Victimized Captive
by Maynard Jackson 


FOREWORD 

The war in Algiers between the French and the Arabs can probably never be 
fully understood by a non-combatant. It is doubtful considering the web of 
intrigue and terror and horror woven over that part of the world that even 
the combatants understood exactly what was happening. 

Perhaps each individual was fighting for his particular illusion alone-it is 
hard to say. There were Arabs against Arabs, Arabs against French, and even 
French against French. And then there were just the victims who knew nothing 
of the horror of torture and unjust brutality-until the war caught them! 

This is the story of an American girl caught between two forces, equally 
cruel, equally savage. To them, she was a sexual thing to be tormented and 
used and even killed and discarded. 

But violence does not always inspire just fear alone. Pain can become a 
perversion indistinguishable from sexual pleasure in certain people. Sex can 
be the end-all, even if the price is life itself. 

There is no simple explanation of sex just as there is no simple explanation 
of violence or cruelty. This book is about both. 

-THE PUBLISHER 


ONE 

They were fucking Marcia Andrus in the cunt and ass. These Arab terrorists 
who had raided the American Aid Office in Algiers last night were raping her 
puss and asshole, driving her into a fucking frenzy. And she hated it. 

And loved it. 

The stink of horseflesh and unwashed hairy male flesh assailed her nostrils, 
made her want to gag. But the pile driving thrusts left her breathless, 
unable to do more than grunt weakly. 

The heat of their bodies sizzled her dripping breasts, quivering belly, 
pulsating cunt. The one fucking her ass was not as large as the one screwing 
her cunt. The thinner cock burrowed deeper. She never knew her ass could 
stretch so wide, take so much. The tiny curled hole expanded, accepting the 
long thin shaft. The cockhead drove through her stomach, nearly halving her 
intestines. 

She should feel pain. But what she felt was a hot column that broke finally 
into shards of warmth which coursed along every nerve. It was like having a 
warm massage through her asshole and through her belly and chest. 

And yet she hated being degraded, especially by these swarthy, dark-haired, 
brown-eyed men with their flashing teeth and sinewy arms and legs. 

They were Berber tribesmen and the word "barbarian" was derived from their 
savage culture. 

They lived up to the name. Marcia couldn't think about what they had done to 
her boss and the all male staff without getting sick. What they were doing 
to her now was a gentle loving compared to what had happened back in 
Algiers. 

Both men quickened the pace, frantic to blow off. The fervid thrusting shut 
off all Marcia's thoughts. 

They fucked deeper, igniting fires all through her cunt and ass. Her clit 
pulsed, then tightened with orgasm. She heaved her pelvis, slamming her 
plump belly into the man at her cunt. Her meaty solid buttocks quivered and 
closed against the slamming rear assault. 

She hated herself for yielding to these brutes. She cursed loudly, calling 
them every filthy word she could think of. But what she was cursing was the 
sordid lust that swelled through her entire being, making her respond to 
these stinking camel merchants, these dirt poor farmers. 

These coarse, virile bastards. 

That was what they were, all of a sudden. To be despised as only a college 
educated WASP from the Midwest, a trained civil servant could despise 
something beneath her station in life. 

Yet she was a healthy woman, twenty years old, who had all the appetites of 
a woman who only a few years before had been a child, a virgin. She had the 
strong desire and curiosity. She wanted to do everything, experience 
everything that life had to offer. 

And these flashing eyed, hard muscled animals were showing her the dark side 
of lust. And she couldn't resist. 

Faster, deeper they plunged. Her belly and thighs quivered and tensed. Her 
large, solid, stiff-nippled tits were swollen and sore. Blood rushed to the 
peaks, made them ache pleasantly. Orgasm smoldered in her cunt. The juice 
spilled over her thighs and turned the pale blonde cunt hair dark. She 
moaned, tensed as she felt their cum in her puss and ass. The scalding fluid 
shot into her anus and she flinched as her ass filled with jelly. At the 
same time her snatch was inundated with pumping clots that swelled her cunt, 
spilled from her snatch and over her thighs, drenching the blanket beneath 
her sideways positioned body. Beneath the blanket the sand grated and rubbed 
her sore flesh. 

More cum exploded, bloating both her ass and her snatch and she didn't think 
she could take any more in her body without bursting. And even as the 
torrent intensified she wanted more, as much as they had in their glands. 
She wanted the hot wet kiss of cum to fill every pore, stretch every muscle. 

Her clitoris swelled, and burst. Her climax mingled with theirs; her sighs, 
her gasps, her moans rose above theirs; her body strained against them and 
she thrashed against their hard muscled prison which held her tightly. 

She was wild now, forgetting everything save the pistoning assault ripping 
her apart. She couldn't stop, couldn't control, the sensations that fired 
her muscles, made them tense, fight the clenched flesh column that pinioned 
her front and back. 

She fucked with them, matching their rapid jagged up and down, in and out 
thrashings. 

"Uh...uh...." she whined. 

The one in front giggled. The foul breath spilling over her spine erupted 
into bursting laughter. 

Yes, yon bastards. Hate me. Degrade me. Belittle me. Only don't stop fucking 
me. 

They were moving steadily faster, increasing the pace as their gonads 
swelled. She shivered all over. Her big titties danced. Her belly and full 
dewlapped buttocks shuddered and rippled. 

Both men growled, jammed deeper one last time and blew the rest of their cum 
into her snatch and up her ass. She tightened up. Her spine rippled and she 
lunged against them. They pressed her tighter as they softened and spilled 
the rest of their orgasm. Then they withdrew; their organs, not yet soft, 
slapped her ass cheeks and thighs. 

They lay a few inches from her back and belly. She shut her eyes, tried to 
force down and control the riot of passion still strong in her cunt. 

Her clitoris tingled. Hot needles assailed her vagina and her whole body was 
alive. She wanted more fucking. She had to have more cock. She was disgusted 
and frightened, too, at her violent reaction. But she still had to get more 
prick. She didn't want her assailants to know of her lust. She 
absentmindedly let her hand touch the man at her belly. He flinched, but his 
cock remained soft. She moved her ass slowly. The cock that scraped her 
buttocks was soft, too. 

She wasn't going to get any fucking from these two. 

She slowly got to her knees. They watched her dangling breasts. A spasm 
rippled her plump stomach; the sweat gushed down her cleavage, dripped into 
her navel and spattered the slickened dark blonde cunt hair. They watched 
but didn't respond. Their eyes had a far away, satiated look to them. They 
were either thinking of something else or were high on drugs. Either way 
they didn't stop her retreat. 

"I have to go to the bathroom," she croaked. 

They didn't reply. Their black eyes followed her out of the tent. 

It was dusk. The golden sun seemed to .drop into the Mediterranean and 
explode, sending tiny daggers of light across the ocean's surface. A cold 
wind came up turning the arid heat of the day into waves of frost. 

She shivered, clutched her naked breasts, stepped gingerly over the harsh 
sand floor. The jizz clotted her ass walls and cunt and their fetid stink 
clung to her weary flesh. Even so, Marcia felt alive, every nerve taut, 
responding. 

They were only a few miles outside modern day Algiers, yet she was 
surrounded by a culture thousands of years old. The ocean in front of her 
and the miles of sand all around had borne witness to these nomads and their 
struggle for thousands of years. And it seemed as though time had stood 
still that this was the dawn of the Berber civilization, and not November 
first, nineteen fifty-four. 

On her right, the horses whinnied. To the left, behind a dune, was the rest 
of the tribe, sitting before a camp fire, enjoying the last of their evening 
meal while the women of the tribe set up the tents. A sentry leaned on his 
rifle, peering through heavy lidded eyes at the route they had taken to get 
from Algiers to this isolated place. The Sahara desert was an unbroken flat 
plain which, once the moon was out, would expose the slightest movement. To 
the east was Tunesia and on the west Morocco. Both were three hundred miles 
away. These marauders had struck Algiers, destroyed all the radio stations 
and burned the military posts, and slaughtered their occupants. It would be 
days before word reached Tunesia and Morocco. By the time the French 
retaliated she could be dead. 

She stepped daintily over the still warm sand, hugging herself, not thinking 
about the future, thinking only of the heightening lust in her belly, the 
quickening passion that strained her clitoris. 

"Monsieur," she said, not knowing Arabic, or the Berber dialect. 

The sentry turned sharply. The lilting French enunciation brought flames to 
his eyes, darkened his burnished complexion. He knew no English. He 
communicated his anger by clenched fists, a thin lipped grimace. 

She dropped her arms, stepped closer. In the distant glow of the camp fire 
he saw her heavy firm tits, rounded belly and thighs. The thick fist of cunt 
hair was a dark hand across Marcia's puckered labia. Shadows danced across 
her supple flesh. As she breathed deeply her breasts moved and the shadows 
slid along the deep cleavage that spilled over the rising and falling belly 
and disappeared in the curled sweet smelling thicket. 

His cock tented the loose fitting pants the natives called serouals, and he 
said in his native tongue: "The caid will rend my flesh if I desert this 
post." 

But his cock strained and his balls tingled and he knew he had to fuck this 
voluptuous willing foreigner. He carefully placed the French-made rifle on 
the ground so as not to arouse his comrades a few yards away. He took her 
behind the dune near the tent which was placed away from the camp and used 
as a command post. He spread his burnous on the ground. The wool garment 
whispered against the sand. He knelt, took her by the wrist and tugged 
gently. She knelt before him and they embraced. His fingers dug into 
Marcia's spine, slipped slowly down her back, the nails scraping her 
sweating muscles. As the fingers cupped her muscular buttocks she gasped, 
pressed against him, dug her hands into his shoulders. He cradled, patted 
then squeezed her ripe ass muscles. His fingertips pulled back her butt 
cheeks and the cool night wind seeped into the narrow crease, cracking the 
cum crust that spread into her anus. 

Rills of excitement daggered her cunt, strained her tit peaks, made her 
dizzy. And she gasped: "For the sake of Allah, get naked." 

"Allah, yes, yes, Allah," he gasped, as he unbuttoned his gandurah and 
unzipped the seroual, and kicked off his sandals. 

Naked, they pressed together, still on their knees. Then they toppled on 
their sides, still embracing. His slim, hard chest crushed her heaving tits. 
His narrow hips flattened her belly and his thick gristled cock swelled 
against her belly's lower slope. She spread her legs, shaking as the 
cockhead burrowed through the forest of pubic hair and stuck her labia. They 
tongue kissed and shuddered and rocked gently. He spread back the cunt lips. 
His fingers massaged the outer labia and made the juices flow and when he 
was certain she was oiled and ready, he moved her onto her back and settled 
between her legs. She spread wider, to accept his weight and tensed when the 
massive cock pushed the labia aside, and advanced along the musky muscular 
corridor. As he penetrated and she adjusted to the heavy weight she relaxed 
and let his rugged virile advance make the juices in her cunt boil and the 
wet muscles surrounding her clitoris smolder. 

"Ouch," she winced as the cock bit deeper, touching all the way to the back 
of her vagina. 

Then he was in, spreading wide her vagina. He was embedded in her 
bitter-sweet smelling cunt to the shaft's base and his balls slapped the 
lower slope of her cunt. 

Marcia flung her legs around his hips, her heels drumming his buttocks as 
they locked together, motionless for a moment while only the shaft shifted 
and struck her clitoris, touching off a sudden unexpected orgasm. 

"Oh," she gasped as her cum spurted. 

Then he began to rock gently and piston masterfully, rubbing the cunt walls 
with an ever increasing movement. An inferno was building in her cunt and 
her clitoris filled and. as his cock daggered faster, the gland flung her 
orgasm in tiny gouts...the gouts becoming large clots as he thrashed her 
cunt with harder, deeper thrusts. 

They grunted, gasped. Her mouth opened and her tongue flicked his lower lip 
and he opened his mouth and their tongues locked as they rocked together, 
their bodies tightly clenched, their muscles a solid humid flesh fist. 

She closed her cunt on the burrowing pressure, trapping the pounding cock in 
her humid depths. Her tits throbbed and she grabbed his hands and threw them 
on the heaving muscles. He clenched the big globes, squeezing the bloated 
nipples, crushing them in his palms. 

He reared back, breaking the clench of her arms, and plunged ahead, setting 
off her orgasm. She squeezed her legs tighter, holding closer to her 
spurting gland. Her pelvis jerked right then left and her belly moved up and 
down, wetly sliding along his taut, muscled abdomen. He tightened his hold 
on her titties, pinching them and sending daggers of sensation all through 
her tits, belly and through her cunt, further exciting the cauldron in her 
pussy. 

He pummeled her cunt and she cried out and submitted to his almost rabid 
assault. His passion rose and matched hers and she lay back, supine beneath 
his weight, smiling, grunting, twisting back and forth beneath him. She 
gripped his ribs with her hands but as his sweat erupted, her fingers slid 
off and her arms dropped to the sand, her fingers outstretched, then gripped 
the corners of the tattered burnous. 

Her belly bounced as she jerked her hips up and into the Arab's downward 
thrust. They slapped hips and stomach in a rapid, smooth rhythm. Each time 
that massive cock split her cunt, crushed her clitoris, she climaxed. 

She whimpered, then as he stepped up the pace, she whipped her pelvis side 
to side and her breath burst from her lungs in fitful explosions and the 
sound was a growl...a cry of cresting lust that was guttural and came from 
the very depths of her passion crazed soul. The torment in her cunt was 
suddenly unleashed in a jarring climax. Marcia reared back, lifting her 
hips, then thrust forward to meet his fast attack. He was buried in her cunt 
and the huge veined cock bruised the wet, sensitive innards, causing more 
eruptions, greater, soul wrenching orgasms. She was wet, limp, sobbing. Her 
breath burst in more shallow eruptions. Sweat blinded her eyes and she saw 
her lover in a shadowy mist. Her belly rumbled and her cunt was sore. Her 
tits throbbed. The nipples were distended and they pulsed with blood and 
swelled to the kiss of the night wind. 

His strong hands cupped her buttocks. He lifted her ass to bring her closer 
to his stiff prick. He plunged deeper. She whipped her pelvis in a frenzied 
counter attack. Her cunt muscles gripped his thrusting shaft and she 
clutched him in a hot wet humid flesh fist. Her clitoris exploded, filled 
again and then erupted, over and over, as his cock struck the tingling 
spurting clit. 

Marcia groaned and the sound racked her chest and kicked through her belly. 
She was exhausted but her clitoris continued to explode, as if working on 
its own. She couldn't control her glands. They responded to the Arab's 
attack and each time the cunt muscles were struck she thought she would 
faint. But she didn't. And she couldn't stop the burgeoning, insatiable 
lust. She had to have this cock, had to be fucked until the terrible male 
weapon tore her apart. 

And if it did, she knew she would still want more. For, suddenly, since the 
blood letting last night, she had to be abused, had to be fucked with a wild 
abandon that would have terrified her before. Even as she thought about more 
fucking, her fear rose. As the fear increased so did her desire. 

"Fuck me harder, faster," she babbled, throwing her head from side to side. 

The Arab understood the massive spasms, the pleading, the jagged sobs. He 
drilled in short jabs concentrating the driving assault on her clitoris. He 
kept squeezing her tits and when he felt his orgasm erupt he pulled part way 
out and bent and kissed her mouth. Their tongues locked even as his shaft 
sliced her clitoris. 

She threw her arms and legs around him, holding him tighter. Her embrace 
allowed only his cock to move. He pounded her cunt. She responded with a 
driving assault, matching each of his blows with a ferocity that she never 
knew she was capable of. 

Faster and faster they attacked each other. Her orgasms came in a steady 
unbroken stream and when he climaxed his jizz spurted across her thighs, her 
matted cunt thicket and her lower belly. 

Marcia held him to her heaving, spewing cunt, trapping his slowly softening 
stick to her erupting clitoris. She kept him close, praying distantly for 
more of his prick, even though she felt him shrivel and retreat. 

He was so good, she thought. 

"Please...no...." she cried as he disengaged himself. 

Jizz dropped onto her belly and Marcia scraped the clots off her sweaty 
flesh and shoved her thumb in her mouth, making sucking sounds, hoping he 
would get the message. 

And, with a soft laugh, he showed her that he did. 

She giggled as he propped both knees against her temples and, straddling her 
head, he pushed his small, soft cock between her pursed lips. Her tongue 
flicked jizz off the cockhead and he gasped and began to harden. As he got 
bigger she wrapped her tongue around the shaft and pulled him closer. His 
cock flattened her tongue and her jaws closed on the massive burgeoning 
shaft. She teethed the rippling veins, palm patted the hot balls, ran 
fingertips over his ass, into the crease between the cheeks. To help him 
along, she stroked the inner ass walls, finally fingering the anus. Her 
finger lingered there and he shivered and his cock got harder. His cockhead 
was at the back of her throat. She gagged on the sour spongy tip. The 
disgust she felt earlier evaporated. What she felt now was a powerful lust 
that, even now, was unsatisfied. 

Maybe if she tasted the cum of this man, a man that had treated her almost 
lovingly, maybe then she would experience satisfaction. 

She plunged her index finger into his ass, penetrating the anus, striking 
the prostate. He yelped and the prostate jerked and his cum burst forth. 

He showered her tongue and the back of her throat. Growling, she swallowed 
rapidly but couldn't keep up with his outpouring. He dumped what seemed like 
gallons of the sour jelly down her throat and her adam's apple bobbed as she 
tried to take it all. But she wasn't able to. The opaque substance spilled 
over her lips, stuck to the corners of her mouth, dribbled down her chin and 
lodged in the hollow of her throat. She kept drinking his lust, teething the 
veins, patting his ass, then plunging that finger into his asshole, making 
him cum some more. 

Steadily, though, the climax diminished and his cock softened. He pulled 
away, then, fully satisfied, leaving her with a dim ache in her cunt. 

She held his hands to her tits. He kept squeezing the stiff peaks, the full 
globes. She brushed one hand away and directed the finger to her cunt. But 
the Arab was tired, disinterested now so, before he left her side, she 
shoved her finger in her cunt and jabbed her clitoris. Even as it spilled 
seed she felt unfulfilled. Masturbation was never her pleasure, not even 
when she was a school kid. 

"Shit." Marcia pulled her finger out. "That's enough," she told her lover as 
she sat up. "Maybe the rape brothers in the tent are ready." 

The Arab nodded and smiled, not understanding. 

She kissed him, then gently pushed him away. He got to his feet, helped her 
to a sitting position and shook the sand off his burnous. As they turned the 
sentry sucked in his breath. 

A tall, broad shouldered man, in burnous, gandurah and seroual stood beside 
the dune, staring at them. The distant flames showed a neatly trimmed Van 
Dyke beard and hazel eyes that sparkled. A scabbard rested on his hip. The 
handle of the small curved sword poked from the burnous's folds. His hand 
rested on the handle as he approached the now terrified sentry. 

"Ah, my friend, Ahmed Mohand Madj, you will never become a Chorfa, a member 
of the saintly family of Cherifian." The sentry's knees buckled but he 
remained in place, even when the bearded man gripped the sentry's wrist. 
"Give me your hand, Ahmed Mohand Madj." The hand came up, fingers extended. 
The man with the beard pulled the wrist straight and let go. Ahmed's arm was 
rigid. The firelight showed moving shadows, coming closer, showed the rigid 
set of Ahmed's face, showed the excitement and horror that turned Marcia 
Andrus's pretty face into an ugly mask of lust. She remembered the carnage 
at the American Aid legation and her clitoris filled and her thighs 
tightened and her titties rose and fell rapidly. The wind swirled around 
them, ruffling the burnouses, kicking sand across her prone body. Elbows 
propped beneath her to support her weight, she watched, wide eyed and 
fascinated. 

"Ahmed, dear friend, I must use you for an example," the bearded man intoned 
as the others drew closer. "You could have remained with me, followed me 
into Algiers and clear across the continent. Instead you will die here. 
Now." 

The sword came up, paused; Ahmed ignored the blade's passage. His eyes were 
fixed on the bearded man's face. Their eyes were unblinking as the blade 
came down. 

Marcia Andrus cried as the blade severed bone, cartilage. There was the 
muted, sickening snap and then the hushed pumping of blood. A woman in the 
group screamed and for an instant Marcia thought it was she, screaming. 

She bit her lip to keep from reacting outwardly. Inside, her glands rioted. 
The spurting blood, the slowly sagging body of her Arab lover sent shivers 
across her cunt, sparking her orgasm. 

The hushed sucking sound of her eruption caught the bearded man's attention. 
He stepped over his fallen comrade and came over to where she lay. 

"Very nice," he said in perfect English. He finished the cursory 
examination. "A trifle plump perhaps. But that is because you've never 
worked like our women work. A week in the sun, tending the horses, will trim 
some of that fat. And I'm sure we can devise some night work for you, too, 
my white American friend." He snapped his fingers and the two men that had 
raped her left the front of the tent where they had been standing, and came 
over to him. He whispered something in Arabic and they took hold of her 
arms, jerked her to her feet. One of the men, the stronger of the two, 
circled her waist with his strong arm and hoisted her, carried her toward 
the tent. Sudden fear penetrated the shock and she cried out, kicked, 
struggled. But to no avail. 

He carried her into the tent, where a lamp burned dimly, and dropped her on 
the blanket. 

"We will talk," the bearded man said as he undid his burnous. "Later." 

He was gorgeous, she thought. All muscle, with lots of hair on his chest and 
belly and arms. He was thick muscled, like a weight lifter. And the thickest 
muscle of all was between his legs. His cock was huge, like a weight 
lifter's arm, and hairy. The cock head glowed and the veins strained in the 
sheath of skin. 

