a towel. Then the next girl went in. And so, in short order, all the girls were washed and clean.
Then they were taken back up to Sakata's chamber by the orderly. The three officers were waiting for them already. The orderly ushered the frightened, now clean girls, in. He looked longingly at the proceedings about to begin and shut the door.
Sakata strutted forward, turning, he looked at Bonaru. "You are my guest. Which pussy do you want?"
"I want the buffalo." Funai pushed him.
"NO, I want the buffalo. Never have I had such a piece of giant flesh."
"I must have this divine buffalo."
"You will never have her," Funai retorted. "This is to be mine."
"I was offered first pick."
"Funai, Bonaru, relax. You will both have her. Let Bonaru go first. Then you can change girls. This isn't the first time or the last time she will be fucked."
Looking at Bonaru, Funai said, "Alright, this time. But I want her next."
"You will have her, friend. I'll not deny you the joy of having such a buffalo."
Then Bonaru led her to a cot in the far corner, smiling, pinching her big behind. She looked at his bullet head, shaved almost completely, the tough face, the hard eyes, and shivered. He grinned. He liked it when his women were afraid of him.
Funai was trying to pick which of the two remaining fuck objects he wanted. Finally, he settled on Jane Thompson and led her to a cot. Bonaru was almost undressed now, chortling deep down in his throat.
Only Marie Smythe remained. Sakata grinned at her. "I began with you and it looks as if I will end with you. Come." He led her to his cot and began to undress quickly, starting with his hard jackboots.
She stood there, looking down at him, far away from everything. She was going to be raped. Yet it was meaningless. It had merged into many other rapes before and after this one. The Japanese captivity was nothing more than an evil tropic nightmare from beginning to end.
She did not know where it would end or if ever there would be an end. It would not be an easy thing for her or the other women to do this day after day, yet this is just what they were being called upon to do. Life was now a meaningless treadmill of depraved sex and pain.
There was a lot of laughing in the far end of the room, all of it coming from Bonaru, who had Horsey Laine on the cot, with her legs spread wide, him on the cot on his knees, peering into her fiercely wet and gleaming sex machine.
Bonaru began to let his hands wander up the firm cheeks of her plentiful ass. He found several points of interest on the way. Then he probed into her muff, just as moist and hot as he had suspected. He let his index finger toy with the lips of her cunt for awhile and then started little circles with his finger. Once inside her cunt, he shoved a second finger in and let both fingers move slowly inside, teasing around and around. He motioned for her to lay all the way back and then stroked a little longer and stronger, around and around.
What seemed to be a look of pain appeared on her face. It was horror at what she was being forced into and not physical pain that was making her do it. Her sighs became audible and her face began to flush.
Bonaru had an idea and told her to go on her hands and knees, so he could fuck her doggy style, with her ass in the air. Now that she was in position for a doggie job, he gazed longingly at her big ass, her winking asshole, her down-hanging, wet gash.
He aimed for her gash-slit and started to insert himself. When he was all the way into "that big, wet hole, he began to ram in and out hard, feeling as if he were fucking a large rhino.
He bashed up into those big hips and that plump, cushiony ass. Because of the discomfort of what he was doing to her, she rolled those wonderful hips and swung that big ass and put many wonderful pressures on his cock.
Very soon Bonaru had to do very little. He just had to let her do all the work, and indeed, told her to. She lowered her front and backed her ass down onto him, then rolled it. Bonaru gasped and put his hands on her hips to steady himself. She didn't need any guiding.
He could feel sweat running down his face and the thick scent of his crotch, her cunt and her ass in the air between them. Her ass was sweating like hell. And no wonder. She was doing one hell of a good job. Faster and faster her hips rolled. Her ass soon looked like a demonic machine, heaving, quickly becoming a blur as it increased in speed.
Faster and faster she swung. Louder and louder Bonaru hissed and gasped. She looked as if she was about to explode, and she did, backing her ass onto Bonaru.
He put his arms around her and began to pound very hard now, gasping loudly. He pumped a few times and exploded into a narrow hole and shot white hot bogs of scum into her.
Funai looked at Jane Thompson. He already had a jar of sheep fat in his hands. She knew what he wanted to do and that he would get it too.
She looked into his strong face. His eyes locked with hers, accepting no refusal. What could she do? For a few moments his fingers probed in her pussy hair.
"Kneel on the cot," he commanded, in short, clipped, arrogant tones. She wanted to protest, but got up on the cot and did as she had commanded. Using both hands, she spread the globular cheeks of her ass.