She drew back, gasping, when he came to her and she didn't know why she was 
frightened. The sight of a man this rugged, this mean looking seemed to 
excite her more than anything she had experienced since the massacre in the 
office last night. 

He scowled, then smirked as he reached for the curved bladed sword. She knew 
then what she had only sensed. 

"Please...don't...." she begged in a small soft voice. 

He slapped the flat of the blade against his calf. "A white woman begging? 
How refreshing." He didn't move and that encouraged her. 

"I'll do anything for you, be anything to you. Only, please, don't hurt me." 

A short harsh laugh. Then: "What will you do?" 

"Let me show you." Her heart thumped. She was dizzy and the sound of her 
rasping breathing made her head hurt. 

"My name is Ben El Said. Say it, white bitch." 

"Ben El Said," she whimpered. "Now, tell me what you will do, and say my 
name." 

"I will fuck you, Ben El Said. I will suck you off, Ben El Said." His cock 
hardened. "I will let you fuck my ass, Ben El Said." The cock-head glowed. 
"I will fuck your soldiers, Ben El Said." He was breathing harder. "I will 
lick their shit, Ben El Said." He was tense. His cock was straight out. Her 
voice broke and her body was sweat slick. "I will fuck your animals, Ben El 
Said." She was quivering all over and her cunt pulsed wildly. "I will let 
your women piss in my eyes, Ben El Said." They were both shaking. His hands 
clenched at his sides and her tits lifted to the breeze that blew between 
the tent flaps. "I will suck off your women, Ben El Said, and let them whip 
my ass....." 

"Enough," he screamed, throwing himself on her belly, pinning her beneath 
his hard muscled body. 

She opened her pussy to his advancing thrust. He drove his cock into her 
yielding cunt in a single fluid motion. The pain was a bright, white column 
of steel tearing into her belly. She threw her shoulders back and spread 
wider to take all of his prick. Her cunt, bruised and dripping with lust 
oil, nevertheless had difficulty taking all of his shaft in that one driving 
assault. She cried out, lay, spread-eagled with only his cock touching her 
flesh. 

Ben El Said didn't mind not touching her tits. All he wanted was her cunt. 
He concentrated his awesome strength on that yielding drenched hole. He 
pounded mercilessly, bruising her sensitive muscles, making them ache, then 
throb pleasurably. 

Again, Marcia Andrus thought of last night-the carnage excited her passion 
and she enjoyed this brutal assault. Let him fuck her to death, she didn't 
mind the outcome of this rape. All she wanted was that big cock in her cunt, 
shredding her insides with his powerful thrust. 

"Fuck me...fuck me good, Ben El Said," she babbled in a hushed rasp. The 
voice was from the bowels of hell itself and the tone shocked, frightened 
her. 

"Yes, I'll fuck you good. Then you will find out what we Berbers do to our 
enemies." 

The threat fell against her brain like a drop of water on an inferno. All 
she knew, or cared about, was his big cock, fucking her with a brutal 
abandon. The deeper he thrust, the faster he bruised her cunt, the more 
excited she became. 

She churned her hips, lifted and slammed her belly against him. Her ass 
slapped the floor, raising sand clouds. The rough floor burned her buttocks. 
His savage fucking tore her cunt walls. She didn't mind the pain. For the 
pleasure this violent stallion was giving her far outweighed the pain he was 
causing. 

Marcia twisted from side to side, quicker now that she felt his spurts. She 
tore at his cock, forcing him to plunge deeper and faster. He grunted, 
showered her with his sweat, and he fucked her harder, keeping up with her 
feverish pistoning. 

She wanted his hands on her tits but didn't ask. This brute would 
most-likely cut them off, out of spite. 

Moaning, whimpering, growling and cursing in alternate breaths, Marcia 
grabbed her tits and squeezed. When Ben El Said saw what she was doing he 
pulled her hands away and slapped the massive, heaving breasts, sending 
sharp pleasure-pain reverberations all the way to her skull. 

The Arab caid slammed harder. He pulled back to his cockhead then drove all 
the way up to his shaft's base. Each assault drove her wild. It was like 
being fucked with a cock three feet long and a half yard wide. The 
blistering advance left her gasping, shaking, recoiling. She felt the 
vibrations along her spine and up to her shoulders and neck. Each thrust 
threatened to rend her guts, but didn't and she was left, in that instant 
when he retreated, with a seed-spilling clitoris. 

Each orgasm, more powerful than the last, left her breathless, unable to 
take any more of his hard fucking. But each time he slammed into her pussy, 
igniting her clit, she begged for more, had to have more of this brute. And 
he complied with her hoarse wild-eyed bleating. 

He tore at her cunt, spurting his cum and still hard he fucked her harder, 
turning this orgy into a non stop fucking session. She couldn't believe a 
man could be this potent, could keep his cock this hard, could fuck her so 
hard, so good without stopping. And yet he was doing just that. He was also 
driving her insane with his great fucking. 

This cock crazy urge that had been dormant all her life escaped and would 
make Marcia fuck herself to death. And Marcia was unable to control this 
demon that was about to take hold of her soul and mind. And, most important 
of all, her body. 

Ben El Said lunged forward, grunted, reamed her cunt with his cock, then 
exploded the last of orgasm, and pulled out, still hard and dripping. She 
grabbed his shaft, sat up to touch the burning stick with her tongue. He let 
her lick the jizz and ordered her to swallow the tongue load which she did, 
willingly. The sounds she made as she consumed the orgasm was the same sound 
a pig makes at the trough: wet lipped, nasal, vulgar. She didn't mind the 
sound, didn't give a shit how she sounded. The only thing on her mind was 
the taste, the sight of this big evil man. This man that was still hard, 
still glaring at her, still smiling in his evil way. She had to have him 
again and whatever he demanded of her, whatever torture he inflicted on her 
voluptuous body she would gladly accept, as long as he fucked her cunt, her 
ass, her mouth. 

And, as she contemplated further abuse, she recalled last night and what 
these Berber brutes had inflicted on her co-workers. She saw again the naked 
men lined up along one wall by the window which overlooked the main street 
and the Hotel Oasis. She saw the machine guns hoisted, the safeties 
unsnapped, and heard the click of the weapons against the scabbards as each 
man braced his weapon against his hip. The naked men whimpered, cried, 
begged. The enemy without a flicker of remorse, opened fire. The sound was 
ear splitting; Marcia nearly passed out. As the smoke cleared and the stench 
of death swirled, the enemy, swords out, went to the fallen bodies, some 
still alive, and severed the cocks and balls of the dead and dying. 

Marcia, pinned against the opposite wall and witness to this carnage, felt 
the heat explode in her pussy. She whimpered, fought her captors, fought the 
overwhelming lust in her belly. Her two captors saw her reaction, smiled and 
nodded. Once at the camp they took her into the command center, stripped her 
naked and threw her on the ground. She didn't struggle, didn't cry out, 
showed no reaction as they positioned her on her side and fucked her ass and 
cunt. 

That assault had been the prelude to this delicious attack. Each encounter 
was greater than the last and she wondered, as she suckled Ben El Said, what 
delight awaited her. 

TWO 

"Have you finished?" 

Ben El Said's voice was muffled against the wet sucking sounds she made as 
she suckled his softening cock. 

He roughly pushed her away. She fell on her butt and elbows; she sucked in 
her breath, expectant. From the cruel way he looked, she was in for more 
Berber style lust-letting. 

"Yes," she said softly, eyes lowered, shoulders down, her tits rising and 
falling evenly, a river of sweat zigzagging down her belly, making the 
blonde pubic bush sparkle. 

"You have a very nice tongue. Now show me what else you can do with it. By 
telling me what you Americans and the French pigs have concocted for us." 

She took a deep breath and began: "My government has given the French enough 
money to aide De Gaulle's Fourth Republic in Indo China and here, in 
Algeria. The American Aid Mission, which you raided last night, was formed 
to make sure the money was properly used." 

"And what else? To spy on the Front de Liberation Nationale?" 

"I was only a clerk typist. If there was any spying going on, I didn't know 
about it." 

Ben El Said was about to speak, then stopped, went over to a camp chair near 
the lamp, and sat. He watched her for a few moments then stood, dressed and 
motioned for her to follow him out. 

The cold wind bit her sweating flesh and she shivered. 

"Fear, my young American slave." 

"That, and the cold." 

"We will warm you up." He held her wrist, dragged her to the camp fire. 

The women of the tribe were finished with their meal and sat and gossiped in 
small groups. When their caid approached they stopped talking, watched him 
and the girl and waited for their chief to speak. 

Ben El Said flung her to the sand. She fell on her face, her long blonde 
hair inches from the crackling embers. She lay still, feeling the warmth of 
the sand soothe her belly and titties. She opened her legs, cupped sand and 
forced the warm grains to her cunt. The heat eased the ache in her snatch. 

The caid said something to the women in Arabic and the women began to move 
and shuffle about. 

Ben El Said pulled her to her feet and turned her toward the women. They 
stood in two columns, facing each other across a space four feet wide. There 
were thirty of them and the line stretched from six feet from the campfire 
to the tents. Each woman held a handful of thick reeds three feet long. They 
tensed, leered, as the caid said: 

"Your ass is so big, American. We must trim some of that fat." 

Here it comes, she thought. More agony! More of what she was beginning to 
like. As long as there was a cock waiting inside one of those tents. 

"March between those two columns," he ordered. 

He pushed her. She stumbled, recovered and started down that long even line. 
Whack! 

The first reed whip slapped across her buttocks, making the big dewlapped 
cheeks shiver. Sweat appeared and shimmered on the alabaster smoothness. 
Then a second slap and a red uneven welt appeared. 

The reverberations wiggled through her ass and sparked her cunt and the lust 
oil flowed. She danced on tip toes, trying to avoid the assault but not 
trying too hard. As each whip kissed her big ass her cheeks bounced and 
danced and the flame in her pussy ignited and became an inferno of lust that 
caused the clitoris to sing and throb. Marcia Andrus cried out, covered her 
throbbing titties, crushed the massive spheres against her arms to assuage 
the pulsing, tingling in her nipples. She rubbed her tits with her palms, 
finally, and wiggled between the laughing, chortling, cursing Arab women. 
They slammed their whips against her bobbing, goose fleshed ass cheeks and 
she yelped and rubbed her legs together, trying to bring herself off. And 
they kept whipping her ass and taunting her and spitting at her and still 
she relished this encounter even when her body was covered with their saliva 
and her ass was smeared with welts, and the ache in her cunt became too much 
to bear. And she flung herself on the ground and writhed there at their feet 
and spread back her labia and begged for someone to fuck her, ease the 
pounding of lust that tortured her cunt. And the women snarled at her and 
raised their whips and slammed the reeds across her big tits and that only 
aroused her more. 

"Please," she bawled. "Someone. Please fuck me." 

Marcia Andrus writhed and tore her ass on the sand and jammed her thumb in 
her cunt and ground the nail against the clitoris and her orgasm flowed but 
the satisfaction was only minor; the massive ache in her cunt was yet to be 
assuaged. 

She cried again for relief, but all she got was the steady assault of the 
reeds on her titties and belly and she thrashed about, rolling between their 
legs, bumping their feet and they kicked at her and occasionally the toe of 
a sandal struck her side but she felt no pain there; the only pain was the 
iron column that pressed against her clitoris...the pain that only a massive 
brutal cock could ease. 

Finally, Ben El Said ordered the women to stop. They stepped aside to permit 
him access to his captive. 

"You're a pretty sight," he smirked. 

Her belly and tits were crisscrossed with welts. The flesh stung from the 
assault and from her sweat. Her skin was red from the beating and the 
exertion of her bizarre sex dance. Her pussy still ached; the pressure 
intensified as he stood over her fallen body, looming like a colossus, 
virile, cruel. 

He was talking but the pressure in her ears muffled the words. Marcia 
grabbed his ankle, rolled against his leg and, spreading her legs, wrenched 
the curved sword from the scabbard. He grabbed for the weapon, thinking she 
was about to kill herself, then he stopped when he saw what she was about to 
do. 

Gingerly reversing the sword's curved tip she gripped the handle and shoved 
the end of the handle furthest from the blade into her cunt. There was no 
preliminary, no wasted time, for her cunt was boiling over, her clitoris 
strained with lust, her cunt pulsed with an unsatisfied passion. 

While Ben El Said stood back and watched, smirking, she fucked quickly, 
forcing the handle in and out, wrenching her pelvis to bring her clit 
against the ribbed ebony handle. 

The fire light glowed along the sharp edge, flicking beads of light across 
the encampment, flickering diamonds of silver across the aged, wrinkled, 
burnished faces of the women who stood by their tents, silently watching, 
stoic, unmoving as this tortured thing writhed in the sand, lifting her ass, 
shaking her hips, sobbing, her tits rising and falling, her skin sweat 
slick-ened and pale in the glow of the fire. 

The men of the tribe left their pipes and beds and joined the women, 
watching their caid's captive in torment. They began to grunt amongst 
themselves, their eyes never leaving the voluptuous woman. 

She was cumming now. They all felt her relief as her orgasm popped across 
her rippling thighs. They slowly advanced, wary of their Caid and what he 
would want them to do. 

Marcia Andrus dropped the sword, panting heavily. She turned teary eyes 
toward Ben El Said. He touched his chin with a finger, a gesture of deep 
thought. His brow furrowed, then straightened out as he came to a 
conclusion. 

"Back there, in the tent, you made many claims, expressed many desires. Now 
we shall see if what you said was truth, or chin music." He turned to his 
soldiers. "Drop your serouals, and line up." 

There was laughter and a solitary sob. Marcia flinched, fearful. And, at the 
same time, a rising heat consumed her crotch. 

THREE 

They smelled so sour; they tasted salty and she detected the aroma of horse 
flesh. They were huge men, even the old ones had pricks that any young 
healthy American male would be proud to have. 

Huge and demanding. They gripped her head, yanked her long blonde hair if 
she didn't suck them like they wanted. But she was so tired. Her knees were 
raw.' Her jaw was sore. Her throat ached and her mouth burned. Yet they 
didn't let her go. They forced her down the long line, then back again. 

She choked and coughed and gagged and they taunted her, pinched her tits, 
nudged her plump stomach with their feet, slapped her face when she 
hesitated before taking the next man. 

She sucked them all twice. Then she collapsed at their feet, her back to the 
camp fire. The glow was so soothing. And they didn't touch her. Maybe now 
they would let her sleep. 

"Get up." It was Ben El Said barking the command. "I said get up!" 

He kicked her butt and she whimpered and scampered to her feet. She 
trembled. He advanced, holding the curved bladed sword at his side. Now was 
the end, she thought. He had had his fun and now she was to die. Slowly, she 
knew. That was how these savages were. She looked at herself, to keep from 
seeing the inevitable. Her body was cum crusted, covered with welts and the 
bites of the sand fleas. Sand stuck to her tits and belly and ass. She felt 
the coarse grains in her asshole and up her cunt. 

She was despicable. A willing victim, she helped at her degradation. Not 
worthy to live and yet she must live. She must know another sun rise, 
another fuck. 

Marcia Andrus backed away from Ben El Said. He laughed, snapped his fingers 
and someone stopped her retreat. She didn't struggle; she was too tired for 
that. 

"Down on your knees." The caid pointed to the sand with the sword's tip. 

Without a thought or a word she knelt. He motioned and a soldier grabbed her 
wrists, tied them behind her back and stepped away. The fire's waning light 
threw a pale glow across her blood engorged nipples; they shone darkly like 
a forest pool, touched with misted light. Her cunt was a deep dark crevice 
ex-huding a tantalizing aroma. 

Marcia was exhausted, a willing slave and she played that part to the hilt. 
Eyes downcast, supple flesh goose bumped she waited patiently, 
unquestioningly for her master to do whatever he chose. 

Ben El Said approached slowly, prolonging her fate, relishing the mood he 
was the master of. 

When he reached her he raised the blade and touched one thrusting nipple. 

"Oh," she gasped, and flinched. 

Goose flesh erupted on the heavy alabaster spheres. He traced the purplish 
nipple-thumb with the sword tip. The flesh tip thickened; more goose flesh 
exploded. Marcia winced and whimpered and her shoulders trembled. The spasms 
made her breasts dance, slap together softly, made her belly quiver, brought 
the lust oil across her labia and down to her thighs. 

The caid chuckled. The sword tip massaged the aureole. A thin barely 
discernable line formed where the blade touched. The caid was a master at 
this; he used enough pressure to excite without tearing the flesh. But after 
tracing each thrusting nipple he became bored. He wanted blood and she 
didn't struggle as he exerted more pressure, turning the thin lines into 
tiny red strings. 

Marcia Andrus whimpered as the passion needled her nipples, aureoles and the 
sagging tips of her breasts. More excitement raged in her cunt. But she 
mustn't let on, must not let him know that what he was doing was driving her 
into paroxysms of ecstasy. 

"Uh, uh," she growled as the blade cleaved an imaginary line down her 
stomach, traced the wide "O" of her navel. 

She couldn't hold back her desire now. The raging upheaval in her pussy was 
too great to ignore or hide. He was laughing at her, but no matter. Let him 
ridicule her frustrated desire, let him prolong the agony before he thrust 
this brutal weapon into her bowels. Waiting only prolonged and intensified 
her need, made the ultimate release that much more sweet. 

"On your back," he snapped and she fell on her trussed wrists. Her bound 
arms formed a pillow at the base of her spine. Ben El Said lightly shaved 
her supple thighs. She bowed her mouth, let breath escape. Her tits lolled 
and her belly quaked with anticipation. Showers of lust lubricant spattered 
her thighs, and the flat edge of the sword. The awesomeness of this weapon, 
the remembrance of what it had done to Ahmed Mohand Madj, the sentry, sent 
torrents of desire along the nerves of her snatch. 

Ben El Said bellowed an order and a flunky quickly obeyed. She saw, in the 
flunky's hand, a long ebony column, smooth sided, with a leather belt at the 
weapon's base. 

"Bring the eunuch," the caid ordered and a fat, balding Arab, wearing a 
tattered French officer's uniform appeared. "This gross human being saved my 
life once," the caid told her. "Now you be good to him, show him your 
gratitude for prolonging your life. For if it were not for him and his 
needs, you would be dog meat right now." 

The eunuch, giggling, shucked his trousers, exposed his shriveled loins to 
the tribe. There was no reaction, no verbal taunting for one of their own 
who was cursed with eternal torment. 

The eunuch strapped on the dildo, hunkered between her legs. His foul sour 
stink made her gag. The caid came over, glaring. 

"No, you don't," he rasped when she began to retch. He brandished the sword 
beneath her nose. The sentry's blood was crusted on the edge and gave off a 
bitter stink. "Open your mouth." She did and the caid placed the dulled flat 
edge of the sword horizontally across her lower teeth. She choked; the neck 
veins stood out. But she didn't dare move her head. "That'll choke off your 
gagging." 

The caid stepped back and the eunuch continued his pitiful pummeling. She 
bent her knees, flexed her cunt muscles, squeezed out enough oil to provide 
easy passage for this thrusting inanimate invader. 

The bitter stink of sun baked, blood crusted steel lay heavily on her 
tongue. The weapon's pressure weighted her jaw and made her mouth ache. The 
sickening fumes swirled around her mouth and made her dizzy. 

She was going to vomit. She felt the clots at the back of her throat. But 
then the fat eunuch pushed and pulled with greater speed and the pressure 
sawing at her snatch awakened embers that, in turn coalesced and became an 
inferno, and she was no longer aware of the blade in her mouth. 

She bucked her hips and whipped side to side and the fat gross foul smelling 
half-man thrashed into her pussy, giggling, mumbling Arabic endearments 
which she could only guess at by the intonation with which they were spoken. 

Marcia Andrus let the fat man rail her in-sides without allowing her enemy, 
her tormentor to see her reaction. This dreadful evil assault awakened in 
her pussy a bizarre need...a need for more of what she had already been 
subjected to. She couldn't wait for the eunuch to finish whatever it was he 
had to do to achieve satisfaction. Then, perhaps, Ben El Said would find the 
one thing that would give her total satisfaction. 

The eunuch plunged away, stiffened, bleated and spattered his lips with 
sweat, then pulled away, breathing heavily. The ebony shaft dripped. Her 
orgasm slickened the terrible weapon. 

Ben El Said unstrapped the dildo, gently pushed the eunuch aside and turned 
her over on her face, pushing her mouth into the sand. Stepping on her lower 
spine he exerted enough pressure to force her ass cheeks open but not enough 
to injure the vertebrae. 

Marcia whimpered, gasped on the sand that caked her lips and tongue tip, and 
shuddered as the cold wind whipped across her back. 

The caid kept one foot on her back, and, bending, he worked the dildo's tip 
between her cheeks. She yelped as the force bit along her anal corridor. 

"Now don't you shit, my white skinned slave," and he chortled, hoping she 
would further humiliate herself by shitting. 

White hot shafts of light drilled her ass, probed closer and closer to her 
puckered hole. The Arab's cock had stretched the tiny opening, but not 
enough to permit this awful weapon access to her intestines. 

Ben El Said moved the weapon slowly but steadily along the narrow corridor. 
Her buttocks were goose fleshed. The sloping muscles were tense and the tiny 
white curls of hair that sprouted from her cunt and along the underside to 
the lower ass slope were drenched in the orgasm that was still wet and 
clinging to the dildo. 

The caid ignored her whimpering, her shuddering. He laughed and pushed the 
weapon further, deeper into the dark dank recesses of her stomach. 

"Ow...oh...Christ...." she yelped, her back rippling. 

Marcia's pelvis jerked. Her fingers were clenched. The tendons stood out on 
her forearms. Her shoulders pulled back as the weight, forcing through her 
ass, folded her body inward, against this intrusion. She gagged, then gasped 
as the dildo choked off her breath and filled her stomach with its horrible 
force and strength. 

The heat of the intrusion coated whatever pain she would be experiencing if 
it hadn't been for the fatigue and the desire in her guts. The heat of this 
slickened weapon turned the orgasm clots into steaming snake nests, 
uncoiling and spreading, soothing, massaging like a lover...a friend...and 
she sighed deeply and accepted her lover. 

The dildo pumped in short, sticky, sawing movements, making sucking sounds 
as it violated her bowels. She felt her bowels churn and surge and spatter 
the dildo, but she didn't care. This was another humiliation and was no 
worse than what had already happened. What snaked through her crotch...the 
worm of lust...was already attacking her clitoris, tickling her cunt, 
exciting the passion lurking in her soul. 

Marcia Andrus locked her cheeks around this intrusion, let the weight drill 
her guts, excite and trigger her orgasm and she came, with a sigh and a gasp 
and a deep exhalation of relief. 

Laughing, Ben El Said pulled the thing out brutally and flicked the waste on 
her back. The clots thumped her back and the smell rose like flies around 
filth. 

There was noise around her, but she was exhausted, about to faint, fully 
complete. She had done it all and had survived and had achieved more orgasms 
in these last hours than she had in her whole adult life. This was an erotic 
nightmare but one that satisfied and she wondered if this, indeed, had been 
a dream that she would awaken from, frustrated, angry at herself for 
allowing bizarre daydreams to become a three dimensional reality in her 
night dreams. 

But she knew that this was no dream, no nightmare to awaken from. This was 
the reality and if she should awaken in an hour, or a day, what would be 
lurking there, waiting for her to regain consciousness? 

As she passed out, a desire to know what was on the other side of 
consciousness nudged her. made her try to stay awake. Fatigue won out; she 
fainted. 

FOUR 

The sun on her back, the flies buzzing at her nose, ass and cunt brought her 
out of a fitful sleep. A horse whinnied. A dog barked. A few feet away a 
kettle bubbled. Feet shuffled over the gritty sand. A shadow fell across her 
back, creating a block of coolness. 

She turned her head toward the presence. The caid loomed over her backside. 

"We're going now." He nudged her ribs. She winced. "Are you awake?" 

"Yes," she whispered, her mouth and tongue dry and sour. 

"When he is through with you, I'll have my fun." The caid slapped her ass 
with the flat side of the sword and her buttocks jiggled and she winced and 
cried out. "You like that, you bitch. Yes, you do. And what we've done will 
only be a prelude to what is in store when we return here. After he is 
finished." 

The "he" that Ben El Said spoke of was Mustapha Ben Boulaid. commander of 
Wilaya One-the military province based in the Aures region. Boulaid was in 
Algiers, conducting the gutting of the town, the last rites of this modern 
community before fleeing to his mountain refuge. 

The leader was holding court in the top floor suite of the Hotel Oasis, 
across from the bombed and burned out building which had served as the 
headquarters for the American Aid Mission. 

Marcia Andrus refused to look at the hollowed shell as she was led from the 
caravan, into the hotel and up to the penthouse. 

Mustapha Ben Boulaid looked like a prosperous gentleman farmer or rug 
merchant. His burnous as white silk; the purple silk gandurah had silver 
buttons; the baggy white duck serouals were lightly creased as was the 
fashion; the European sandals were new and spotlessly white. He smoked a 
long Havana cigar and gestured with it when Ben El Said entered the suite. 

"I see the girl is still alive, Ben El Said. Alive but in need of 
fumigation. The bath is over there, girl. Leave that sack you're wearing in 
the hall." He raised his eyebrows and nodded at the caid when she returned, 
naked, ignoring both men as she walked sensuously toward the bathroom. Her 
breasts slapped softly. Her belly and ass jiggled provocatively. She was 
numb. Not the laughter and obscene words that accompanied her into the 
bathroom, nor the hot water that gushed over her tired body from the shower 
tap, awakened her. The abuse she had been subjected to tore a part of her 
soul, her mind away. She was brainwashed, turned into a walking, fucking 
machine. 

She washed, dried and came out, rubbing the towel over her shoulder and 
neck. 

"Now that is much, much better," Mustapha Ben Boulaid exclaimed. "We will 
feed you. Miss. Then we will talk." 

"I've told Ben El Said all that I know." 

"So he has said. Eat. Then we will talk." 

He asked questions and she gave the same answers she had given the caid. 
Satisfied that Marcia was only a clerk flunky, Mustapha Ben Boulaid began 
undressing. 

"I've had only a few white women, mostly cold-blooded European cunt. I've 
never experienced an American." 

"She's quite good," the caid said, at the door of the suite. 

"Don't go, friend. I have a game that only three can play." 

As they stripped, they talked about Marcia as though she wasn't there. like 
she was an object, without mind, soul or heart. And, she dimly supposed, 
that was what she was. Her lack of self respect told her that much. Her cunt 
was all she was interested in right then. As she saw the two healthy, naked 
men approach, and take her by the arms and fondle her tits and nuzzle her 
blonde hair her glands popped like corn in hot grease. 

That's all she was. A damn fucking machine. 

They backed her into the bedroom, tickling her tits with their lips and 
teeth. Their hands fondled her belly and their whispered intentions made her 
juices flow. 

Their cocks brushed her legs and they were wheezing when they saw how 
excited she was. Her tits heaved. Her cleavage and belly were sweat slick. 
Her cunt exuded lust oil and that bitter musky aroma of lust. 

Marcia Andrus was ready to be fucked. Whatever they wanted to do to her was 
all right. No matter that the battleground was silk sheeted and 
four-postered instead of the fetid, burning desert sands. What mattered was 
the cock, the fuck. And both these men had big cocks...big enough to screw 
her until her exhausted body cried out for them to stop. 

Mustapha Ben Boulaid was hung bigger, heavier than Ben El Said. He was also 
hornier. "Give me this randy piece, Ben El Said." 

"She is yours." The caid retreated to a corner chair, and watched, a faint 
cold smile turning his otherwise handsome face ugly. 

Ben Boulaid, without preliminaries, pushed 

Marcia and when she landed in bed on her back, the leader climbed on top, 
settled between her legs and, with his thumbs, spread back her labia. She 
was wet between her legs and breathing hard. Ben Boulaid smiled, muttered 
his approval before pushing the head of his cock between the puckered lips. 

"Ugh," she grunted as the massive organ bit her cavity. 

"Too tight?" He chuckled, pressed harder, entering her in a single movement. 

She gasped, tensed then relaxed as the big stick filled her cunt and the 
slow rocking motion soothed her frantic passion. The big Arab was damn good. 
He knew exactly how to fuck a passionate woman. Slowly, at first, then as 
her lust mounted, he moved faster. Each pass of the shaft bruised her 
clitoris and three passes later her first climax spurted. He moved faster 
now, with shorter, jabbing thrusts. like Marcia, the Arab was breathing 
harder, the pumping of his cock penetrated deeper and as he fucked he 
reached the back of her snatch and the feeling of having so much rugged man 
in her pussy was dizzying, made Marcia gasp and whine and rock against him, 
then thrash as he stepped up the pace. 

He was making her go off again, without even touching her titties. As she 
climaxed he grabbed her swollen goose-fleshed knockers and pinched the 
nipples, sending needle sharp pain into the sensitive caps. 

Marcia beat the bed with her heels, making her thighs dance. He palmed her 
tits, growled obscenities, pumped with a harsher force until she thought her 
cunt muscles would bleed. 

But as the lust-letting increased and his attack grew more ferocious, her 
desire heightened and the orgasms that followed each pass of his cock were 
greater, deeper. She thought each eruption would be the last but he didn't 
cum, didn't grow soft. He wasn't going to let her rest and that realization 
sent rills of anticipation along her cunt, forcing out more passion juice, 
making her clitoris tingle and twitch and fill to bursting. 

The Arab pounded her pussy and she felt the first spurts of his orgasm. 
Marcia bounced against his belly, slid along the knotted muscles, watching 
him stroke for stroke. 

Faster and faster now they churned, locked together in this gasping, 
grunting, fervid embrace. She moaned and tossed her head from side to side 
and the Arab pounded her cunt, relishing the pain he was causing her body. 
But she felt no pain, only an excruciating pleasure that tore her insides, 
enflamed her cunt, made her pussy tingle and her clitoris ache pleasurably. 
This big, burnished heavily hung stud was driving her into a frenzy and she 
was helpless to fight her reaction. For she hated to show her enemy the 
pleasure he was imparting. 

But she was powerless to hide how she felt. 

"Oh...OOOhhhh...you gorgeous, fucking wonder---OH...OOOOHHHH....." 

Mustapha Ben Boulaid gloated, snapped his jaws and poured his cum into her 
burning, still hungry cunt. He slammed two more times then pulled out, still 
hard, and as he started for the other side of the bed she grabbed his prick, 
pulled him close and turned over on her side, her big butt cheeks jiggling. 

"Fuck me back there. I'm clean. And I hurt so for a gorgeous cock up my 
ass." 

She couldn't believe that she was saying those words. The thought was 
revolting. Yet she spoke, and the thought excited her further. 

"The bitch is very nice in the ass," the caid Wild. "I can attest to that." 

"She is so willing to please. An American trait, I suppose." Ben Boulaid 
crowded against her ass, massaging her heavy ass. 

"Anything you want...anything...let me give it to you...anything...." She 
babbled, over and over, wincing when he opened her ass and probed with his 
index finger. 

"She is tight and clean and she smells so sweet." The leader laughed, choked 
with anticipation. 

"Stop talking you big cock...ugh...." She gurgled as he salivaed his cock 
head and, holding her on her side, pushed in and up. His fingers dug into 
her hip. His cockhead burrowed into the steamy sweet crease. 

Sweet pain...sweet...sweet pain...delicious ecstasy...oh...this was so 
wonderful...her whole body recoiled, then accepted this massive intrusion. 
He was fucking her in the cruelest way possible and the brutal degradation 
only intensified her longing, her pleasure. She had never felt a man this 
big in her ass and as he neared the puckered hole she giggled with 
anticipation. That ramrod could only tear her and. at the same time, touch 
off her climax. Her orgasm was already building, intensifying, threatening 
to make her faint. 

Jesus, don't let me faint. Not now. Not while this huge, wonderful 
experience was happening. Rob me of life, but don't rob me of this awful 
pleasure! 

The Arab reached her hole. He was an inch from being all the way in her 
smoldering ass. to his shaft's base. She screamed, frantic now. He drilled 
into the anus. She grabbed her titties, squeezed, twisted the large purple 
ringed nipples, pinched the sensitive caps, clenched her thighs, trapping 
her pulsing clitoris. 

"Fuck me...fuck me...." 

The phrase was a jagged nail scraping across a blackboard. The words tore 
her head as the cock tore her bowels. She screamed the phrases, repeating 
them faster and faster until they were an unbroken chant. And he slammed 
into her ass, keeping time with her chanting, Using his cock as the 
metronome. 

Marcia rubbed her legs together, in rhythm with his savage attack. But she 
couldn't keep up with him. He was fucking faster now and she felt the first 
tickling spurts of pre-cum way up in her intestines. He was going to blow 
off before she had her orgasm! 

Her frustrated screams reached the corner of the room. Ben El Said fell on 
the bed, in front of her heaving belly, and he seized her titties, chewed 
them brutally, while he moved down to gain greater access to her dripping 
cunt. 

Marcia babbled his name, threw her head back and with eyes shut tight, she 
opened as wide as she could to give the caid all the room he needed. 

The caid worked his cockhead into the puckered crease, twisting left and 
right, to separate the tightly packed muscles. She screamed and raked his 
shoulders as he bit down hard on her nipples, slapping her ribs while he 
chewed the thrusting tips. His cock entered, slowly, then faster. He was 
half way in, the cockhead rubbing her gland, as Mustapha Ben Boulaid 
climaxed. 

"EEEEEE...! " She jerked and gagged as hot cum shot into her belly, choking 
off her breath. 

She writhed between the two studs, feeling the twin burning shafts tear her 
eager, willing flesh. Marcia wanted more...she couldn't find the word to 
give concrete meaning to this perverse desire snaking through her brain but 
just beyond the light of comprehension. 

What they were doing was pleasure; but there was a greater pleasure if only 
she could find the right word to trigger their desires. 

"Aaaahhhhh...." She reared back, jerked her pelvis as both men climaxed. 

They fell away, panting, leaving her with this nagging passion that was only 
a distant, nebulous echo, spinning off what had just been perpetrated on her 
body. 

Ben El Said stumbled toward the bathroom. As he passed the window he glanced 
out, tensed. "The French. They are entering the lobby." 

An instant later footsteps pounded down the hall and stopped outside the 
penthouse door. 

"I know a way out," Mustapha Ben Boulaid whispered. "Grab the clothes. And 
the slut. She will be our hostage." 

FIVE 

The basement of the hotel was dark, smelled of the humidity, trapped rodent 
odors, and the furniture stored there. Cobwebs covered the dozen or so 
bricks that had been welded together to form a door in the side of the wall. 

Ben Boulaid eased the panel shut. "We're safe here for as long as the enemy 
remains." He looked around, saw an old trunk. It was standing on end and was 
as tall as Marcia but twice as deep. The metal reinforcements were dusty and 
the sides were cracked. The thick leather exterior remained together, save 
for the minute cracks. 

"We have time before the French decide to look elsewhere for us," Ben 
Boulaid opened the trunk; the hinges squeaked. "Have you ever been locked 
inside one of these?" he asked Marcia. 

She trembled. This was more like what she wanted. But it still didn't have a 
name. "No," she said in a child's voice. 

"Then you will never know the real meaning of "togetherness" until you have 
been made love to in one of these." 

Her clitoris tingled, swelled. The gooseflesh exploded. Her breasts hardened 
and the nipples blushed darkly in the shafts of light that seeped through 
the cracks in the wall. 

Yes, this was more to her liking. The dirt, the stench, the bizarre 
companions. This was what had been missing all her life. It took the cruel 
Sahara sun to start her thoughts spinning, and the dank basement of this 
hotel to slow them down, and lock on the one of two twists needed to satisfy 
her passion. 

like before she was the willing participant to her own debasement. She 
helped tip the heavy trunk and when it lay on its back she helped open the 
lid. The interior was dusty and smelled of old linen and towels. It was 
empty. 

"I have a neat twist for you, precious," the caid smirked. "May I 
borrow...." 

Ben El Said gestured at the object Ben Boulaid held. The leader handed over 
a woman's high heeled leather shoe which had been left on the chair he was 
sitting on. 

"Get in," the caid ordered. "Lie on your face." 

Feeling the heat explode in her snatch, but not allowing the sweet torment 
to show, Marcia climbed into the trunk, stretched out and tightened her ass 
in anticipation. 

Ben El Said whispered: "If I only had wires...current...ah, I'd make you 
dance naked." 

The words stung, created images that made her weak with fear...and something 
more. The same overpowering urge to feel this different almost unholy 
passion made her glands dance. 

Marcia whimpered as he moved on the other side of the trunk. She heard the 
tightly muscled arm come down, slicing air as the weapon rapidly approached. 
She tensed, cried out as the heel struck her buttock, sending shocks through 
her heavy cheek. Waves inundated her cunt, daggered her snatch, tore at her 
gland. 

"Does she like it, Ben El Said?" 

"I think she does. But we shall see." 

Marcia Andrus was too weak to respond. All she could do was lay still, let 
them beat her into submission. She had already submitted to this strange 
kinky routine. Only she must not let them know, if she could possibly keep 
it secret. If they knew they might withdraw and that would be too horrible 
to even think about. 

Whack! 

The heel came down again, harder, the greater force jarring her spine, 
starting her juices flowing. The smooth round spike branded her ass and she 
begged silently for the heel's kiss on her other cheek. 

Again the heel came down and she whimpered and her hips jerked, a reflex 
action caused by the blow. Her insides were in turmoil now for she was 
thinking about the electrodes that Ben El Said had hinted at. She could 
almost feel them biting, chewing, tearing her titties, her clitoris, her 
anus. And even the smarting heel could only impart a mild sensation compared 
with the hundreds of volts of electricity surging through her writhing 
tormented flesh. 

"Burn me!" 

The scream came out before she could stop it. As the plea shattered against 
the dank walls of the basement she knew that the ultimate passion, the 
ultimate release would be found on the curled twisted wires of some inhuman 
torture machine. 

The heel pounded her big ass. The cheeks bounced and danced and slapped 
together and the circled red marks covered her hind muscles. Marcia again 
jerked her pelvis and her climax began, but it took the thought of the 
electricity to touch off the powerful eruption. 

Marcia wanted the electrodes. But she was afraid, too. And her fear 
heightened her need. Death, she suddenly thought, would provide the ultimate 
orgasm, the final fuck that would send her off into a peaceful oblivion. But 
that, too. frightened her. For some reason she could not fathom, the fear of 
death was mild compared with the fear of what lay ahead of her at the hands 
of these two brutes. 

"Get your fat ass out of there," one of them ordered. 

Marcia was too numb to discern the voice's owner. She complied, meekly, not 
looking at either of them, feeling their body heat, their rising cocks, 
their harsh breathing and their sweat and foul breath. The stench of the 
basement cloaked them, added that last ingredient to this nightmare orgy. 

"What do you want me to do?" Her words came through the cotton that coated 
her tongue. 

"We want you to...." Mustapha Ben Boulaid thought a moment, then said: "We 
want you to dance. Slowly. Quietly so we won't awaken the Frenchmen." 

"I need music." 

"Clap your hands softly, Ben El Said." 

The man slowly clapped his hands. Marcia didn't know what she was doing. She 
lifted her feet, dancing lightly across the damp cold cement; her tits 
bounced and her ass ground against the sore anal and cunt tissues. The 
discomfort added a certain amount of pleasure to what she was doing and she 
discovered, as she stepped closer to Ben Boulaid, that her glands were 
surging and her pussy lips were slick with juice and her thighs were taut 
and the fires in her belly and snatch were gathering strength and that, in a 
few seconds, she would have to be fucked again. 

Shadows danced around her shoulders as she shattered columns of faint sun 
light. She lifted and lowered her legs in time with the hand clapping. The 
lust was building. She did a slow turn and when her back faced him he swung 
his arm. The heel gouged her ass. 

"Ooooooo...." 

The exclamation shuddered in her dry throat. 

Marcia moved closer to him, hoping to feel his warmth against her hungry 
flesh. He backed away, taunting her with snarling curses, swinging his arm 
to keep her away. But the blows that snapped her ass, then her belly and 
finally her tits only increased her longing, her need for his cock. 

"The bitch is insatiable," Ben Boulaid exclaimed when she whimpered, begged 
softly for his cock. 

"I have to have it," she moaned. 

Ben Boulaid waved to his companion who stopped clapping. "Why, of course. 
Lie down, woman." 

She dropped to the floor, spread wide, cupped her Venus mound, spread back 
the lips, worked her thumbs over the puckered labia and massaged the red 
lined crease, forcing the juices out. He knelt beside her leg, searched her 
eyes. 

She stared back, not understanding. It was only when he refused to unzip his 
pants that she realized what was about to happen. "Oh, no," she whined. 

He turned the shoe, poised the heel against the flat of his hand, then 
brought his arm forward. The heel spiked her cunt, entered. She yelped, 
flattened her ass to the floor, begged him to stop, fought the horrible, 
delving pain, retched as the burning dagger gouged her cunt, bit her 
clitoris and forced her to climax. 

He didn't stop with that, though. He kept turning, twisting the object, 
rending her sensitive tissues with the dirty spiked heel. She climaxed in 
spite of the agony. Not even the sight of his hand, searching for his fly, 
excited her desire for more of this abuse. 

Mustapha Ben Boulaid got his cock out. He was hard. "Stroke me." The 
command, softly spoken, was, nevertheless, emphatic. 

With her last bit of strength she pumped his shaft. 

If he orgasmed he might then stop this torture. Marcia pumped faster. He 
erupted and his hot seed shot across her belly and splattered her cleavage. 
Her tits rolled together, smeared the jizz. A final grunt, a last drop of 
cum and he was finished, and bored with this game. 

He let go of the shoe. Leaving the heel imbedded in her snatch he turned to 
Ben El Said: "Take a look, comrade. If they're gone, we'll go." 

Marcia lay back, weeping, thankful that this phase of her reeducation was 
over. 

SIX 

Mustapha Ben Boulaid smiled when he was told the enemy was still in the 
building. "Then we have time for more fun. If you're in the mood." He looked 
at Marcia. 

Marcia sat up, stared bleary eyed at her captor. "Whatever you want of me." 

"What I want of you is your twat." Mustapha pointed. "In there." 

"Shall I lay on my back. Or on my face." She spoke without enthusiasm. 

"Your face is broad, Germanic. But it is still very pretty. In a mannish 
sort of way. So lay on your back. So I may kiss it, if I choose." 

Her thighs whispered as she settled down in the trunk. It was a fairly tight 
squeeze. Her arms hung over the trunk's sides. Her knees were bent slightly. 
Her head was tilted forward; the base of her skull rested against the trunk. 
The cramped position made her spine hurt. But, she thought impassively, the 
angle and the tight quarters wouldn't hurt her back that much. 