Funai took a big glob of lubricant and spread it around and then in her fundus. Then he greased up his cock.
"Keep your cheeks spread and don't run away from me," he said, "or you'll feel sorry."
She felt his cock knob against her hole. This was it. He pulled her towards him, his cock found entrance and slowly slipped in. She trembled to think of that oriental carrot spearing her young, tight, asshole. She gritted her teeth and waited for the pain about to come.
Funai brought his hands around and cupped her melon sized tits in his hands. "Move back, slowly," he commanded. She began to follow his orders.
He was past her anal ring now. It felt a little uncomfortable and strange. She had never liked the idea of this thing. He strained a moment, so did she, then her muscles gave up the battle and she could feel the head of his cock move deeper inside of her.
"Ohhhhh, you're hurting me," she said in a quavering voice.
Funai did not answer. Holding tightly onto her tits, he pulled her back onto his cock, she could feel its length probe deeper and deeper into her ass until his thighs brushed against her ass.
"Oh, you're in all the way to the cods," she said in a long suffering voice.
"I knew you could take it," Funai said, satisfied. "Our Japanese women cannot take it. Their assholes are no good. But you western women have bigger and better assholes. Mixed with our smaller oriental cocks you do alright."
Joan Thompson's fleshy cheeks were now pressed tight against his muscular thighs, her whole body seemingly impaled on his firm pole of meat. He began to ease his cock out, slow at first, testing out the strength of the tunnel, so the speak, then shot back in fast, rasping against her sensitive tissues.
"Ohhhhhhh, you're killing meeeeeee."
"Good, I like nothing better than raping a nice Caucasian asshole every once in awhile."
He let one hand wander forward and walk through the bushy hair of her pussy till he found her clitoris. He pressed two fingers against it and played with it in rhythm, as he slowly fucked her asshole. The fucking was great. His cock throbbed with excitement.
Jane Thompson swiveled her bottom as Funai drilled his hard pole into her. She found it uncomfortable and because of that swiveled and wiggled her bottom, making things hotter for Funai.
The throbbing ache of her bruised sphincter was made worse by the quickening rhythm of his penetration, and the rough way his fingers worked her clit. Together they were building her erotic excitement higher and higher. She felt her ass muscles ripple in pain under his assault and around the rigid, pulsating invader.
It was getting to him, her wiggling and pulsations. Her hole was so hot and tight. He was really plowing into her, his rod pounding high into her backside. And she kept shaking her head in horrid pain, unable to speak even, and at most able to just gasp and groan and moan in pain, all of which sounds served only to get him hotter and hotter.
Then, finally, he stiffened, as he reached his peak. Jets of hot gism shot into her asshole. It twitched under the sudden, strange assault.
He pumped on and on, shooting as much of his load, as was possible in her young, convulsing asshole.
"That's it, slut-flesh. Take it, take it all. I want to pour my essence into you. Go on, take more." And he kept on shooting. Ramming harder and harder up into her, until he was exhausted, until his cock was shrinking, until it would come out limp, flaccid, wrinkled, used out.
And that was just what happened. In the end he had to pull but his used up, tired, spent wang, out of her. He rose off the cot and looked down at his now useless meat, covered with shit stains, come, sweat.
He looked at her, still in the same position on the cot, her face pained, her ass in the air, her asshole opened for all the world to look into, her legs quivering under her.
She had trouble rising. He smiled. Eisake Funai's cock could ream an asshole like few other cocks could. And there was still nothing in the world better than the joy of taking a young asshole and fucking it till the girl under him was wild with the jizz shooting into her young guts.
He now strutted naked, towards the door that led to the latrines. It was time to wash his cock and take a piss. On second thought, maybe he should have stayed and had the girl clean his cock and then he could have pissed in her mouth.
Isoroku Sakata had watched his friends fuck their little hearts out. Turning to Marie Smythe, he said, "It is now your turn to being to work on me. I think I would like to kiss you. I want you to respond, as if I am you long lost lover, who you have just met."
She wanted to spit or say something, but she dared not. She swallowed, her repulsion and moved towards him. He took her in his arms, pressing her up against him. He felt her soft tits squash against his naked and almost hairless chest.
She was shocked that he felt so cold, even in such a hot climate. She was further repelled by his smell and the odor of stale beer and tobacco about him.
He pressed his mouth hard to hers and felt her soft, ample lips give under the pressure. He kissed her very hard, twisting his head this way and that. Then he forced her lips apart with his tongue and shoved it hard into her mouth.