Marcia told herself that for one reason: to keep her mind off the evil that 
this animal was about to inflict. Her cunt still throbbed. It would be a 
long while before she forgot how that heel felt, gouging her cunt. 

Mustapha Ben Boulaid folded his clothes and climbed on top of her belly. 
like before he didn't waste time. No kissing, no tit fondling, no words of 
endearment. Just that massive rock drilling into her pussy. She didn't have 
time to wet herself. Not even enough time to fantasize which, in turn, would 
get her love glands gushing. 

Marcia winced from the discomfort as the big man pushed and pushed and 
imbedded his stick to the shaft in her dry snatch. 

Mustapha Ben Boulaid pushed, grunted, stopped. "She's drier than a bone. Ben 
El Said, come her. Warm her up." 

"What will get her hot?" the caid asked, beside the trunk. 

"She is cock happy. Aren't you?" 

Marcia was too tired, too sore to respond. Mustapha asked her again. She 
grunted in-audibly. He slapped her mouth, drawing blood. She sobbed. He 
asked the question once more, and she bleated: 

"Yes. I love cock." 

"Then we shall give you plenty of cock." Mustapha beckoned. 

The caid undressed, straddled the portion of the trunk beside her head and 
knelt, dangling his long, soft cock over her mouth. Marcia Andrus didn't 
need to be told what was expected of her. She opened her mouth. Her tongue 
flicked air inches from his cockhead. He squatted, positioned his prick. Her 
tongue flicked saliva over his spongy dome. He sighed, pushed closer to her 
gaping mouth, wet teeth, bowed lips, unblinking eyes. 

Her eyes watched the slowly descending prick. The organ loomed like some 
mountain, dropping on her face in slow motion. Only this mountain was 
smooth, hairy, spurting a whitish jelly. 

The few dribbles landed on her lower lip and that was the aphrodisiac that 
got her glands oozing and the palpitations going in her heart. 

"Her juices are gushing," the man in her cunt said, matter-of-factly. 

"She's a ravenous beast," the caid replied, choosing his words carefully for 
exact meaning. 

She was a beast, a hungry beast that could only be satisfied with cock. If 
she had ever doubted that before, her reactions now dispelled any doubt. 
Realizing beyond any doubt what she was frightened her. But not enough to 
impede her cock hunger. 

"Let me suck you," she rasped. Her rapid breathing made her tits jiggle. The 
passion swelled her nipples, made them blush, and sent shivers to her belly 
and twat. 

Mustapha felt the vibrations, laughed harshly and began to move quickly, in 
and out of her pussy. She was primed now. And on her way to being satisfied. 

Two big cocks in both openings, filling her up. Wasn't that what she had to 
have? 

El Said tilted forward to get more of his prick in her mouth, down her 
throat. She opened wider, lashed his shaft with her tongue, suckled in the 
pre-cum. Marcia whimpered and begged for more cock down her throat. El Said 
braced himself on the trunk's sides and thrust closer, banging her lower jaw 
with his shaft. 

Ben Boulaid attacked with greater speed, slicing her insides, striking her 
clitoris over and over. He gradually intensified the rhythm as her hips 
whipped with greater abandon; her gasps became louder and came faster. 

Marcia's cries were muffled behind the massive prick flattening her tongue. 
Her teeth teased the shaft veins. Each stroke excited El Said more and he 
banged quicker. His cockhead rammed the back of her throat. His heavy girth 
crushed her jaw, threatened to dislocate her jaw. She held him tightly, 
chewing, panting, spilling saliva and breath over the pistoning instrument. 
He responded with a rough forward thrust, knocking her head against the 
bottom of the trunk. He moved with deeper thrusts, choking her breath, 
making her gag as he reached his orgasm. Faster he thrust and she choked on 
the first blasts of cum. The eruption intensified and she swallowed rapidly, 
taking what he thrust down her throat, feeling the cum scald her throat, 
form a pool of heat in her belly. All thought was concentrated on this 
spurting mass, this bruising weight that tore at her chin. For the moment 
the cock in her cunt was forgotten. 

Her snatch kept jabbing into the downward pummeling prick. Even when he 
increased the pace, threatened to split her in two, she didn't feel the 
pressure. Her mind worked on the sliding fat fist pumping sweet juice into 
her gullet. The hard driving cock seemed to strike her brain as well. Arcing 
red and green and white lights flashed with each sweet pounding. But there 
was no pain, not even in her cunt. Only a sweet gentle persistent pressure 
all through her cunt and belly and brain. 

Marcia threw her head back as the final massive burst shot down her throat. 
He withdrew, dripping his syrup into her eyes. The cum burned, added to the 
deep glow in her belly and head. 

She tried to speak, but her throat was clogged. She swallowed but by then El 
Said had retreated to his clothes. As Ben Boulaid railed her pussy she heard 
the caid mount the basement stairs. The sounds distracted her. Ben Boulaid 
sensed her distraction and, reaching up, without missing a stroke, he 
slammed the trunk lid down over them. The weight thudded his back, pushed 
him forward, nearly tearing him out of her hole. The sudden withdrawal of 
light made Marcia blink. 

The close confines, the quickly rising heat in the airless box excited her 
desire. like being caught in a womb, she thought. A fucking womb. The 
experience heightened her already overflowing passion. Her clitoris pulsed. 
She slammed her pelvis and Ben Boulaid chuckled. 

"Now that is how I like to be fucked. like you really want to." 

She did. Now that she and this beast were locked in darkness she fucked with 
greater speed, greater urgency. And she imagined, as he came down on her 
thighs and belly, that she was being driven fucking-wild by a man that 
really loved, really cared. For a man could love and care even if he was 
brutal, harsh. A man like that could impart tenderness without being 
feather-soft. 

Marcia imagined that she was being loved, not used. And as Ben Boulaid 
railed in short up and down strokes she imagined what it would be like to be 
fucked by a virile, loving man. A brute with heart. 

Gone, for the moment, were the depraved urges that had forced her to submit 
to all these indignities. Or was this merely a resting place on that plateau 
of emotion? 

Who the hell cared! 

Marcia was being fucked real good. That was all that mattered. 

Grunting, spilling sweat, the Arab lashed her cunt. He brought her off a 
dozen times before he climaxed. The stench of their sweating bodies, and 
orgasms filled the box. He lifted the lid, gasped, blinked, and climbed out. 

"I think they have gone, Mustapha Ben Boulaid." The caid quietly closed the 
cellar door. 

"It is time, then." 

SEVEN 

The cork forest known as Chenes-Lieges lay between El Milia and the small 
isolated Mediterranean port of Collo, in the second Wilaya. Wilaya Two, 
commanded by Rabah Bitat, was occupied by over one hundred thousand 
Algerians. The populace was sympathetic to the FLN cause. 

This isolated region was chosen by Ben Boulaid after he had seen the French 
Legionnaires two miles behind them. The pursuing group was small, but if 
Boulaid was spotted by the Legionnaires the French paratroops would be 
called up. He decided to stick to the roadways which skirted the 
Mediterranean and take refuge among the cork trees. 

As they outdistanced the squad behind them Mustapha cradled her face. "I 
feel the need now for more of you." 

She didn't flinch. like a good whore with an ember of lust in her snatch 
that didn't burn out, she got on her knees before his burgeoning cock. Her 
back was wedged against the back of the small sedan's front seat. She 
unzipped his fly, unbuckled his serouals and pulled them down. The prick 
tented the white silk monogrammed shorts. She pulled those down and the 
prick sprang up, striking her chin. 

She tried to feel nothing as she took his cock-head between her teeth. But 
as she lightly chewed and tongue-patted the spongy tip, and felt the 
pre-cum, her own juices flowed and she felt the rising heat of his prick in 
her pussy. 

An instant of fear at what was waiting at the end of this drive passed and 
once more she was immersed in the present. The large stick swelled her jaws 
and jammed at her throat and showered hot jizz into her mouth and down her 
windpipe. 

She gurgled, swallowed quickly, not missing a beat as she tongued and 
sucked. Her cheeks expanded and contracted while her tongue laved, and her 
teeth chewed. 

Squatting there, her back pinned to the back of the seat, her skirt hem on 
the floor, she reached under her ass and, finding her cunt, she parted the 
labia and stroked and patted her cunt. Marcia worked up to his rhythm. Her 
ass jiggled. The whisper of cotton against her bare buttocks was lost in her 
fervid breathing. 

She pinched her clitoris, pinching off the orgasm. The orgasm spurted 
between her fingers just as his climax blew down her throat, filled her 
mouth, and drenched her chin. Mustapha came quickly and pushed her aside, 
his eyes on the road ahead. He and Ben El Said conversed in Arabic, their 
voices ragged as they exchanged terse instructions. She was left on the car 
floor, unsatisfied. 

Marcia looked up at her captor, watched for a sign that he would want her 
again. But he was too engrossed on what was ahead, and behind them. The 
column of Legionnaires was gaining, it seemed, even as the sedan tried to 
outdistance the Frenchmen. 

As the column drew closer the conversation inside the sedan grew more 
agitated. As the voices became harsher, more excited, her lust grew 
stronger. She tried fingering but that didn't work. She wanted the warmth of 
another body on her belly, in her snatch, playing with her ripe tits. 

Marcia tugged at the cuff of Mustapha's serouals. 

"What the hell is it!" 

"Will you fuck me?" 

"I will kick your head in if you don't leave me alone." He kicked her leg. 
Lightning crackled from the bruised flesh, upward. She turned on her side, 
to face him, and grabbed his ankle. Swearing, he kicked at her but this time 
he struck her cunt. She spread her lips and the second kick hit her 
clitoris. And again he assaulted her pussy and she came. He kicked her 
again, relishing the abuse, and before fear could set in, she climaxed and 
passed out. 

They dragged her out of the car the moment they penetrated the cork forest. 

They trotted toward a clearing up ahead. Waiting for them were a half dozen 
Berber riflemen. 

The clearing was a half mile in diameter. Before they reached the far end 
the sky was filled with billowing parachutes. Shots were fired. The Berbers 
fired wildly, hitting some of their targets, rending the chutes. The 
riflemen retreated through the forest, pursued by surviving paratroopers. 

El Said, who had been dragging Marcia, let go. Mustapha was at the head of 
the retreating riflemen; El Said guarded the rear. 

They were deep in the forest when the paratroops were joined by the column 
of Legionnaires. One of them, a tall, slim, handsome officer stopped for 
Marcia. She was conscious but weak. He made certain she was out of firing 
range before he rejoined his men. 

The Berbers were chased into the woods but after an hour's pursuit the chase 
was given up. 

The officer came back for Marcia. He lifted her and as he carried her to 
safety all the pent up fear and loneliness exploded. 

"Love me," she whimpered, clinging to him. 

The squad leader heard, smiled, and said: "Captain Leonard, we will go on." 
He waved the walkie-talkie. "If you need us, just call, sir." 

Leonard waved them on. 

He selected a small grove of trees a few yards from the road. It was cool 
and surprisingly quiet. As the traffic flickered past he helped her to the 
cool damp earth. 

"They don't deserve to live," he said once her blouse and skirt were 
removed. 

She looked into his bronzed face. The dark eyes were gentle, soft. The mouth 
was ruggedly set but not brutish. The tiny mustache glistened with sweat. 

"Don't talk about them. About anything." 

Marcia Andrus reached for his tunic. He smiled, eased her hand away. 

"I'll undress myself. You save your strength." 

Once they were naked she held him at arm's length and admired his smooth 
supple muscles. He was young and in excellent condition. His cock was thin 
and long and the tip was pale red. The tip turned scarlet as the blood 
rushed through the shaft. 

He pressed against her belly, took her breasts and she lay in his arms, 
passive, and let him fondle her supple globes. But when he felt her shake, 
and smelled the musky aroma of her pussy, he tried to mount her. She stopped 
him. 

"No. I want to taste you first." 

She scooted down and pumped his shaft twice, felt the hardness, the 
strength, the heat of his manhood. She turned around and pressed her lips to 
his cock and while she kissed him he stretched out on top of her and parted 
her labia and kissed the warm oozing muscles. 

Without moving they kissed deeply. Neither one rushed the ritual. As she 
licked the underside of his shaft he lapped at the vaginal corridor, coming 
close but not touching her clitoris. 

Marcia played him the same way: kissing his shaft, drinking the bitter sweat 
from his sac. nuzzling the sprouting hairs. And Captain Leonard followed her 
lead. He probed her cunt with his flexed tongue, pushing against the sore 
muscles, then pulling back when she winced. 

They laved each other, and prolonged the pleasure for as long as they could. 
But then the juices pounded and they intensified their kissing, their 
sucking. He nudged her clitoris and when she cried out he lashed the tiny 
gland. She slickened the shaft, tugged at the hairs with her teeth, lightly 
closed her jaws on the stiff shaft. She felt the cum surge along the shaft 
and rubbed her mouth back and forth on the stiff cock. 

Their hips rocked and they wiggled on the cool ground. Insects buzzed and 
twigs crackled beneath them. 

They grunted, suckled deeper, thrashed each other until, finally, with a 
massive spasm, they climaxed. 

For a few moments they didn't speak. He pressed his cheek against her belly, 
nuzzled the cunt thicket. She kept kissing his soft wet cock, not trying to 
get him hard, only trying to taste him, tell him how much she loved him for 
his gentleness. 

"I've been on patrol, even before the rebellion," he said. His voice stroked 
her feverish brain. "It's been a long time for me, mamselle." 

"For both of us." 

As she lay beside him the nightmare of the desert seemed a distant dream. It 
couldn't have happened. Yet it did. Only because of the shock of the brutal 
murders of her co-workers. What she had had was a nervous breakdown. But 
now, as she lay in her lover's arms, she knew she had recovered. 

EIGHT 

"A person doesn't get over nervous breakdowns so easily," she mused aloud. 

Maurice Leonard lightly nuzzled her left tit. As the nipple stiffened she 
repeated what she had just said. The droning voice distracted him. Letting 
the tit go he raised his head. 

"Are you still being tormented by what the Arab bastards did to your 
people?" 

"Maybe." What she was thinking about was what they did to her after the 
massacre; the degradation...the entire episode returned in razor sharp 
clarity. Marcia Andrus hadn't lusted after that kind of kinky action for 
three months now...since her rescue by Maurice Leonard and the Legionnaires, 
and her return to Algiers which had been purged of the radical F.L.N. But 
these last few nights while Maurice slept beside her, dreams of that series 
of desert incidents had tortured her. And now she had day dreams about all 
that. The man in her dreams was the caid: Ben El Said. 

Even now, as she thought of him, her clitoris hardened. Her snatch gave off 
that musky passion scent and Leonard took her in his arms and gently teethed 
one thrusting dark red nipple. 

"Your dreams may be haunted but your days will be filled only with 
pleasure," he whispered in broken English. 

She rolled against his slim body, crushing her big tits against his teeth. 

"Oh...oh...." Marcia trembled and draped one leg over his leg and pressed 
her belly against his hips. 

"I'm so glad we've found each other, Marcia." Maurice nibbled her earlobe 
while he patted and squeezed her swollen titties. 

Her belly was smooth and warm; the big navel exuded the perfume of her cunt. 
Her snatch gushed love oil and her breasts were swollen and pulsed. 

But that extra ingredient was missing; the ingredient that only a brute like 
Ben El Said could provide. 

"Darling," she said, pushing away. "One position we've never gotten into is 
butt fucking." She saw his surprise but went on. "Now if fucking my ass is 
distasteful, why don't we do it dog style?" 

"Why don't we?" 

Leonard got behind her back and she stood on her knees and palms. He got 
hold of her dangling titties, lightly twisting the nipples between his 
thumbs and forefingers. 

"That's right, darling," she said over her shoulder. "I like it when you 
pinch them...oh...and your cock squeezed up against my ass-crease feels real 
great, too. Now just get some of that sweet pre-cum on your cock and then 
stick it all the way in my ass...all the way into the hole. And then, Mo, 
we'll have ourselves one helluva party." 

While she babbled, breathlessly anticipating the kiss of his cock in her 
pussy and ass, he pulled her close and pressed his hardening stick in her 
ass crease. Marcia quivered, tensed. She shook her ass, slapping those 
dewlapped cheeks against his cock, generating heat that made his cock 
stiffen faster. 

"I wish you'd fuck my ass." Her voice was throaty, laced with passion. 

The officer couldn't bring himself to perform such a violent and vile act 
upon her flesh. He told her so and the sob that escaped her throat was part 
gratitude, part frustration. Mostly frustration as his gentle fondling 
failed to push her to the pitch of lust that the Arab marauders had done. 

"Oh, honey, I'm not getting anything out of this." She pushed harder against 
him, trying to impale his cock in her ass. 

But he retreated and she knew this wasn't going to get done like she wanted 
it done. 

Marcia didn't know what to do beyond letting him fuck her like he wanted. 
And, later, when he was finished? She couldn't think of that. The 
alternative was frightening. Unless she used her imagination to create 
fantasies which would serve in place of the real thing. 

Maurice Leonard tailgated her ass while he crowded closer to her supple 
sweating back, and squeezed her ripe breasts. He was hard and hot and 
probing through the whitish clump of hair gathered and curled along the 
underslope of her ass. The soft hot ass folds brushed his big shaft and he 
panted and probed, quickly finding the cunt, lifting into the dewy 
smoldering hole. 

She slammed backward while he thrust upward; he hit her clitoris and the 
impact sent up bright orange and green lights, like always. With each 
jarring thrust the lights exploded and left her breathless. Panting, her 
titties heaving, she jerked against his cock, immersing his stiff prick in 
folds of wet cunt. 

Maurice drilled her yielding hole. She matched his awkward attack. They 
fucked in short ragged movements, grunting, gasping, slamming into each 
other, their flesh making soft wet sounds as they came together. 

Marcia worked her big ass around, in a sweeping arc, feeling his soft curled 
hair on her upper ass slopes. His arms were bands, drawn tightly around her 
waist and his fingers were teeth of steel traps, crushing her breasts. 

And still she wasn't satisfied. 

As he flailed her cunt and she worked against him in a counter rhythm, she 
imagined herself on the Sahara, in a Berber tent, with a vile camel merchant 
in her pussy, fucking her without regard for her feelings, her emotions. 

As she imagined all this, her heat rose and her body beat him with a greater 
urgency which he mistook for mounting passion. He fucked quickly, hitting 
his orgasm before she was ready. 

"No." she whined as he discharged. 

She tried to keep up with him but he was too fast; he emptied himself and 
went soft, leaving her up there on the crest of orgasm. Marcia waited until 
he had withdrawn and was holding her against his chest. While he kissed her 
mouth she shoved one of his fingers into her snatch. He pressed the clitoris 
and she gasped sharply and ground her hips. He fingered her gland and she 
burst her orgasm. 

"Ah, that's better," she sighed, returning his kisses. 

But it wasn't really. The routine of their love making, established during 
these last three months, was becoming a bore. Maurice wasn't anxious to give 
her the kind of raw violence that she craved. 

They discussed her problem over dinner that night in a sidewalk cafe. The 
descending sun turned the cobbled streets and smooth sided stucco facades 
into pastel shadows. 

She didn't notice the sunset as she explained what it was she needed. He 
listened, then said: 

"I can't hurt you but, if making love out of doors is what you want, then we 
can do that, like we did that first time." 

"But why don't you take me like I want to be taken?" 

He thought a moment before answering. When he replied his forehead was 
rutted, his eyes faraway, as he tried to hold back a memory too terrible to 
talk about. 

"I once was a witness to a terrible act. Against a member of another pro 
Algerian terrorist group. He was captured, taken downstairs to the basement 
of our headquarters here in Algiers. We worked him over and that's merely 
skimming the surface. What we did to him was awful. We French are as devious 
as our Arab enemies. Our methods are just as brutal. The equipment we use 
just as effective at extracting what we want to know." 

"And ever since you've hated violence?" Marcia's heart thumped wildly as her 
imagination worked on what he had told her. 

"That kind, yes. The violence, the obscenity of gunning a man down is 
acceptable," he replied with a rueful smile. 

"And you're not interested in satisfying me that way." 

"I couldn't. And enjoy it." 

"I'll enjoy it. So what's the difference?" 

But Maurice Leonard remained adament. And, in the end, she accepted his 
terms: an afternoon of loving out of doors. 

She still hoped for something more exciting than that. But she was willing 
to accept that much, and hope for more. 

After all, she mused, the imagination is a wonderful thing. It can transport 
prisoners to freedom, at least in their dreams. So why couldn't it create 
for her the perfect lover? 

NINE 

She lay back on the blanket, naked, watched him undress on the other side of 
the tent. He was a gorgeous brute. He looked even better out here in the 
wilderness, between Algiers and Blida. 

He saw her looking, and posed. "like what you see?" 

"All that I see, Mo." 

He walked slowly to the blanket, his hard cock lifting and lowering. She 
reached for him and when he was beside her on the hot, hard sand, she kissed 
his stomach, her tongue leaving a wet trail past his navel, to his cock. He 
tensed and pushed her to the blanket and swung around so they were in the 
sixty-nine position. 

Since this was her party he let her set the tempo. The way she wanted it was 
slow, at least at first. 

Marcia Andrus returned to his belly button and he touched her deep navel. 
Their tongues entered the holes. She winced and sighed while he probed the 
smooth round opening. There was a tiny hair growing inside the navel and he 
clasped the hair between his teeth and tugged, and she giggled and raked his 
flat, muscled belly with her teeth. 