He explored the dark, wet, hot cavern of her mouth and then dueled with her tongue, which did not give him much of a game. Then he pulled his mouth from her.
She gasped, praying for air, hating the taste of him. She wanted to get away from here.
What he was forcing her to do was very much like an ass kissing game, but of a very much higher order than this game.
This bordered on a greater sin, than ass kissing, this bordered on cruelty. There had been a man like that once in Australia, a murderer-rapist, whom they'd caught, tried and hung. The press had nicknamed him Babbling Babcock, because he liked to talk a lot, so much so that even his jailers had to frequently tell him to shut up. Even they couldn't get him to, till the rope finally ended his babbling and his cruel streak.
Now Sakata's head dipped and he began to kiss her breasts and even to nibble savagely on her nipples. She moaned and she groaned and she asked for mercy.
But he held her tight, in a grip of steel and while her head shook with the pain, his teeth nibble, nibble, nibbled, until he had brought blood to her lightly ripped flesh.
Then, and only then did he let go. She brought her hands to her damaged tits and rubbed them, moaning in pain at what he had done to her, but afraid to protest, because that might cause her more pain still.
She finally opened her eyes and looked at him. He was staring at her, his face serene, a cold look in his eyes. "Suck me to the point where I bloom in your slatternly mouth."
She rose off the cot, knelt, feeling the cold, hard stones and taking his already hard organ in her hand. Staring up at him with a defiant look, she said, "When this war ends, there will be a war crimes tribunal. Men like you will go before it. And they'll hang you."
He smiled down, quite serene. "You assume your side will win. From the way things are now, that is a remote possibility, very remote. Only losers go before war crimes tribunals. Winners are welcomed home as heroes. Winners take young nurses as slut-slaves and these young nurses suck cock because it is tastier than sucking on a bayonet. And most of all, my tender slut, you have a mouth too big and a talent too small. Suck, suck' so that you may live; suck so that I do not punish more than you already have been."
So she knelt and took that meat in her mouth and started to suck. She bit and nibbled at the thick head. She licked the pre-cum dew from the slit in the head. She licked underneath the head and watched Sakata gasp quickly, his head rise and his throat grow taut, as his knuckles on his knees grew white with the squeezing they were doing.
She took more of him into her large Caucasian mouth. She used her lower teeth to lightly scrape the head and filled her mouth more and more to make the ride and the suck velvety smooth.
She scraped with her under teeth from the head all the way down the shaft, almost to the base, as she took almost all of him into her. Then she scraped from the bottom all the way to the top as she let him out of her mouth.
She was repelled by her conqueror, sick of him. But her conqueror was delighted with her. He was traveling through space because of her wonderfully trained lips. Incandescent flashes of white and yellow passed through his mind. His gasping mouth could barely suck in enough air to replace that which his fevered body was so quickly consuming.
She nibbled now with the tops of her teeth along his heated meat. Then she worked with her upper and lower teeth, the same teeth that had been 97% free of cavities for years, along the upper and lower sections of his yellow-purple dick.
He gasped, he hissed, he threw his head this way and that. He shook his body from side to side. But she didn't lose that wang. She knew how to please cock and how not to lose it when the time came to hold and hold firm.
She started to work his cock towards the back of her throat, so she could massage the top of his cock with her throat muscles, while her teeth and lips worked in unison on that hot and well worked meaty shaft.
His gasping and hissing was massive. He could not take it, but she wasn't giving up yet. She would show him she was one valuable cunt. And cunts like her did not come a dime a dozen and because of that he would have to hold her and value her and never let her be harmed or killed or sent to a far worse than death, though this, in its present form, was pretty close to that.
She let his cock drop out of her mouth and went for those medium sized Asiatic balls, thick with rich loads of Nipponese scum so eager for her.
She took one of his balls into her mouth, closing her lips and teeth as much as possible around him and then began to hum the Australian national anthem.
The sensations on him were murderous. Those vibrations were tremendous. He thought he would faint. He had taken offense at a national anthem of an enemy country being sung, but this was one anthem he gladly listened to and he listened till he thought he would shoot into the air, over her head.
But Marie Smythe was a sharp, and well trained girl. She dropped the ball from her mouth and grabbed that cock stem and swallowed as much as she could of it, before starting a fast, ruthless piston up and down on the head of his cock and the shaft.
Those lips drummed faithfully, at some points hitting a piston speed of eighty strokes per minute, more than one a second. And then his jet came. It was hard and it hit fast.
It flowed out, striking it gobs and pellets of thick, white cream, that struck the back of her throat. Another girl might have choked, might have lost the good bob of the head that kept those lips drumming so faithfully and effectively. But not this girl. She was a registered nurse, trained to bring comfort to the sick in body and mind. She had learned her craft in parking lots, on woodland trails, in old hotels.
And now those lessons were being used to her peak perfection. She took that jizz juice. She took that cream and she swallowed and she took more and she kept right on bobbing. The more she swallowed, the more she got. It was like sucking out a bottomless well.
But no well was too great, too deep for her wonderful and well trained mouth. She met the foe and he was hers. She had him now and would not let go.
At last, he had met his match. With a loud scream, he reached and passed his peak, then passed out, his head slumping onto the cot.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The other men rushed to his aid, pulling her away from him. She rose, letting his cock out of her mouth, his semen and her saliva running out over her faithfully bruised and tired lips.
She stood there and watched them slapping him in the face. Bonaru pointed back to her. "That was some blow she gave him. Do you think maybe he got a heart attack and died?"
Funai pushed air away with his open hand.
"No, that did not happen. The old bastard is still alright. He'll be up and around soon. See, he is breathing."
"Let's get dressed, he'll be okay by then." They went to do so and pointed at her and talked in tones she could not hear. Then Sakata revived and smiled in her direction.
Then he too rose and dressed, but went about it like an old, and very tired man. He had had the essence taken out of him by this scheming white bitch.
But she was good. He would keep her around. He looked at Einaku Funai. "Go take these women down to their cells, then come back up here. Their cells are at the bottom level, the middle chamber. There is no door. They can only come in through the indoor and we can lock it on our side."
Funai nodded his agreement and herded them together and took them downstairs. After the brightness of upstairs this seemed almost a creepy horror. To have to go back and do it over again was a torture. But to leave those men and the things they did to them was an even greater pleasure, even if it meant coming to a place like this.
They were filled with conflicting ideas as they were ordered down into the pit, so to speak. Funai came up behind Horsey Laine and kept pinching her big, wallowing buttocks. This made her walk in a mincing manner, which made Funai more lustful and more eager to push her down and fuck her and now. But he was needed upstairs. So he led the girls into their chamber, over the dead rat bodies, which had started to smell in the tropic atmosphere and ordered them to stay there.
Then he left, thinking of how the girls had made horrible sounds and jumped about going through the areas where dead rats lay. They still stepped on some in the dark, followed by shocked runs and pushing and bumping into each other.
When he got upstairs, Sakata was in deep conversation with Bonaru.
"What have I missed?" Funai asked, taking a seat around the table.
"We' are discussing what to do with the girls," Sakata told him. "They have been bitten by the rats and surely now have rabies." Funai grabbed at his cock.
"Don't worry. You can't get rabies that way. Fear not. You won't lose it." Bonaru laughed. Sakata brought his hand down in a sharp, chopping motion.
"Now isn't the time for that. The girls must receive rabies inoculations. I'll call the mainland. They'll send over an army doctor. It can be done tonight."
Bonaru and Funai looked him full in the face, sweat running down their own faces. There were sick smiles on their faces. It was now dark outside. Sakata had put on the kerosene lamps and in the flickering lights the faces of all three men had taken on a satanic cast.
"Can we stay and watch?" Funai asked.
Sakata nodded up and down, but once. They licked their lips nervously. He rose, leaving them and went to the table where the radio was. He called the mainland, spoke briefly, asked for a doctor and explained his reasons for needing one.
He was told he would be called back. He now opened the top two buttons on his tunic. For it grew exceedingly hot in the room. The tropic heat was settling indoors at the same time that it grew cooler outside.
He smoked as he paced. Neither of the men looked at him. Each drummed nervously on the tabletop. Then the radio-telephone rang. They all turned. Sakata quickly went and answered the phone. He nodded a few times and said, "The sooner, the better. Yes sir, thank you."
"I explained about our field whore situation and these women. They understood and soon will be here."
Sakata hung up as Funai asked, "Who is coming?"
"A Doctor Heikishu. He will administer the shots. I will need your services. We will get boiling water. Then clean cloths. Then, we will use this table." He pointed at the one they had eaten from. "The women will have to be tied down hand and foot."
Bonaru visibly trembled. "I'm glad it's not me. The rabies series are the worst shots someone can get. And with those big steel needles too."
"How many shots?" Funai asked Sakata.
"Forty. In the stomach. It's the only place that can take so many. It swells up like a balloon. They won't be able to eat for days or move around much."