She spread her legs wider, wrapped them around his head and he took her like 
that. They nuzzled warm flesh, tasted salty muscle and then the curled pubic 
thicket. He was first to settle on the sex zone. He split her crease, thrust 
his tongue into the warm and wet meat pie and suckled the juicy tenderness 
just inside the bittersweet cunt. 

Marcia took a deep breath, to quiet the upheaval in her snatch. She didn't 
want this to end. Ever. By prolonging her orgasm, and his, too, it would 
extend the rapture that they were teethed the hair, blew warm breath over 
his creating for each other. 

She hesitated before taking his cock. She shaft and balls, and then 
bypassing the burgeoning stick she opened wide and took his sac in her 
mouth. She worked the sac with her tongue, laving the burning testicles, 
gently chewing the goose fleshed sac, sending him into fits. 

His prick slapped her jaw and she felt pre-cum on her cheek. He was already 
deep in her snatch and was teasing her clitoris with the tip of his tongue. 
She couldn't prolong this any longer. She let go of his sac, seized the 
shaft and licked the veins, to the spongy tip. Working in time with his 
frantic laving she encircled the cockhead and then, lightly chewing the 
shaft, worked down the length of the organ until the cockhead was at the 
back of her throat. 

They were gasping, writhing, locked together, their ankles wrapped around 
their heads. They lapped hungrily, forcefully, concentrating on the other's 
sex gland, trying to restrain the climax until the other was ready. 

Marcia climaxed first, showering his mouth and chin. He bombarded her mouth, 
flooding the back of her throat with scalding clots. They choked, gasped, 
their adam's apples working feverishly to accept the other's orgasm. 

Just as she crested he finished and started to shrink. She kept at him, all 
the while her orgasm spurting. But he quickly softened and she was left with 
a ton more of stuff still inside her clitoris. 

As he nibbled her lips, his tongue licking off his cum that spotted her 
lower lip, she asked him for his belt buckle. Unsure what she wanted it for 
he nevertheless complied. Then stood back, horrified, as she shoved the 
nubbed edge of the silver plated buckle in her cunt, against her clitoris. 
While he watched dumbly she strummed her cunt, her tits rising and falling, 
the nipples hard and thrusting, her belly shuddering, her thighs taut and 
her cunt gushing lust oil, then orgasm. Faster and faster she worked the 
buckle until, finally, with a massive sigh, she let go of the object and let 
the force of her orgasm shoot the buckle across the tent where it landed at 
his feet. 

"You see my darling Mo, my need is great." She sat up, blushing, sweating, 
hot eyed, her skin flushed and her body still twitching. "I have to have it 
rough, precious. That's what I've been trying to tell you all these months." 

He watched her face, probed her expression and saw the raw passion of the 
primitive animal. What she saw was his revulsion. She turned away, scowling. 

"I'm sorry if I've offended you, Maurice." 

He came to her, then, and put his arm around her shoulder. "I love you, 
Marcia. I've even begun rounding up my friends for the bachelor party. 
Before the wedding. But...." 

"Being married to a freak doesn't appeal to you." She said it tonelessly. An 
accusation thrown into the wind by a stranger. 

"You're not a freak...." 

"Then damn you, don't treat me like one!" 

"I love you. I want to help you, if I can...." 

"Oh, shit...." 

The argument raged. Their voices hid the cautiously approaching cavalry. The 
occupants of the tent didn't realize they had been found until the tent flap 
went up and a familiar face appeared. She recoiled. 

"A man takes a quiet afternoon ride and what does he find but an old friend. 
That surely is serendipity." 

The man speaking was Ben El Said. 

TEN 

It was happening all over again, she thought, horrified. The slaughter, and 
her reaction to it. 

A final agonizing twitch in the early evening twilight and her lover, 
Maurice Leonard, sagged and died. The bonds holding him to the poles 
implanted in the sand and held down by rocks, gave slightly and squeaked as 
the dead weight strained the leather thongs. 

She was trussed the same way ten feet from him. They had forced her to watch 
the systematic gutting of her lover. And she had watched wide-eyed as the 
knives and swords violated his handsome physique. 

Mercifully it hadn't lasted long. Now he was dead, out of his misery, while 
her torment was just beginning. 

Ben El Said, from the shade of his tent, had watched and participated in the 
orgy. Now his eyes rested on his female captive. 

"It was inevitable, our meeting again," he said as he approached her 
spread-eagled body. The poles that held her upright were shaped in an "X" 
with a third pole bracing the other two. "Algeria is vast but our movement 
is also vast. It was but a matter of time before we overtook you." 

She sagged on the "X". Her head was down. Her breasts drooped and the sand 
that caked her flesh turned her skin a dirty gray. Not very appealing to 
look at but the caid was interested. 

"I've thought of you quite often," he said, taking her chin in his hand and 
raising her head. "I've missed your fucking. You always seem to enjoy 
whatever we do to you. Isn't that correct?" 

He gave her a few seconds to answer. He was about to strike her face when 
she replied, in a thin, weary voice: 

"You understand me. Perfectly." Already the lust oil was flowing. 

He snapped a riding crop against his serouals, knocking loose dust. He 
circled her body, prodding her buttocks, feeling the tremors begin. He 
brushed caked sand from her buttocks and she moaned at his touch. He 
laughed, nodded at his men who stood in a semicircle, obviously excited by 
the sight of a voluptuous naked white woman. His hand lingered on the soft 
meaty rump. Then he flattened his hand and brought it down hard on the 
cheek. She yelled in pain and shock. The cheek danced and the caid snorted 
his pleasure. 

Again he slapped her ass and watched while the cheeks danced and became red 
surfaced. Then he noticed the riding crop in his other hand and, flicking it 
over her ass, he began to get hard. 

The caid increased the pressure of the stroking. Finally he lashed out, 
tearing a thin jagged line from the slope of the left cheek to the upper 
ridge of the right cheek. 

Marcia bawled and her body jerked with each assault. Deep in her cunt the 
embers, dormant since her rescue by Leonard, began to glow, then flare, then 
pop and surge and meld into a single flame which, in turn, erupted into an 
inferno, and she railed against her bonds and her whole body was a solid 
wall of trembling flesh and her tits swung back and forth and the spasms 
coursed along her belly and into her cunt where the clitoris, a throbbing 
bloated organ, spilled then spattered her climax over her rippling thighs. 
The torrent of lust, so easily begun was hard to stop. Even after the caid 
ceased his assault her climax exploded, drenching her legs to the calves. 
Ben El Said stood back and after he had seen enough of this writhing sexual 
animal he stripped and leaped onto her belly, suspended over the ground, his 
hands clawing her fevered muscles. He rammed his cock into her pussy and 
fucked her quickly, giving her none of the pleasure he was experiencing. He 
came quickly, jumped off and turned away, leaving her hanging there three 
feet off the ground, her loins spewing orgasm and spattering the still warm 
sand with opaque clots. 

She was coming like a punctured water sack. The heat beat her shoulders and 
back and the smell of the gutted corpse a few feet away excited her juices. 
Her clitoris quivered and her cunt dripped lust oil. Her thighs clenched. 
Her belly spasmed. The sound of her orgasm was muted, popping. She drank in 
deep draughts of air, choking on the sand flies. Her titties rolled and 
geysers of sweat streaked her reddening flesh. 

Marcia had to touch her clitoris, had to squeeze off her climax. Her hands 
remained tied. She tugged at the thongs and they creaked, but held. She 
sighed and sobbed, frustrated. 

"Something wrong?" the caid wanted to know. 

"I hurt so. I need...." 

"Cock? Yes, I know you. Now you will know my men." 

She looked up, dazed, trembling. They circled the "X", reaching for her 
stiff tipped tits, trembling belly. 

Marcia was excited, frightened, too. These men were grimy, bearded and 
smelled of the desert, and their horses. Their eyes glinted. Their fingers 
lingered on the scabbards beneath their burnouses. Hatred flamed across 
their faces, turning their haggard faces evil. The smell of their passion 
overcame the stink of their sweat, and the moldering corpse. 

The men took a step toward her, surrounding her in heat. The caid stepped 
between her and the men. 

"You once told me what you would do for me and my people if you had the 
chance. Do you remember?" 

She didn't have to think; she dreamt about doing those terrible things 
nearly every night now. "Yes, Ben El Said. I remember." 

"I especially like the one about letting my peopje shit in your eyes." She 
started to cry. "Doesn't that appeal to you?" 

"Oh, no...." 

"Cut her down." 

They cut her free and dragged her, on her back, across the sand, to a large 
tent. The desert floor blistered her back, packed between her ass cheeks, 
clung to her labia. It was like being dragged across hot coals. She writhed, 
the fear rising in her throat like bile. She wanted to scream, wanted to 
beg. And knew that her entreaties would do her no good. She knew, too, that 
this time El Said would not let her leave this camp alive. Before she died 
she would go through the tortures of the damned. As Leonard had. 

The final orgasm...death...held no appeal now that she had seen up close how 
that orgasm was reached. 

They pulled her into the tent, flung her on a blanket and retreated, leaving 
her with the caid. 

"Since we last were together I have learned an old world trick. One that you 
will like. One that the man that taught it to me was certain you would 
respond to." He began to disrobe. "You remember Mustapha Ben Boulaid? Of 
course you do. He is back with his own group, in Wilaya One. Before 
rejoining his people he gave me this." From beneath his burnous he extracted 
a long, narrow, hollow tube. The object, a foot long and made of ebony, had 
a leather harness attached to the base. "With this, a man can fuck a woman 
almost forever." He stepped into the harness and tied it around his waist 
and fitted the weapon over his penis. She noticed that an ugly scar ran 
along the lower slope of his belly and was partially covered by pubic hair. 
In the blinding sunlight she hadn't noticed it. After fitting the false 
penis over his own cock, and tightening the harness, he saw her looking at 
his stomach. 

"A present from our one-handed friend: Ahmed Mohand Madj. He was always a 
poor marksman. As you already know." The huge rod slapped her thigh as he 
positioned himself between her legs. "I'm using this to stretch you for my 
men. They've had a very long siege, away from women. I won't have them kept 
waiting while a bitch adjusts to their cocks." 

Without another word he reared back and thrust the awesome weapon into her 
snatch. 

"Ooowww...." The echo died in her throat. 

She shuddered, recoiled from the advancing brute, tried to get as far from 
the terrible instrument as she could. But to no avail. The dildo was too 
long. Her attacker too persistent. He imbedded the tip deep in the 
smoldering cunt. 

She couldn't breathe. Vibrations made her dizzy. 

Ben El Said corkscrewed the dildo, reaming her out, touching off her orgasm. 
She flung her knees up, then wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him 
closer. He laughed and pronged her snatch. 

"Now you're ready. In front." 

Wheezing, he jerked back, nearly tearing her insides, and with trembling 
fingers, unstrapped the weapon, threw it across the tent, and fell on her 
belly. After the dildo his big cock felt like a feather in her pussy. A 
feather that quickly became a massive rock, burrowing into her cunt, 
twisting and turning, tearing out her orgasm, and rekindling the desire at 
the same time. 

The brute thrashed her cunt, gripped and squeezed her butt cheeks, dug his 
fingernails into her massive hind slopes, lifted her ass to draw himself 
closer to her writhing snatch. 

Ben El Said tore into her pussy and she responded with a forceful counter 
rhythm that left her breathless and made the oppressive heat inside the tent 
even more unbearable. Marcia Andrus was about to pass out. But not before 
this fuck was finished. 

She rolled her hips, bucked her ass, slammed her belly into his belly, 
scraped her buttocks on the floor, tore the blanket and nearly knocked the 
man off her Venus mound. 

"Bitch...bitch...." he shrieked, climaxing. 

She wouldn't let him go, not even when he went soft. She held him tight and 
rocked side to side trying to coax another hard on. But he was soft and 
wouldn't be able to get it up for awhile, at least. 

What was coming next was the rape by all those men. She heard them outside 
the tent, shuffling near the flaps, scuffing their shoes on the baked desert 
sand. What they would do to her body, besides fuck it, made her shudder. 

"Don't worry, you sex starved slut. They won't have you just yet. I still 
have further need of that big ass of yours." 

And he climbed off and retrieved the dildo. She shivered but this time it 
was anticipation, not fear, that made her body quake. 

ELEVEN 

He showed mercy. Before forcing the big weapon into her ass he moistened the 
shaft with oil. Or camel shit. The smell was terrible whatever the lubricant 
was. 

"Some of my men like the rear entrance. In war time a commander can't be too 
careful what kind of man he recruits." 

The flippant remark fell on deaf ears. Her whole soul and body were numbed 
by the gruesome brute force, pushing into her crease. She was full right up 
to her heart. She took deep breaths and that eased the sudden fullness. 
Almost objectively she traced the object's path into her asshole and up and 
into her intestines. Her cheeks rippled with each thrust and her ass walls 
split apart, permitting the weapon's passage. She bit her lip to keep from 
crying out, first from the pain, then from the pleasant pulsing in her ass 
and cunt. 

Ben El Said plunged deeper and struck the wall opposite her clitoris. She 
gasped wide-eyed as he touched off another orgasm. 

He was, literally, fucking her to death. The pain, the weakness, the 
excruciating pleasure made the world spin, then fall into fragments, leaving 
her stranded on a fireball which was surrounded by the black void of the 
universe. 

The caid drilled her asshole; she responded by bucking, heaving, throwing 
her hips from side to side, rapidly twisting her ass, whipping at this 
bruising slab of marble imbedded in her bowels, crushing her clitoris 
against his hard driving assault. 

Marcia felt the force of his thrust diminish. Before he withdrew she got her 
hands under her cunt, spread the lips wide, and finger-sawed her clitoris. 
She orgasmed as he pulled out of her ass. The withdrawal was like a final 
plunging fuck. She groaned and collapsed. 

Only not as good. She was still hungry for more. 

"Are you selling tickets?" she muttered, face down on the blanket. 

"Tickets?" Ben El Said snorted, laughed. 

He unstrapped the dildo, tossed it aside. The caid was ready for her 
degradation. He was all primed for the indignities that would be inflicted 
on her helpless flesh. 

She was, too. Knowing what would happen brought up the fear; knowing what 
was going to invade her snatch, making her cum endlessly, triggered another 
orgasm. 

Marcia Andrus thumbed her clitoris, her ass raised, her knees supporting her 
lower torso. The caid couldn't resist. Jerking her hips up, holding her 
steady, he bent his knees, crowded closer to her ass, brushed his cockhead 
across the cunt fur that protruded from the ass crease. Then, as she yelped 
and swung her big ass, he invaded her crease, pushing in slowly now, 
savoring the feel of her moist hot ass-walls around his shaft. 

Marcia coughed as the steady force pushed deeper, exciting tiny needles of 
sensation all along her corridor. She felt the pounding in her cunt. Her 
clitoris tingled and filled and spurted as he struck her asshole. He 
concentrated on the puckered hole, drilling into the small opening and 
heaving hot columns up her ass and into her pussy. Her palms braced on the 
floor, her tits dangling, she tightened her crotch, squeezed her clitoris, 
squeezed off her climax. 

The Arab animal was killing her with his brute masculinity. Fucking her cunt 
and ass was tearing her apart but he made her love this slow death. And he 
would make her love the quicker death waiting outside the tent. 

"Well, Ben El Said?" she rasped. "When does it begin?" 

"Right now." He went to the entrance. "Is it ready?" he called. "Yes," came 
the reply. 

Ben El Said reached for her hand. "Come, bitch. The fun is out there." 

What he showed her was a hole in the sand. The two men, digging the hole, 
stepped back as the caid led her to the shallow pit. He pushed her in. She 
fell on her knees; the top of her head was below the pit's edge. 

"Stand up," he ordered. 

And she did. 

The sand invaded her nose. Flies circled her forehead. Something slimy 
crawled into her ass and she yanked it out. Some kind of small snake. She 
crushed the tiny head between her thumb and forefinger, and dropped the 
corpse at her feet. Her eyes remained on the small lifeless thing by her 
toes. A moment before it had been alive; now that life was gone. 

She wondered if they would end her life as quickly. Somehow, for some 
unfathomable reason, she wasn't concerned about her death. The only thing on 
her mind, right then, was the sharp pain in her clitoris. The pain of her 
pent up orgasm. The throbbing obliterated all reason, reduced her world to 
the tiny area of this pit. where her enemies...her lovers would soon rape 
her pussy, her ass...she didn't know what else they would force her to do. 

They surrounded the pit, throwing shadows over her blonde hair, grimy face. 
Their burnouses were open. Their garments were separated ; their cocks were 
exposed. The burnouses kept them from being burned by the sun. 

The heat waves misted their pricks, misted their squatting movements. One of 
them lifted a shovel of sand, flung the sand in it in her face, shocking 
her, bringing her around. Then the first man dropped into the narrow pit, 
rubbed his foul smelling body against her belly and tits, forced her against 
the rear of the pit. Her butt and spine rubbed the tiny, heated grains of 
sand. The cock smeared her thick cunt hair against the mound. He bent, bit a 
tit, made her cry out. And he laughed, enjoyed giving the pain, forcing his 
cock between the labia. He drove into her snatch and she didn't try to 
resist. At first, the sour stink revolted her but as he fucked her cunt she 
felt the fires leap and become an inferno. She responded. She snapped her 
pelvis, slapping her belly against him, working her cunt against his cock. 
He yelled a word in Arabic. The ground shook as a heavy man reached the 
pit's edge; he dropped into the pit, crowded behind her back and she 
whimpered as the stink, the probing pricks invaded her senses. Bright lights 
leaped and she choked and retched. The assault continued. She barely felt 
the hot cum in her ass and pussy. And then they climbed out and she sagged 
against the sand walls, dizzy. 

She didn't hear or see the next man. Or the next. 

Then cold water was thrown in her face. She was propped up and the next man 
was fucking her pussy. 

And it went on. How long she didn't know. 

After a lifetime they stopped. She was too weak to react and they saw it and 
Ben El Said grabbed a shovel, motioned one of his men to hold her up while 
the caid flung the sand into the pit. The flunky climbed out and Ben El Said 
finished scooping sand. She was buried to her chin. A heavy coarse fabric, 
like a tent shred, was held over her head and three foot high poles were 
imbedded in the sand around her head, and the protective covering was 
stretched across the poles, shading her head from the sun. 

They were very thoughtful. They wouldn't allow her to get sun stroke. Not 
right away. Later, for sure. Which meant they'd keep her alive overnight, 
then tie her down in the sun and leave her like that. 

Maybe they wouldn't. Maybe they would gut her like they did Leonard. Her 
head buzzed from thinking so much when all she should be doing was...what? 
Anticipating their next unique twist? Planning her escape? Praying for a 
dues ex machina, a god from a machine to swoop down and rescue her? 

Shadows which were like columns moved closer. Then the first man, his cock 
hard, squatted in front of her face and grabbed her ears to steady himself, 
and pushed the prick head against her teeth. She gagged. He jerked her ears, 
swore loudly. She opened her mouth. The long, slim cock filled her mouth. 
She opened wider, ignoring the stench, the sour salty taste, the disgust in 
her guts. She kept the vomit down, concentrated on bathing this stinking 
shaft with her tongue. 

She sucked rapidly and even enjoyed the act a little. The bitter cum clotted 
her throat but she didn't mind it now. The jizz was like a drug, a triple 
martini. Her head lolled and her mind went blank. Only her jaws and tongue 
worked. On reflex. 

The next man and the next left their jizz in her throat, her tongue, her 
teeth, her lips and chin. She was beyond tasting, feeling now. She didn't 
even hear their ribald shouts, their drunken lurchings that raised sand 
clouds. 

A gourd of wine was opened. The noise grew louder. It was night and she 
hadn't seen the sun go down. A fire was lit. The laughter increased and she 
was forgotten. 

The ground squeezed her tits and belly and ass. She was smothering. Her 
mouth was dry. Her head throbbed. Sweat burned her eyes. Crawling things bit 
her ass and cunt and nipples. Distant passion echoes got her clit surging. 
She couldn't reach her cunt; her hands were trapped at her sides. The 
insects chewed her pussy, chewed her clitoris and set off her orgasm. 

She began to weep and her eyes burned and she felt them swell. She was no 
longer afraid, only disgusted with herself. If she had the means she would 
kill herself. She didn't want to live the way she was. 

Self-hatred quickly turned on the men that had awakened these perverse 
cravings. If she got them in a hole like this she would burn their eyes out. 
Not all of them. Only one. The gloating, drunken big shot in the tent. The 
caid. She hated him more than she hated herself. 

If she survived this she would get her chance. She knew this like she knew 
who she was, what she was. 

She closed her eyes and must have fainted for the next thing she knew the 
camp was in an uproar. Shots were fired. A platoon of horses skidded across 
the sand, stopping near the camp, ringing the small force. 

More shots. The sound of bodies falling, and curses shouted into the night. 
Then a pair of legs stopped in front of her eyes. She looked up. A tall man 
looked down. 

The voice had a familiar quality. But she couldn't place it. 

TWELVE 

"We'll get you out." 

That hard to place quality was gentleness. At least at first. As the journey 
across the desert progressed these strangers, her rescuers, began to drink 
and to eye her voluptuous body, partly clad in the tall man's burnous. 

He spoke little English and she understood very little Arabic. She learned 
that he was a lieutenant in a group of Pro-Algerian freedom fighters who, 
un-like Ben El Said's FLN wing, was dedicated to achieving the unified 
Algerian state and the expulsion of the French through peaceful means. 

"We are not F.L.N, murderers," the lieutenant said. 

"I'm not political," she replied. "What I am is exhausted." 