"Get Marie Smythe. We'll work on her first." He nodded to Funai, who went down into the dungeon, using his flashlight this time. When he entered the dark chamber, the women, who had been huddling together for safety, for looked at him with fear.
"Marie Smythe, step out."
"What do you want, more sex?"
"Don't ask so many questions. Come with me. You'll see."
Turning to say goodbye to the others, she went out and along the corridor, following the illumination of his flashlight beam, which he pointed ahead of her.
She made sure to step over the dead rats and then went up the stairs. He shone the light on her ass for a moment. "What a pity," he thought. "Soon, she'll be in agony. Not that I mind that much, but it's a waste of such a good piece of meat."
They brought her out into the upstairs room. She looked around and had to shield her eyes. Being in the dark the brightness, what there was of it, hurt her eyes.
Funai studied her. She had been clean when she had gone down there, but even a short stay in that dungeon had made her a bit filthy.
She looked around. "Who am I to satisfy now?"
"No one," Sakata answered, looking at her gravely. Looking at the now cleared table, he pointed with his chin. "Go lie on that table, face up."
"But why?"
"Do not ask questions, bitch. Do it." Seeing that he'd lost his temper and that she could pay dearly for that, she went and did as asked.
He snapped his fingers. "Go get the ropes Bonaru."
She started to sit up. He pushed her back down. Her back hit the warm, wooden, torturous table surface and she felt the greasy sweatiness of his hand on her.
Bonaru brought the ropes. Her arms were tied to the legs of the table, so hard and firmly, that she thought their sockets would lose them. Her legs were also tied that firmly.
By the time they were done, there came a knock on the door. The doctor they had called for was here. They opened up. A tall, thin man in a brown Army uniform, with a cap, rank insignia, a large black bag, a hard, oval face, high cheek bones, a small Hitler mustache, a pair of cold brown eyes, gray eyebrows, gray hair, close cropped and a hard air about him, entered.
He nodded with his head. "That the girl?"
"Yes, there are three. She will be first," Sakata told him. He nodded, put down his bag and said, "The hot water ready, the clothes?"
"Yessir."
"Bring a chair near the table." He put his bag down on it, then started to examine Marie Smythe, being a nurse she quickly understood, this was for the rabies.
Her heart started beating very fast. Her .head swam. "I don't think we'll have to check her blood or that of the rats down there. Most rats in this area have rabies. We can take it she has them."
An orderly walked in with the hot water. "Bring another chair for the hot water basin." This was done.
He opened his bag and quickly spilled ten steel needles, the large kind into the boiling water, then took out a large calibrated glass syringe.
He said, "Bring the lamps nearer on chairs." That too was done. The halo of light around the table was blinding. The others in the room hovered around the edges like jungle moths.
Marie Smythe looked at the doctor. He did not look at her. To him she was merely a specimen, an example of an alien and despised race. He was helping her only because he had been requested to. Here was a good chance that if he saw her lying in a ditch as he rode by his vehicle would not stop to pick her up. She would be left for the wild jungle dogs.
He took a long tweezer and picked the first needle out of the boiling water and fixed it onto the end of the syringe, looking at it carefully, to see that it was on well.
"No, no," she muttered weakly. No one listened to her. The doctor now took up a bottle with a milky specimen and a rubber top. He plunged the needle in, turned it over and brought back the plunger. When he had a large amount, he smiled, took the needle out, put the bottle down and then took a large swab of cotton and told Sakata to hold the needle.
The doctor poured lots of alcohol over the swab. He then began to wash her belly clean. The sharp, acrid odor of raw alcohol in the close air, brought pure fright into Marie Smythe's eyes.
She tried to sit up. "Nnoooooo!" One of the orderlies grabbed her hair and pulled her head down. She gasped and looked in fear at the faces of the fascinated Japanese. The doctor had not bothered even to say one word.
She was just a specimen, nothing more. He put the cotton swab down in another tray. Now he took the needle from Sakata. He held it up, pressed the plunger to push out air. There was a thin spray of milky liquid in the air for one half second.
Then the doctor turned to her, looking for one second in her eyes, then quickly turning his gaze away, as if he had seen some vestige of humanity, a fact at variance with his beliefs.
He spoke in rapid Japanese for the others to hold her. "Nooooo," she gasped, in painful fear. The doctor grabbed a chunk of belly above her belly button and aimed.
He stuck the needle in and pushed down. She could feel it go down, down, down. The pain, it was like a small, sharp knife cutting into her, pushing the tissues aside.
She screamed, and passed out into total blackness.