"We will stop shortly and you will be able to rest." 

She held onto the horse's reins. She rode like a man and the animal's spine 
and girth cut into her cunt. Her juices were flowing and, at first, she 
thought she was bleeding. But then the familiar pulsing began. She shivered, 
from the cold and the awakening passion. 

The lieutenant reined to a halt and the two dozen riders behind stopped. "We 
will camp here for a few hours," he told the man behind him. "I wish to 
interrogate our prisoner. Would you like to watch?" 

"I'd rather sleep." She climbed down, hugging herself to keep warm. 

The fire was built and the flames leaped into the starry night. She knelt 
before the fire and the heat penetrated her sore muscles. Out of the corner 
of her eye she saw Ben El Said being led beyond the rim of light. Some of 
the other men, not involved in the interrogation, huddled around the fire 
and talked softly and passed the wine gourds. 

One of them offered her a drink which she gladly accepted. The wine was 
strong and she felt the fumes in her sinuses. The glow spread and relaxed 
her overwrought nerves and assaulted muscles. She curled up before the fire 
and, when a piece of foul smelling meat, fresh from the fire, was offered, 
she accepted, and ate without noticing the aroma. 

Surrounding her were the muted voices, the sounds of wine being drunk and 
meat being consumed. like a lullaby, these sounds soothed and lulled her 
into a tranquil state. She wasn't prepared for the screams which rent the 
night. 

The men continued eating and drinking without looking up. Marcia Andrus 
wheeled around, facing the screams. A second fire glowed behind her. The 
officer and three of his men were semicircled around a prone figure. The man 
on the ground was Ben El Said. 

Her first impulse was retreat, get away from his screams. But, as she 
recalled the suffering this brute had inflicted, she found herself joining 
the group. 

The caid lay, naked, on his back on the sand. His feet were close to the 
fire. A two foot branding iron with an inverted "C" on the tip smoldered in 
the blaze. 

The lieutenant spoke in Arabic and the caid spat at him. Once more the iron 
came out of the fire and smote Ben El Said's chest. Another scream of pain 
and rage followed by the sizzling stench of his flesh. 

Marcia stared, transfixed. The lieutenant saw her shadow on the sand, turned 
and offered her the iron. 

"No," she whispered. 

"For all that this animal has done to you," the lieutenant insisted. 

She still refused, less adamantly, though, and watched and listened. For 
every question the caid's reply was a curse. And the white hot iron came 
down on his naked chest. 

A wine gourd was passed and the lieutenant drank deeply before he continued. 
She took a drink and the wine subdued her rioting nerves. The heat from the 
fire, the wine, her exhaustion made her sit. 

"I have an idea." She muffled a belch in her hand. She told the lieutenant 
and he nodded his approval. 

She shrugged the burnous from her shoulders and her naked, glistening body 
shivered when the cool night wind cut across the full curves. The lieutenant 
noticed, as did his men. In the diffused shadows the bruises and welts 
didn't show. What they saw was a lush-bodied, naked woman advancing on their 
prone captive. The talking around the campfire stopped. All the sounds now 
were the crackling embers and the harsh heavy breathing and the steady night 
wind. 

Marcia settled beside the caid; his eyes were wide and he tried to avoid her 
unblinking stare. She turned his head toward her while she fondled his cock. 
Smiling, leering, she told him: 

"I want you to fuck me, you bastard. If you don't get it up, right now, 
they'll burn your cock right down to the stump." 

He snorted, jerked his head away. She pumped his shaft, fondled his balls 
and chuckled as his erection burgeoned. She swung around, to face him, and 
straddled his cock, pushing down, wrapping her cunt around the heavy shaft. 
like before, she got a thrill as the big cock burned along her pussy, 
crowding her snatch, crowding her clitoris. 

The caid's body moved against her downward stroking. 

"There, lover," she grunted, leaning forward, pressing down harder on his 
big prick. "Isn't this fun?" 

He snarled. She punched his diaphragm. His head snapped back, he retched and 
his cock softened. She wiggled her hips, tried to hold him and when she 
couldn't, she climbed off and crawled across his heaving chest and dropped 
her ass on his face. 

"Suck me off, bastard," she snarled. 

She leered, tossed her head and tits as the tongue slithered into her cunt. 
Marcia bounced on his face. Her laughter soared. His tongue smote her clit 
and she drenched his mouth with cum. 

"I said my ass, you shit. I want you to suck my ass, dammit." 

She howled, ecstatic; his tongue caressed the ass walls. But when he stopped 
short of her asshole she straightened her back, lifted and then dropped her 
butt on his face, slapping his shoulder at the same time. He invaded her 
anus, gagging on the deposits lodged there. 

More laughter. She couldn't stand the wet snake in her ass, tickling her 
bowels that only hours before had been assailed with that ebony dildo, and 
his prick. She wished for that dildo now; she imagined ramming the monster 
all the way into his guts. But the weapon wasn't in sight. And the officer 
was nudging her shoulder. 

"We have to continue the questioning, mademoiselle." 

"Uh," she gasped, climaxing. She climbed off. "I showed him what'll happen 
if he doesn't cooperate. And you know how these big shots are: they can take 
pain; it's part of their code to die under torture without divulging 
anything to the enemy. But to be humiliated by the enemy? That is worse than 
the torture. He'll open up." 

Her meaty rump pistoned in a clockwise motion as she dragged her feet across 
the sand to where the burnous lay. Only the garment wasn't there. She looked 
around and saw it in the hands of a skinny, long-haired Arab youth. His 
wine-glazed eyes told her what he wanted. He flung back his burnous and his 
cock rose to meet her gaze. 

"Okay, kid." She slung past him, jerking the garment from his hand, and 
settled down in the shadows near the fire where she could hear the caid 
without being seen by his interrogators. 

The boy followed. 

He was hung big and had that sleek healthy look that only the young seemed 
to possess. Without a word, without taking his eyes off her alabaster belly 
and tits, and cunt thicket, he stripped and fell beside her. He was young, 
inexperienced and needed help getting into her box. But once in he took 
control and railed her pussy. She bucked her hips, made her tits dance from 
the exertion, closed her thighs on his sinewy legs, felt the pressure of his 
cock in her snatch and ass. Each probing slam excited the nerve endings and 
playing her sex organ like a violin under the control of a Paganini. 

"Ugh...ugh...ugh...." She babbled other mono-syllables which were forgotten 
the instant they were said. 

The cock, the fuck was all she heard, felt, experienced. And the fuck was 
great. 

The kid pulled back, almost falling out, then as the head touched the outer 
lips, he drove ahead, attacking smoothly, like an expert. The expert's touch 
touched her off. Her orgasm flowed like the wine being drunk all around her. 

Shadows moved out there, circling her and her boy lover. As the shadows 
closed in the caid screamed one final gut-wrenching scream and then he was 
suddenly quiet. 

The shadows were close. She smelled man-smell, saw the distinct outlines of 
the soldiers. They watched the fucking like children watching two dogs 
screwing. She felt ashamed but then that passed with the downward rush of 
the boy's cock. He gave a final push and he climaxed. Then it was over and 
he climbed off. She lay with her legs spread, inviting. 

One soldier, older, the weight of this political cause bowing his shoulders, 
approached, and stopped at her feet. Without thinking she cuddled her tits, 
rolled them, pressed the nipples with her thumbs, making the swollen peaks 
dance. 

The soldier threw back his burnous and was on her belly an instant after the 
garment fell to the sand. As the man flailed her pussy she wondered if the 
lieutenant had gotten any information out of Ben El Said. 

Then the older man grasped her breasts, crushing the hot spheres, and she 
forgot about the dead caid. 

THIRTEEN 

The fucking went on most of the night. An hour before dawn the officer 
nudged her. She had fallen asleep with the last man still screwing her cunt. 

She jumped, blinked. "Wha...." 

He pressed a finger to his lips, knelt, his knee touching her outer leg 
muscle. He looked fit, rested and she tried to remember if he had fucked 
her, too. He hadn't. 

He took her hand, guided her around the sleeping men, scattered across the 
nickel-sized area between the camp fires and the tethered horses. He took 
her behind the horses where they wouldn't be disturbed. He thumb-massaged 
her labia and that sent shivers along her spine into her snatch. Her gland 
twitched as he stroked the puckered lips. She lay against him and frenched 
his mouth. He opened and their tongues touched. She flattened her titties on 
his hairy flat pectorals. He tensed when she hefted his cock. He was big; 
soft he was larger than most men. She pumped slowly but nothing happened 
even though he was kissing rapturously. He rocked against her tits and belly 
and his muscles were knotted. He was in the lover's stance except his cock 
was soft. 

"Can't we do something about this?" Marcia gave his prick a jerk. 

"Something can be done. If you'll let me do it." 

Her heart leaped at the tone of his voice, the softness edged with faint 
hardness. The promise, soon to be realized, of another bizarre aspect of the 
male-female game. 

"What do you want me to do?" 

"Submit." He reached for his pants, got hold of them, took from his pocket a 
tightly coiled leather ball. Leather thongs so slim they looked at first 
like wire. 

Without speaking he uncoiled the ball of leather and wrapped the thongs 
under her arm pits, knotting the leather and cinching the knots across her 
tits, making sure the knots covered her nipples. 

The tits tied, he drew the leather tighter and she gasped and sat up. "Say, 
mister...." 

He silenced her with a reproachful frown. "Don't ruin the mood." 

He said it like he meant it so she shut up. 

The thongs were drawn across her belly, tied and looped between her legs. 
This was what she liked, the leather kissing her cunt, then sawing the 
tender flesh as he drew the leather ends tight. 

She bit her lip to keep from crying out. 

The leather was wound around her hips and he pulled the leather so the 
wire-sharp line was stretched across her buttocks. She caught her breath. 
The thongs compressed her ass and bit into her snatch. The leather was 
positioned against her clitoris. He pulled tighter and she saw the stars 
dance. She saw different images, mostly imagined; images that slid as he 
pulled against her unyielding flesh. Images danced and wiggled with each 
jerk of the leather. 

Her cunt rebelled, then acquiesced. It was like she was being drawn into a 
fetal position in a leather womb. She liked the feeling, like being closer 
to him, and the leather. 

He was on her belly now, rubbing his muscled hardness on the wet leather. 
Breathing hard he worked his cock between the leather and into her snatch. 

Fucked twice at the same time. The sensation was unbelievably satisfying. 
She was determined to make this a good fuck for him, too. She rolled her 
pelvis, slapping her sloping belly along his hips. He met her languid 
rhythm, increased the tempo and she, with a giggle of delight, kept up. 

The sharp, cutting leather counterpointed the back and forth pistoning, the 
slap of his muscles on her soft lush breasts, belly and thighs echoed along 
her spine and buttocks and each muscle was circled in warmth and the leather 
kept cutting, squeezing and pinching and she was under the influence, 
completely at the mercy of this cutting edge. 

He pummeled with a greater urgency, drew the leather tighter by jerking the 
ends together. She whipped her pelvis, and whined and wanted to wrap her 
legs around him and draw him closer to her belly and cunt and she cried out 
with frustration. 

The shadows which had couched imaginary images moved again, with the 
officer's troops. 

Marcia and the officer thrashed each other, grunting, tearing at each other, 
fucking faster, with breath-smothering writhing. They tensed and erupted 
simultaneously. 

As they settled back in the warmth of their arms, their flesh, the shadows 
moved faster as the troops hurried toward the couple. Words were hurled at 
the officer and he sprang to his feet. 

"The French. They've found us." 

The battle was short; the Arabs were outnumbered and, as the French 
advanced, the officer and a half dozen of his men untethered the horses and 
escaped in the shadows. 

Marcia was left, trussed in the leather, with the dead and dying. As she 
tried to free herself the leather chewed her cunt and tits and the effect 
left her dizzy. In spite of herself she felt her glands stiffen and her 
crotch erupt with love dew. 

She kicked at the leather traces and only succeeded in tightening the 
cinches. She continued to struggle and heard, above the wet slapping of her 
muscles and the leather, the approaching foot falls. A flashlight beam fell 
over her kicking legs and she tensed when the holder of the flashlight 
gasped, called out. 

"Look what's tied up in a pretty package for us." 

She shut her eyes against the glaring lights; tried to shut out the raucous 
laughter. 

"He's dead. The Arab leader." 

"You know anything about this, lady?" The voice was harsh, on the other side 
of the blinding light. 

"No." Marcia Andrus huddled closer to the icy grasp, clutching her guts. 

"Take her back to Algiers. We'll see what she doesn't know." 

As they dragged her toward the horses she thought she saw the officer 
watching from the shadows' sanctuary. 

FOURTEEN 

The basement stank. The odors of unflushed drains, unclean blankets, mice 
and rat shit were everywhere. She tried not to notice and, instead, 
concentrated on the interrogators. 

These men had been at her for three hours. They took away the burnous and 
made her stand, naked, before them while they demanded to know of her 
involvement with Ben El Said and the F.L.N. Her repeated denials went 
unnoticed. Then they questioned her about Leonard's death. She told what had 
happened in a dispassionate tone of voice. And the way she answered, without 
emotion, convinced them that she was lying, that all along she had been an 
F.L.N, sympathizer. 

"You were spared twice, mamselle. The first time when the Berbers murdered 
your coworkers in the American Aid Mission. And the second time when your 
lover, one of our noble heroes, was butchered. Coincidence doesn't happen 
twice, mamselle." 

"I'm innocent," she shrieked as they carried her, kicking, out of the 
interrogation room, down the narrow, dimly lighted corridor, to another room 
at the end of the hall. 

The steel plated door was pulled open and she was carried into a room 
fifteen feet wide, twenty feet long and twenty feet high. In the center of 
the room was a stone table, no wider or longer than a human body. At the 
side of the table, neaiest the door, was a machine, three feet high and four 
feet wide. Sprouting from the cabinet were long wires with suction cups 
attached. The console's face was to the door. On the face were six dials 
with switches attached beneath each dial. 

Marcia Andrus was hoisted onto the table and strapped down, with her legs 
spread and her arms over her head. Her fingers touched the table's edge. 

The table on which the console sat had adjustable legs. One of the soldiers 
pulled on the table's edges and jerked the telescoping legs. The console now 
stood five feet from the floor. An operator could stand before the machine 
and manipulate the switches without sitting. He could also see his victim's 
reactions. 

An operator stood before the machine. Another Legionnaire attached the 
suction cups to her nipples and belly and thighs. 

"Oh. Christ," she whimpered, jerking at the straps. "No, no, not that." 

A short, husky, powerful built Legionnaire, a Major, stood beside her on the 
other side of the table. He jerked her head toward him. 

"What you are about to feel is only a fraction of this machine's power." 

He nodded at the operator. The first jolt felt like needles jammed into her 
tits and belly and thighs. The current rocked her head back, made her 
shoulders and buttocks jump, and her jaw clamp shut. The vibrations 
shuddered her skull as though she had been struck on the head with a ball 
bat. The reverberations went down her sides and into her cunt. Her tits 
tingled and offset the thudding in her brain. 

"Again," the major commanded. 

The second surge of power rocked her back. Her spine and back of her head 
slammed the table. Her teeth clamped on her tongue and she tasted blood. The 
needles became hot daggers, gouging her nipples, her titties, her belly and 
bowels, her thighs and cunt. She retched and the major ordered the current 
shut off. 

"Now, mademoiselle, tell us what your role was in this sordid affair." 

She whimpered her innocence but that didn't please the officer. He conferred 
with his two aides. They removed the suction cups from her thighs and spread 
her labia, inserted the suction cups on either side of her walls. Another 
pair of wires were draped across her legs. On each wire there was a narrow 
clamp. One clamp was attached to her clitoris. 

"She has a big clit, sir," the aide said. "like a thumb." 

"Then the attachment won't slip off," the major responded, lighting a 
cigarette. 

A panel underneath her butt was opened. The aide reached under the table and 
shoved the other prong into her ass. She shuddered and gagged when the cold 
metal bit into her anus. 

Two more suction cups were found and affixed to a pair of wires and then 
attached to her thighs. 

"Give her the maximum." 

"It will kill her, sir." 

"Not a single jolt." 

"Yes, sir." 

The operator adjusted the dials. 

She cringed and wept. Yet, beneath the surface of fear, another emotion 
lurked, like a rapist behind a tree. like that rapist her desire for 
pleasure loomed and pounced, overtaking her, shattering the fear, leaving 
only the naked nerves that had to be satisfied, had to feel the raw surging 
electricity, had to be raped, simultaneously; every inch of her heaving, 
sweating flesh cried out for the rape, for the gouging, rending blast of 
power. 

The switches clicked dryly. An instant's hesitation and then the power tore 
into her tits, her stomach, her cunt, her thighs, her ass. She screamed and 
quaked. 

It was like being chewed on her tits and belly and thighs, being fucked with 
a hot poker, and goosed by a white hot dagger. Stilettos assailed her body. 
The assault was a series of gouging white hot slivers. But then, after the 
first shock, the slivers seemed to thicken, come together to form an 
encompassing wreath-like form, like London fog spreading over her in-sides, 
her nerves, intangible yet a very real presence. And, as the initial shock 
abated, a rapidly spreading warmth took its place. The warmth was like the 
warm wet kiss of a thousand lovers; the gasping embraces of a regiment of 
love-starved men; the thrusting pricks of a battalion of satyrs. 

Heat waves washed, inundated her insides, pulled and prodded and flooded her 
pussy until she tasted the passion spasms in her throat. 

"EEEEEE...." 

A final lurch in her bowels and cunt and she exploded. Her lust sizzled on 
her burning skin and beaded like speckles of grease on a red hot stove. Her 
loins recoiled. Her clitoris, all the sex nerves in her cunt were assailed, 
every nerve was raked by talons of electricity, and the buzz-saw in her 
nipples, her stomach, her pussy and ass ground into her yielding flesh and 
her orgasm was a massive tidal wave, spurting down her thighs, drenching the 
hollows behind her knees. 

Her orgasm was an endless eruption; lava down the sides of a mountain. The 
cum burst in a single eruption, powerful, gut wrenching. Marcia was 
breathless; each nerve vibrated. She was going to explode. Her limbs were 
about to be severed from her trunk. 

And yet the riot in her cunt was not only a swirling, single scalding 
tornado, it was also a drill churning her muscles. 

Then her orgasm heightened and there were no words to describe the ecstasy 
she felt. 

Her spine lifted a full inch off the table. Her buttocks thudded the hard 
stone surface. Her shoulders dug into the unyielding stone. The back of her 
head and the table collided. Her breasts rolled and slapped. The belly 
muscles shivered. Her thighs rippled. The cunt pelt smoldered. The labia 
turned a darker red. Her knees bent and her calves tightened. The toes 
curled and the ridge of skin around the nails turned pink. The current 
surged for eternity...for her entire life it seemed. A state of rapture 
where the cunt and its relief were all that mattered. 

The myriad teeth gnawed. The drill churned. The pokers disemboweled. The 
daggers raked. She was consumed in a whirlpool...a scalding, blinding, brain 
numbing whirlpool. 

Her clitoris was all that was alive; the rest of her being was as if it had 
never existed. The clitoris hummed and tingled and belched forth orgasm. The 
tiny gland strained and spit. Over and over, and even though the clit was 
swollen to bursting it didn't rip apart. Even though the gland felt as 
though it would. 

Pain and pleasure. The duality of her nature. The pain gradually receded 
leaving only the overwhelming pleasure. 

The animal that was her soul growled, then roared, its fangs bared, its 
sinews tense, its ravenous appetite unappeased. 

She screamed defiantly for that was the only way she could get more of what 
they were giving her, and no matter what fear still lingered. What she had 
to have was more of this excruciating pleasure and if the experience killed 
her... 

Her lust wouldn't let her dwell on that. 

"Enough," the major bellowed. 

The current went off. She trembled a moment longer. One last spark in her 
snatch and one last orgasm and she fell back, retching, quivering 
spasmodically. 

"The bitch can certainly take punishment," the operator said. 

"We'll see how much more she can take," the officer replied, examining the 
glowing tip of his cigarette. 

FIFTEEN 

They gave her a moment to reconsider her innocence. The major smoked and 
asked his questions in a toneless voice. The aides stood at rest awaiting 
orders. Marcia Andrus lay on her back, trussed like an animal awaiting the 
butcher's knife. Her brain felt scrambled. Her thoughts were disconnected. 
She tried to form thoughts, but all she thought about were her clitoris, her 
ass, her tits, and her cunt. Nothing else mattered. 

The major's questions were too involved, wouldn't penetrate her feverish 
brain. The words sounded like audio tape running backward. The tones slid 
and oozed. And made no sense. 

"If he had said: "fuck" she would have understood. And would have responded. 
But the words he used were non-sexual. They didn't penetrate. 

"She still refuses to confess," the major sighed. "Another jolt, please." 

"It will kill her," the operator insisted. "But there is another way, sir." 

The suction cups were removed. The panel beneath her ass was left open. As 
they moved about, pushing the machine to one side, dragging over something 
heavy that she couldn't see, their motions circulated the foul air, and the 
breeze whispered across her tits and underneath the table, and across her 
tense ass cheeks. She relaxed her buttocks. The cool damp air penetrated her 
asshole. The tender muscles throbbed and smarted as did her entire body. 

What would happen next? 

Her mind was more lucid now. But that question only raised some fear, as 
well as anticipation. 

There was a fine line between what gave her pleasure and what would kill 
her. These men were not experts. They only knew how to plug in and throw a 
switch. Carried away by their game they could easily cross that line. And, 
if she died...well, she was just another war victim. There would be others 
to take her place on this rack. 

An iron based, square shaped object was placed beneath the table, directly 
under the open panel. The base stood two feet high and was four feet by four 
feet. Attached to the side of the base was a lever that projected on an 
angle. The handle remained clear of the table. 

Squatting, the operator pumped the lever. The oiled machinery squeaked 
nevertheless. like any tool not used regularly the portion of the apparatus 
being pumped came out slowly. More pressure was exerted on the lever and the 
curved, domed shaft lifted toward the open panel, and the shaking buttocks 
on the other side. 

The shaft was six feet long, fully extended, and a quarter of an inch thick. 
It smelled of grease. The odor intensified as it reached the open panel. 
Marcia couldn't see it, only smell it and wonder what it was. Excitement 
tempered with fear made her tremble. She took a deep breath to keep the 
tremors from erupting, to keep the bile from spilling. 

The smell was stronger now, bitter. The sound of the approach louder. She 
wondered what this mechanical thing was. But she had an idea. Visualizing it 
made her juices erupt; the lust oil dotted her alabaster thighs, slickened 
her cunt hair and the aroma of her passion mingled with the harsh smell of 
the grease. Distracting her thoughts was the sound of movement nearby. 

The major was naked. He dropped his uniform on the floor. He was middle aged 
but retained the hard muscled fitness of youth. Tall, broad shouldered, 
hairy chested, with a prick that looked like a weightlifter's arm. The balls 
were covered with hair. The prickhead was bright red and the veins surged. 

The major pumped his shaft, directed the jizz flow at her face. The cum 
scalded her eyes and she blinked and flushed the jelly with tears. 

Two things happened right then: the major climbed on the table, straddled 
her spread thighs and as he parted her lips the shaft parted her ass cheeks. 

The cold tip was quickly warmed by the heat of her ass. She tensed when it 
drove slowly but steadily up her ass and it seemed to expand as it reached 
her anus. The grease lubricated her clenched anal muscles and the pressure 
forced her to relax. The dildo, used by Ben El Said, had stretched her 
sufficiently to accommodate what was being inserted in her ass now. 

Marcia grunted, lifted away from the advancing iron shaft. The weight of the 
major forced her down, pinned her buttocks to the table. She cried out and 
sucked in lungfuls of stale air. The shaft advanced. The lever squeaked like 
the cry of a small mouse. Then her cries pierced the major's foul grunting 
and gasping noises. The shaft pierced her anus and filled her intestines. 

The major rose above her belly and bore down, gouging her cunt in a series 
of sharp telescoping movements. The twin assault felt like two iron fists 
striking her sensitive insides, drilling at her cunt and ass at the same 
time. 

Marcia's bowels steamed. Her cunt gushed. Talons tore at her breasts. An 
eagle crouched on her belly and clawed her entrails. 

She bawled as the twin pressure became too wonderful to bear. She snapped 
her hips at him, clutched his cock in her snatch, ground her pelvis as the 
burrowing pressure rose in her ass. The pressure in her cunt grew stronger 
as his thickening mass pounded her snatch with greater strength. 

Marcia felt wetness in her crack and knew that he was climaxing. She jerked 
her hips twice more and climaxed. They flailed each other; their spurting 
glands collided; the heat of their bodies and the stink of their orgasm 
drifted and clung to the sweating walls. 

The major thrust once more, dumped the few remaining shards of cum and then 
pulled out. The shaft, she suddenly realized, had stopped, imbedded in her 
ass deep enough to prevent movement. Her stomach was clogged and she tasted 
something sour at the back of her throat. 

Heat flashed through her snatch. The warmth pulsed upward. like after a good 
fuck, she thought. 

The major rubbed his jaw. His palm rasped across the stubbled growth. 

"Oooooo," she sighed. 

"Well, well, we have ourselves a real tough young lady." He reached for the 
proffered shirt. He put on the garment and then stepped into his pants. His 
gaze never left her body. 

He seemed to like what he was looking at, she decided after studying his 
expression. His cock was tenting the breeches. Yes, he was going to fuck her 
again. 

How many ways were there to fuck? She felt sure this French animal would 
know them all. 

SIXTEEN 

The harness smelled of horseflesh. As the aide carried it out of the 
shadows, into the dim overhead light, she saw that it was a bridle and bit. 

The major forced her on her knees. Her buttocks slapped the table leg. The 
stone abutment was cold, slimy and chilled her hot ass. 

On her hands and knees the major swung his legs over her shoulders, squeezed 
her jaws open, and the aide slipped the headstall over her face, worked the 
bit into her mouth, locked the sour sharp object against her teeth, and 
tightened harness straps across her tits. He drew the leather taut and 
stifled her breath. Her heart slammed and she felt dizzy. 

"Come along, my filly. Your lover is waiting." 

They led her like she was a horse. Her belly and ass were goose fleshed and 
the chill of the dank hall invaded her snatch and ass. 

She wept as the bit cut her mouth and tongue. She slowed once and the major 
jerked and she fell on her face. The aide pulled her up by the hips and once 
she was on her hands and knees again the aide lashed her buttocks with a 
riding crop. The whipping continued and intensified during the journey down 
the hall. 

The lash dug tiny flakes of skin; red "c"s erupted on her supple hind 
cheeks. She whimpered and tried to keep up with the major. But he walked 
faster, tearing her mouth and when she stumbled the aide smote her ass with 
the whip. At the door which led to the courtyard the major stopped and 
turned. 

"Spread her open." 

The aide shoved two hands inside each of her ass cheeks and pried them open. 
She cried, frightened, aching. The major pulled on a pair of rubber gloves 
and greased his fingers and came around to her buttocks. 

"I have to get her ready for her lover," the major said. 

"Can't have her fucked to death." The aide smiled. 

The major guffawed. "Not right away. And," he said to her, "not at all if 
you sign a confession." 

To ridicule, discredit the United States, she thought. Her reply was a 
muffled obscenity. The burst of nationalistic pride astounded her. 

The major leered, satisfied that he had done all the coaxing he could do. He 
shoved two oiled fingers up her ass while the aide held her shoulders to 
keep her from falling. She winced, retched and the fingers brutally probed 
her anus. His weight on her shoulders strained her back but opened her ass 
wider. He coated her ass, then rubbed the sticky fingers over her labia. 

"Aaahhh," she moaned, softly, tossing her head. 

He entered her pussy, probed and moistened the cunt walls and, at her clit, 
he fingered the gland and to her surprise the gland responded, swelled and 
was about to spill over when he withdrew. 

"She's ready." The major unbolted the door. The morning sun baked the six 
cement steps which led to the courtyard. The skin on her palms and knees 
burned. Cinders scratched the baked flesh. 

"What have you there, Henri?" An older white-haired Captain called from a 
building at the far end of the yard. 

"A filly," the major called back. 

Their voices caught the attention of a dozen recruits gathered outside the 
yard, taking their mid morning cigarette break. The young soldiers caught 
sight of the supple reddening woman. Her shoulders were hunched and her back 
was straight. Her big ass-cheeks wiggled. Her tits were drawn tight against 
her sternum and ribs and the nipples thrust between the leather thongs. 

Her skin glistened, blushed. She held her head down, averting the probing 
gazes of the gathering soldiers. Their laughter, their obscene words jarred 
her senses. The major reined her to a halt in front of the dozen or so 
troopers. 

"Your last chance, gentlemen, to touch a white woman...this woman," the 
major droned. 

"Where is she going, sir?" 

"To her lover. Down there." He pointed to a one story wood frame building 
where the Captain stood, smoking a cigarette. 

The recruits touched her glistening ass. She recoiled and the major swatted 
her ass with the whip. 

"Behave," he barked. 

Marcia Andrus sobbed, great gasping bursts of breath making her lungs heave. 
They hesitated but, on orders from the major, they patted her ass, traced 
sweat rivers down her spine, tugged the long blonde strands that hung over 
her shoulders, fingered the white thicket between her legs and along the 
lower ass slope. 

The sun, the human heat, the lash's kiss stung her senses. Her head reeled. 
Her muscles, unaccustomed to this cramped position, strained. Her hands and 
knees throbbed and smarted. 

Marcia leaned forward, top heavy. But the major came around in front of her 
face and lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in her eyes. He crouched, held 
the lighted tip inches from her nose. 

"Pass out now and I will shove this in your twat." 

She whimpered, kept on going. The recruits followed. They crowded around her 
ass, snapping their fingers against her dewlapped butt cheeks, jerking the 
cunt hair wiggling along the lower ass crease. 

If it wasn't for the heat this would be exciting, she thought. Even with the 
heat the slapping, the threats and obscenities, and the leather harness 
brought up her desire for cock, for more of this abuse. 

She remembered the Arab's leather thongs and that excited her more. The 
major smelled her bitter passion scent and reined her to a halt. He took a 
deep drag on the cigarette, made the tip glow with a greater intensity, then 
he ground the cigarette on her right butt cheek. She screamed, shivered, 
fell on her head and upper arms, grinding the sand against her tear streaked 
cheeks. Sparks showered, and burned her calves and heels. The major lighted 
another cigarette, beckoned to his charges who advanced, their cigarettes 
glowing. 

"On her ass," he ordered. 

The first embers hurt terribly. But then numbness set in. Then a heat curled 
through her ass and cunt. Cigarettes were held under her ass hair. The 
strands curled, disappeared. They turned her on her side, held the burning 
tips to her cunt thicket. The hairs curled and she felt the burning kiss all 
the way into her vagina, clear to the backbone and anus. Her clitoris 
curled. The passion swelled the organ. The smell of burning hair added to 
her desire. She wondered what awaited her at the end of this long walk. 

"That's enough." The major jerked the reins. 

like Pavlov's dog she responded. She got on her knees and palms and meekly 
followed her master. She cried softly and she didn't know why. Her fear had 
passed. Anticipation, excitement remained. What, then, caused the grief? 

She felt no pain, only the pleasure of the unexpected. Orgasm awaited her. 
How it would be achieved could only be imagined. Would her lover be a 
convict, one of the Legion's incor-rigibles? 

The building resembled a stockade although there were no bars on the 
windows. And it smelled like a jail. The stink of unwashed flesh, unclean 
living quarters was strong. 

They were still about two city blocks from the building. She couldn't see 
anyone from this distance. She could only imagine, anticipate. 

Her loins gushed and the major seeing her excitement, guffawed. "The filly 
can't wait to meet her lover." He jerked the reins. "Faster, filly, faster. 
Can't keep your lover waiting." His raucous laugh rattled against her 
eardrums. 

As he pulled her faster her thighs rubbed, whispered. Her sex gland filled 
and erupted. The heat, the anticipation, the uncontrollable desire raged in 
her snatch. 

They were closer now, less than a block from the darkened entrance. The 
stink was thicker, less like the smell of human waste, more like the stink 
of... 

They were on a trampled dirt path which would take them inside the building. 
Clotted feces lined the path in irregular heaps. Flies swarmed over the 
piles. The insects smelled her odor, flocked to her ass and cunt holes, 
buzzed around her mouth, stuck to her lips. She shut her eyes to keep from 
being blinded. Their stings were tiny pins, pricking her ass, her pussy, her 
cleavage, her titties. 

She was being chewed by tiny teeth. All over. And especially where her most 
sensitive parts were. They swarmed into her ass and she had to tighten her 
crotch to kill them. Her vagina held them and, again, she drew herself 
tight, mashing the insects. 

The sensations were almost too powerful. She was bleary-eyed and her body 
was light. She felt as though she were floating. 

As she sagged, the major yanked the reins. The bit tore her mouth and she 
awakened. Her ass flinched. The hind melons shook and as she leaned forward, 
following his lead, the buttocks reared into the air. 

The sun boiled her flesh but the feeling she had was bliss. like being on a 
resort beach, enjoying the sun and admiring glances from the men. She 
smiled, closed her eyes and didn't feel the sand and dirt under her palms 
and knees. Nor did she noticed the ever-increasing stench. They were at the 
entrance; the major told her to stop and she complied, her eyes still 
closed. He shouted a command into the building. His voice was hoarse, choked 
from the dust and flies. 

She heard two noises which reached her at the same time. She threw her head 
back, eyes wide. 

A whinny. The sound of .hooves on the dirt floor. 

Marcia realized, in that instant, that she was at the entrance to a barn. 
That the sounds, approaching, belonged to a horse...a stallion. That they 
were mating her with... 

The stallion was young, pure white. The cock rested in its sheath. The 
sheath was stretched with the youthful, vigorous male flesh. When the animal 
saw what he was being led to the sheath filled, the prick lunged along his 
abdomen. 

"This is your new lover, cunt," the major growled. 

"Christ...." She fainted. 

SEVENTEEN 

Henri pressed a comforting hand on her shoulder; she lay curled up in the 
dust, the smell of the yard around her body like thick mud. 

"Not to worry," Henri said. "We don't expect you to take all that he has to 
offer all at once. A few inches at a time will be sufficient." 

Marcia was too numb to even cry. A spasmodic gasp lifted her tits. Otherwise 
she remained still. 

The stallion whinnied, kicked at the dust, strained at the bridle and bit. 
The sounds thudded. She heard, comprehended but wouldn't allow herself full 
understanding. To know exactly what she was going to be fucked with would 
have driven her insane. The safety valves that we all are endowed with 
prevented her from thinking this terrible act all the way to its inevitable 
conclusion. 

She imagined a big cock, a supreme fuck. The pleasure of having in her cunt 
the biggest prick in Algiers. No reason to think past the act. 

Henri said to his aide: "Get the barrel. I believe it is kept just inside 
the door." 

The barrel, he explained, was used for breeding. If a mare was unable to 
accept all of the stallion's cock this barrel was fitted over the mare's 
cunt and would keep the stallion from gaining more than six to eight inches 
penetration. 

"You see how we think of your welfare?" Henri lit another cigarette. 

"We can't afford to lose her yet," the aide said, placing the barrel at her 
side. 

The barrel was three feet high and wide enough for her shoulders to pass 
through. One end was open. The other end was covered with thick wood. A 
panel, five inches in circumference, was in the middle of the wood covering. 
Before the stallion could get interested some of her lust juice had to 
spread over the opening. 

Henri and his aide spread her out in the dust and dung and held her open. 
She let them manipulate her body, get her body positioned; she wouldn't 
think about the animal pawing the dust a few feet away, its eyes wide and 
riveted on her smooth white flesh, the blonde cunt hair, the pulsing red 
nipples and massive solid titties and quivering belly flesh. 

The animal pulled on the reins and snorted and salivated. The cock was fully 
extended, a block of white iron that was thrust along the full muscular 
belly. 

Marcia Andrus heard all this but wouldn't let the sounds register. She 
remained passive while the major fondled her tits, and the aide opened her 
cunt and ran two fingers inside of her vagina. 

"For a broad that-likes to fuck she certainly isn't cooperating, sir." 

The major, still crouched over her face, let go of her tits. "Maybe she's 
bored with the mundane." He unzipped his pants. "Would you like something 
different? For a change?" 

Marcia stared up at his cock, dangling a foot from her mouth. He squatted, 
his hands braced her temples. His cock fell into her cleavage and his ass 
made short, back and forth motions as he rubbed his cock between her swollen 
breasts. 

The drilling heat passed along her sternum and ribs and made the belly 
muscles shake, and the passion oil flow. 

"She's spilling, sir." 

"Our little filly loves to fuck. All it takes, sometimes, is a little 
encouragement." 

His prick was about to erupt. He squeezed her jaws and when she opened he 
shoved his cock along her tongue, to the back of her throat. The burning 
jelly made her gag and she choked but swallowed the cream. The major pulled 
out, sweating, looking around. The recruits were staring, from the other 
side of the courtyard. He zipped his fly, a germ of an idea quickly growing. 

"Has she cum yet?" he asked. 

The aide fingered her cunt but all he got was lust oil. "Not yet, sir." 

Henri snapped his fingers, beckoned the recruits. "Those of you not 
interested in a free fuck please retire to the other side of the yard." 

There was laughter and no one moved. 

Henri lined them up, found some rope and tied her ankles to the barrel. A 
tree across the way provided shade. Henri tied her wrists to the trunk. Her 
shoulders and head were propped against the trunk and she saw each man 
approach. 

They were of all races: white European, black African, Berber. All shades. 
All sizes. She noted each man dispassionately, opened for each, flinched 
when they rammed their cocks into her dripping snatch, twisted and turned, 
speeded up or slowed, depending on the rhythm of the man. She let them lead. 
She tried to enjoy the fuck and would have if it wasn't for that stallion, 
facing her heaving breasts and belly. The animal was still aroused; she had 
heard once that a horse could keep its cock hard for hours, could service a 
dozen mares in an afternoon. 

She trembled and sobbed and turned her head away. The stallion's heavy 
breathing grew stronger, louder. He was making almost human sounds of 
frustration. She turned toward the animal. 

He was being led to the tree! "Please," she blubbered, "not yet." 

"Almost," Henri said. 

The last man was mounting her belly. She had to make this last! 

She whispered to the youth, a heavily hung, broad featured black African. He 
didn't understand English so she tried French. He understood enough to know 
what she was talking about. 

He set a languid rhythm, back and forth, pushing a little deeper with each 
thrust. His thick buttocks and knotted thighs were glistening ebony. The 
thickness of his shaft stretched her labia and the depth of his cock struck 
the back of her pussy each time he shoved it in. 

His balls drummed the lower slope of her cunt. His heat, his heavy male 
smell titillated her senses. The slowness, almost loving way he fucked her 
pussy aroused her passion. 

This one was good. He touched every muscle in her snatch and each time he 
entered he struck her clitoris. 

"You're geat, my lover," she whimpered. 

"Keep it up...keep...fucking me. Ah, oh, yes, my big black lover, fuck me 
good, make this last fuck great enough to send me off...." 

Her hoarse whispers excited the black youth even more. He sawed rapidly. His 
prick bruised. The cockhead rammed the back of her snatch and she felt the 
pounding in her throat. She jerked side to side, forgetting what awaited her 
after this man was finished. All she concentrated on was this huge prick 
drilling her guts, fucking her fast and still faster, making her climax over 
and over, making the muscles in her snatch throb pleasurably, making the 
tiny gland spew cum, making her thighs ripple, her belly quiver, her titties 
roll and the blood swell the nipples almost to bursting. 

Oh, lord, it was great! So wonderful and it was the last fuck she would ever 
have...the last cock she would feel in her guts that would love her in a 
rugged, virile way without killing her, splitting her insides, forcing her 
organs into her throat, and then out of her cunt and over the ground. 

"Don't...stop...." 

The youth fucked faster; his orgasm was close. She felt the first bursts of 
pre cum. 

"Oh, my dear, don't stop...they'll kill me when you're finished...." 

But the youth was already blowing his rocks. His grunts overrode her soft 
entreaties. His rippling back and leg muscles strained. His shaft burrowed 
deeper, lodging against the inner cunt walls. 

Marcia's thighs tensed and her belly slammed into his belly, temporarily 
slowing his downward thrust. But the youth was too strong, too excited. His 
strength pounded her belly and she fell back, hardly moving now as he 
climaxed and began to withdraw. But, then, her passion rose and she closed 
her cunt, trapping his purplish cockhead in the outer labia. She held him, 
begged softly, and he pushed into her snatch and this time her clitoris 
strained and her cunt exuded love oil and she threw herself into this fuck. 

She fucked him for the pleasure he imparted, and to prolong her life. For 
the stallion was six feet away, head down, watching the fucking. The animal 
was stomping the dirt, kicking clots over the black youth's calves. But the 
youth didn't mind. His body was twisting and straining and fucking her with 
the kind of skill and drive that she hadn't experienced since that first day 
in the desert, with Ahmed Mohand Madj. Which proved that a good man didn't 
have to tie her up, whip and degrade her to give her pleasure. A big cock 
and lots of natural technique was all that was needed. 

Finding this out, this late in the game, made her laugh. She laughed till 
the tears came, and the black youth drilled her to the threshold of orgasm. 

Marica tightened her crotch, held him against her clitoris and, as her 
orgasm spilled, she twisted her pelvis, gritted her teeth to keep from 
screaming. 

This was the last fuck, and one of the best. Her cum boiled and spattered 
his shaft, and balls, and drenched her thighs. The black man, smelling her 
passion, was driven crazy with desire, or maybe he knew this would be her 
final fuck. Whatever the reason, he stayed in her pussy until he couldn't 
stay hard anymore. 

Then, as his prick dropped out and slapped her thigh, he shoved his face to 
her thigh and suckled the taut flesh, and lapped the jizz and cum. Marcia 
cried out, strained to see him. The black curly head bobbed between her 
legs. The tongue was a long almost vicious snake, licking rapaciously at the 
sweet musky tender flesh just beyond the outer labia. 

Deeper and still deeper the snake moved, suckling, touching every succulent 
inch, probing, testing and tasting every particle of sweet meat. Her belly 
and ass writhed. She lifted her hind cheeks to get closer to the virile 
probing tongue. He stayed close to her thighs, his head surrounded by the 
hot dewy muscles. 

They grunted; his warm breath filled her cunt. His tongue laved and teased 
her snatch until she thought she would go insane. She screamed at him, 
begged him to fuck her faster for her orgasm burned and strained. The youth 
whipped her clitoris, unmindful of the clenched muscles smothering him. Her 
climax exploded but he kept at her organ, lashing the tiny thumb non-stop. 

She emptied, re-filled, held him tightly, rocked her thighs and wished for 
his hard cock in her mouth. Her jaws and tongue and throat ached for a hard 
hot spilling prick. 

And, as if by telepathy, the youth's comrades bellowed and razed him until 
the black man, his balls throbbing with cum, swung his ass around, dropped 
his cock into her open mouth. He settled down on her face. His thighs 
smelled of bitter salt. His hairy cock and balls tickled her nose and mouth 
and his cock nearly choked her with its large girth. Her jaws were swollen 
and the back of her throat was crammed with his cockhead. Her teeth sawed 
the under side of the shaft, scratching the veins, dragging his cum along 
the shaft. 

He lapped her cunt, grunting and gasping, filling her snatch with hot breath 
and his tongue. She suckled quickly, bathing the shaft all over with her 
snapping tongue tip. Her teeth chewed and she pumped her breath against his 
prick head. 

He choked her with his large rod and she wished she could have this big cock 
in her mouth always. His massive male presence overwhelmed her, awed her 
with his strength; he could dominate her without whips and tethers. 

But, then, so could that sentry: Ahmed Mohand Madj. At least he might have 
if they had remained together longer. 

The Legionnaire drilled her throat and lashed her clitoris and he was moving 
with faster, more urgent strokes. She tasted the watery, bitter pre-cum. She 
bawled, knowing this ecstasy was about over, knowing what was waiting ten 
feet away, pawing the dirt, anxiously awaiting its turn. 

The black youth trembled, thrust ahead, emptying his balls, and withdrawing. 
Their tear streaked faces were inches apart now. He bent to kiss her cum 
flecked lips. She savored his robust male-animal scent, the pressure of his 
mouth against her feverish lips. Then he was gone and she was confronted by 
the stallion's rolling eyes, and the bitter laughter of the major. 

EIGHTEEN 

As the major and the aide dragged her away from the tree and into the center 
of the courtyard she glanced wildly at the black youth. He stood at a 
distance, his eyes shifting from her voluptuous titties, to the huge cock 
which swung back and forth with each movement of the stallion's legs. 

She sobbed, pleaded for mercy, but to no avail. 

They lifted her by the belly, turned her face down and dropped her to her 
dirt. She landed on her tits, the breath knocked from her lungs. While she 
was momentarily stunned they hoisted her to her hands and knees and shoved 
her, head first, into the barrel. Her head banged the thick wood barrier on 
the other end. Her ass protruded out the open end. Her tits were raked by 
the slivers and jagged wood chunks. The wood was wet, smelled of urine and 
thick gouted chunks caked to the staves. A circle of light penetrated 
through the opening which was an inch from her mouth and nose. 

Marcia was jammed into the end with barely enough room for her shoulders. 
Her titties were trapped along the undercurve of the barrel. Her belly 
rested in the curve and her spine scraped the curved rim at the open end. 
The heat and the flies warmed and tickled her ass cheeks and her cum 
slickened twat. 

Heavy foot falls approached; she recognized the major's strong strides. His 
hand cupped her pussy; he immersed his fingers in her cunt; she almost 
swooned from the pressure. Her clitoris was crushed under his thumb; his 
fingers scratched the cunt walls. 

He pulled his hand out. He had enough cum on the fingertips. He came around 
to the covered side of the barrel and smeared the jizz over the open panel. 
Next came the sound of the horse being led to the barrel. For the moment she 
imagined that huge thing mounting her ass, splitting her bowels. But the 
animal was taken to the protected side of the barrel. Hoofs clattered on the 
barrel's roof and the sides creaked and strained when the animal settled its 
weight on the roof. The animal's prick slammed the barrel and her head ached 
from the reverberations. While the stallion was being positioned Henri 
smoked and watched and, when the positioning took too much time, he grew 
impatient. He lit a cigarette and walked softly to her ass. Her cheeks were 
perfect slopes with the smooth sleek crease giving off a pungent perfume. 
Whitish-gray hair sprouted from the lower crease. Henri slapped her ass. She 
recoiled; her cry was muffled. The barrel shook, rolled slightly. The animal 
pounded the barrel with its front hooves. 

"I'm not the only one that is impatient," Henri chuckled. 

He stroked the stallion's nose, calming the animal while his aides carefully 
coaxed the animal's hind flanks into position. Then the major came around to 
her ass and the sight of those lush cheeks got his balls throbbing. 

Inside the barrel the air was becoming increasingly fetid, hard to breathe; 
the stallion's underbelly shut off the panel, stifled the light. She was 
alone in a closed, airless, dark box. She wept, not knowing what was going 
to happen. She was helpless, at the mercy of these brutes. She knew that 
they wouldn't kill her, not yet, not this soon. Her agony would be 
prolonged. There would be more fucking but less pleasure for as the number 
of men increased, as the more inventive the couplings became, as the more 
exotic the settings for these couplings became, the less her enjoyment would 
be. For she knew that eventually they would grow tired of her, that her 
flesh would show the abuse and she would become less desirable, and they 
would kill her. Not quickly. These savages never did anything quickly. 

They would fuck her in the ass, in the cunt, in the mouth and she would take 
all the lust, all the punishment they tortured her with. And there would be 
less enjoyment, less pleasure. The pain, as her body rapidly aged, would be 
more pronounced. And the pay off would be the slow death that these French 
pigs were very good at inflicting. 

The major brandished his cigarette at arm's length, showing it to his 
recruits. "This, gentlemen, is the way to heat up cold cunt." And he jammed 
the cigarette at the tight ass crease. 

She shrieked as the sudden burning pain stung the hole. He slapped her ass; 
She wiggled and he forced her open, forcing the still glowing, bent 
cigarette up her ass. 

"My Christ," she shrieked. "Oh, my Christ." 

This, she knew, was but a prelude to what was about to happen; the major 
never performed the act all at once. There was always the overture before 
the first act. Her bowels stewed and her anus rebelled at the stinging, 
burning ember. But as her anal juices snuffed the ember another sensation 
coursed along the anal corridor. The feeling was pleasant, not un-like the 
feeling she experienced with the young black stud. She tossed her hips and 
the dewlapped cheeks made wet, hot, enticing sounds as they slapped 
together. 

Henri rubbed his hands together, moistened his lips. This cunt was very 
inviting. One final fuck before the stallion invaded her bowels. Why the 
hell not? Showing his men how a real man fucks, regardless of who is 
watching, would be a real object lesson for them; his screwing her right 
there would show them that their major had no modesty, was unafraid to 
expose his massive cock to the eyes of others. The major was proud of his 
cock, so why not show it off? 

She heard the slide of the fly over the panting and kicking of the stallion. 
His gnarled fingers were on her ass, on her cunt, prying her open, working 
his fingers into her cunt to get her oiled and ready. For what? For his 
cock? Or the stallion's stick? 

Marcia felt the spongy prickhead at her crease and was almost thankful. The 
inevitable was postponed for awhile longer. 

As Henri pushed his shaft between her spread-eagled thighs she wondered what 
they were doing with the stallion. A ripple of lust went through her snatch 
as she tried to imagine what the stallion was being forced to do up there. 

Henri slammed into the yielding cunt, whipping his ass side to side to get 
enough traction to thrust deeper as the black kid had done. 

About then the stallion was calmed. The aide held the stallion's flanks 
while another aide held the reins tightly, and stroked the animal's nose. 

Marcia wiggled her ass against the major's hard driving pummeling. Her 
insides were becoming a steaming cauldron. Her clitoris was a thumb being 
pried back. Ecstatic pain shifted quickly and became extreme rapture. The 
brute could still fuck her into a state of raw animal abandon. No love, not 
like the feeling she experienced with the African lad. But more like 
scratching talons satisfying an itch. 

Just as she thrashed herself into a frenzy she smelled an overpowering, 
bitter stink. It was like the odor of a forest after a summer rain: pungent, 
decaying, nauseating. 

Something slapped her jaw and made her head snap against the top of the 
barrel. Whatever it was pressed hard against her teeth. If she didn't open 
her mouth this foreign object would shatter her jaw. 

Her mouth fell open. This bitter massive object rammed ahead. Her jaws were 
stretched. Her teeth were pressed down into her gums. Her gums were cut by 
the knotted underside of this stinking thing. Her tongue was crushed against 
the side of her mouth. Her throat was invaded by the tip of this thing. 

It was moving, back and forth, rapidly, making her teeth ache, making her 
gag, making 

Henri's big cock in her snatch seem small. This terrible thing...and she was 
beginning to realize what it was...was keeping the rhythm that Henri had 
started. Sawing her mouth the exact same way that Henri was sawing her cunt. 

The stallion, as it fucked Marcia Andrus's mouth, slammed its hooves at the 
barrel, showering her thrown back, cramped shoulders with slivers. The 
vibrations traveled along her spine and her titties. The slivers along the 
underside of the barrel tore her tits, stuck the nipples and the feeling was 
like knives grating her breasts. 

The cock in her cunt railed her pussy. The cock in her mouth nearly 
smothered her, nearly snapped her jaw. But she was strong. She held the 
cock, breathing hard on the cockhead, praying that she would be able to 
swallow the jizz, the cum, whatever a horse's climax was called. For she 
would be expected to please this animal, drink all the orgasm he had. If she 
didn't they would turn her over and let the stallion fuck her in the cunt. 

The final fuck. The one that would send her off the edge in paroxysms of 
ecstasy. Wasn't that what she had always dreamed of? 

No. She had to remain alive, to some day find another man like the African. 
If the youth wasn't able to get her again, and she felt he would not be 
allowed to fuck her, then she might find some man as good as the boy. But 
she had to live to experience this unknown man, this sought after thrill. To 
survive she had to take the abuse, enjoy what she could, and hope they 
wouldn't ruin her body. 

The stallion whinnied, pounded the barrel, kicked the wood covering near her 
chin. She tried to suck but there was too much shaft to move her tongue and 
lips. All she could do was hold him, breathe on the cockhead, and wait for 
the torrent. 

And it came suddenly, even before Henri ejaculated. The major was still 
fucking her twat when the stallion, bellowing at the top of his lungs, 
lunged and orgasmed. The climax was scalding thick oil. It inundated her 
throat. She gagged, swallowed, took all of it in, kept at the spurting mass, 
tensed her ass and clutched the major as the animal boiled over. The climax 
spilled over her jaws, drenched her chin, gushed into her nose and cheeks. 
But she didn't cry out, couldn't scream. And, as she controlled herself, she 
found herself accepting this awful abuse, this degradation, and, although 
she didn't like what was happening, she didn't hate it, either. 

The stallion kept plunging, as did the major, and then, when she thought she 
had experienced all that any woman could experience and still retain her 
sanity, she felt long nailed fingers on her ass, forcing the cheeks wide 
even as Henri plugged her cunt. 

Somehow, one of the men had worked himself on her back and forced his cock 
into her asshole. She pictured the man's ass up against the major's nose, 
and that made her laugh, and choke. 

Every hole was being fucked now, every possible degradation was being 
inflicted and she was surviving. And wasn't that what life was all about? 
Surviving, regardless of the indignities her enemies punished her with? 

The fucking went on. She didn't know how long the fucking would last. The 
stallion numbed her head, scalded her throat and belly. The fucking at her 
ass went on and on; even after the first spurting orgasms boiled up her ass, 
stiffening her spine, the fucking continued back there. And Henri drilled 
her snatch with his cock; his insatiable jizz-producing gonads sent streams 
of hot cream into her snatch and over her lips and down her thighs. The 
white stuff streaked the area beneath her snatch, moistened the ground and 
sent up billows of dust. 

And, from far off, came the noise of hammers, pounding. What the hell was 
going on? 

The noise must be the blood, surging along her temples, coursing through her 
brain. Her nerves were alive, too...vibrating, feeling each nuance of the 
assault, reacting like a virgin being fucked for the first time: an instant 
of pain and trepidation quickly followed by the satisfaction. 

Marcia was climaxing. Her hips jerked. Her thighs locked. Her inner muscles 
spasmed. Her clitoris spewed its load, and kept boiling over until there was 
nothing left in there but a deep satisfaction. 

By then the weight in her cunt and ass had withdrawn and the stallion was 
being separated from her mouth. It took a few minutes to get the animal away 
from her stretched jaws. But, finally, he was pulled from her, and she 
sobbed and spat. 

They left her in the barrel while the hammering continued. When that stopped 
she was pulled out. 

Marcia blinked and steadied herself on the top of the barrel. Absentmindedly 
she traced the ruts caused by the stallion's hooves. She sagged against the 
slivered rim and shook her head. Mist cloyed her eyes and the hot air felt 
cool in her lungs. She drank in draughts of the air, ignoring the flies on 
her ass and cunt and tits, and mouth. 

Henri was at her side. "You've tasted horse. Would you like to feel him in 
your puss-puss? Or would you prefer to sign a confession." 

If she signed she would be killed right away. If she refused she would be 
killed but the ritual of death would be slower. As long as she was alive 
there was hope. 

"Fuck your confession, you bastard." 

He recoiled, eyebrows raised. "Well, then, you big-titted bitch, we will let 
your lover fuck you until you bleed." He twisted one nipple. Waves of heat, 
thin, like needles, flexible like a snake's tail, shot through the sagging 
tit. "Take a good look at your wedding bed." His opened palm swept to an 
area directly in front of the barrel, near the barn door. 

What looked like a "V", laying on its side, had been hastily constructed. 
The bottom side of the "V" was jagged, and was six feet long. At the 
intersection there were two holes. Wide enough for two feet, she thought. 
The top side of the "V" was angled in such a way that anyone laying on the 
bottom half would be cramped at the narrow bend of the contraption. But, as 
the "V" stretched toward its tip, the space widened. 

A woman with big titties could be placed in that thing and there would be 
plenty of room to get her into the contraption, without pinching her tits, 
or crushing her ribs. 

But what was the purpose of the thing? From where she stood she couldn't see 
any hole for a prick to fit into. 

The major took her elbow, pulled her to the "V". She saw, then, that the 
sides were reinforced with iron props, to keep the thing from collapsing. 

And at the base of the "V", carved in the base of the upper half of the "V" 
was a wide hole. She had seen an opening that big in the barrel. 

She knew what the hole was for. 

"Have a happy honeymoon, you American slut." The major snapped his fingers. 
The aides descended. 

NINETEEN 

As they shoved her down the open end of the "V" she measured the opening 
midway between the tip and the intersecting edge. It was enormous. She felt 
a cramp in her snatch. The cramp quickly became a twinge of...something 
else. Part fear, part awe of the unknown, part anticipation for what was 
about to happen. 

Her feet poked through the openings at the bottom of the contraption. They 
jerked her feet through and tied her ankles with rope. The raw strands cut 
her flesh. Her hands were cinched over her head; the rough thongs dug her 
wrists. The wood smelled of the sun and fertilizer. The sun seeped through 
the cracks and she squinted against the burning rays. The contraption wasn't 
that solid. Would the stallion's weight collapse this wood coffin? 

Marcia would find out. Damn fast. 

The stallion was brought to the bottom slope of the "V". He was reluctant at 
first. But coaxing, tugging and her sex smell got the animal on the wood 
spine. His hooves rattled. Slivers fell about her face and she shut her 
eyes. 

The stink of the animal's underbelly choked her nose and mouth. She coughed. 
Her tits scraped the wood overhead. The slivers tickled and when the animal 
thundered as it struggled into place, her hips moved and slivers tore her 
ass. 

Marcia shivered. The smell, the cramped surroundings, the slivers, all 
started a heat building in her snatch. She cried out and her tiny voice 
clattered. 

The stallion's cock was guided through the opening. The massive weight 
struck her knee. Sensations exploded. The wet rock-like head brushed her 
knee and her body quaked. 

A hand reached in, at the top, and jerked her long hair, pulling her up to 
the opening at the head of the contraption. The jagged wood scratched and 
she felt the tearing in her cunt and ass. Her gland vibrated. Her cunt 
gushed. The stallion smelled the fermy woman's smell and began stomping the 
wood barrier. 

Marcia Andrus shuddered and tried to draw herself into a ball. Strong hands 
held her chin and shoulders. As she tried to jerk free the hands held her 
still. She kicked at the wood slats and the animal thundered back. 

Tilting her head slightly she saw the massive drooling cockhead push through 
the hole. The enormous size frightened her; if he fucked her cunt he would 
tear her in half. 

She struggled as the head moved closer to her curled pubic bush. 

No, no, this isn't what I want. I don't want to die. I want to live, to 
fuck, to breathe fresh air....I want to love a man...to be loved by a strong 
gentle man...to fuck and get fucked with equal passion...equal rapture...not 
this way...please, sweet Jesus, not this way... 

The cockhead was six inches from her hole. It looked like a grayish-red 
boulder, dripping orgasm, shoving closer to her puckered snatch. Closer and 
closer as the stallion flattened itself on the top portion of the "V" and 
drilled through the hole in the heavy wood. 

The hideous stinking gristle was oozing cum in her snatch; he drenched her 
lower belly, Venus mound and thighs with the pre-cum. She shrieked. The men 
holding her steady chortled. She wiggled to escape this descending terror. 

Something wet kissed her forehead. She opened her eyes. She and the animal 
were inches away, staring into each other's eyes. 

"AAAAAHHHHH...." 

The animal flinched, shook its head, crowded closer to the wood barrier, 
slammed into the hole. Marcia felt the head pound her cunt; painful waves 
radiated and she thought, at first, that her snatch had been violated. 

But, no, the weight of his organ head had struck her Venus mound. Without 
entering. The animal reared back, slammed forward, but all he was able to do 
was strike her cuntlips. 

He was too big to fuck her snatch! 

He whinnied, frustrated, kicked the wood, vibrating the frame and sending 
slivers into her thighs and belly and cunt. He showered her face, threw his 
mane, striking her forehead. 

The horror of what had almost happened abated somewhat and she was left with 
a feeling of elation. Horror quickly turned to joy, to passion as the 
cockhead spewed cum, dumping the jizz on her thighs and belly and snatch; it 
felt like wet hot towels slapping her body. Her titties, swollen now, 
thrusting and touching the top segment of wood, jiggled and scraped the 
slivered over-piece and needled hotly along the hot rolling jugs. 

She clutched her cunt muscles together and the pressure flattened her clit 
in a hot humid muscle sandwich. She jerked her pelvis and the quick snap of 
muscle on her clitoris made her climax. 

The pressure built and then blew off and she sighed and moaned and 
shuddered. The stallion slammed the wood, over and over but was only able to 
crack the upper surface. 

Marcia Andrus sighed, relieved and shut her eyes. 

"The hole can be made larger," Henri gnashed in her ear. "Will you sign that 
confession, linking you to the death of our beloved Maurice, and your 
involvement with those swine, the F.L.N. ? " 

Marcia wanted to give in; she was too tired to fight them right now. But she 
knew that she was close to death right now; that at any moment the stallion 
could come crashing through the wood, crushing her life out. She was this 
close to death and found that it wasn't that awful, after all. She held out 
this long and she knew they wouldn't kill her without her signature on that 
confession. She would hold out a little longer. 

The major barked the offer again. She didn't answer. The major swore and 
waved for the stable master to move the stallion away. After the animal was 
at a safe distance, Henri grabbed his riding crop and shoved the handle 
through the opening. She felt the handle touch her cunt and she raised to 
meet the downward thrust. The tip pierced her labia and she wiggled and took 
the handle in her snatch and whipping her hips dragged the handle over her 
clitoris. She imagined that big horse cock up her twat and tried to feel the 
harsh brute force. The image flashed in clear detail and heightened the lust 
that leaped through her pussy. 

Marcia struggled to control the eruption in her snatch but wasn't able to. 
Even as she tried to prolong the orgasm the jelly bubbled over her labia and 
dripped across her flexed thighs. 

"Uh, mmmmm...." 

She took deep breaths and her titties lolled and slapped and were stung by 
slivers. She was at peace. For the first time since this horror began she 
knew they wouldn't end her life. Not until she signed that confession. If 
she could keep from signing the document she might live quite awhile. 

For how long she didn't know, couldn't even guess at. 

It's not how long you live, but how you live. Someone said that. The motto 
was a good one to follow. 

"Ah, shit," the major snorted. "We've had our damn fun. Now to business." 

Marcia was pulled out of the "V" and dropped, in the dust, on her butt. 

"I'd enjoy tearing your eyes out," Henri snorted, snapping the riding crop 
across her cheek. 

She winced, the tears erupted and she flung a hand over the jagged, angled 
wound. 

"If I didn't need that pretty face intact and unharmed I'd turn those 
features into pulp." He booted her butt and she fell on her side, groveling. 
"Since I can't abuse what will be seen by the reporters and photographers, I 
can at least work on those parts that will be clothed. When we hold a press 
conference to announce your confession." 

Swinging his arm he brought down the riding crop on her buttock. She 
screamed, rolled part way from the next blow. Feces and dust smeared her 
side and tits as she scampered, on hands and knees, to escape the next blow. 

This is how she had to behave, the way the sadistic major wanted her to 
react. She had to play this charade his way. For herself as well as him. 

Henri, red faced and sweating, screamed epithets, swung the riding crop, 
followed her across the courtyard, raining blows on her ass, her back, 
covering the reddened supple muscles with wiggling gouges, making the red 
lines writhing thin worms which undulated across her big solid ass. 

The major snapped at the lower cunt-ass line where the two holes met. He 
tore loose flesh fragments, tufts of hair. She padded faster to escape his 
heavy footed advance. She stumbled, fell on her face. He paused over her 
prone figure, admired the streaked quivering butt muscles. He pressed the 
heel of one boot on the right cheek and bore down. Marcia wailed, pounded 
the dust, raised dust clots, flung feces in the air. The shit fell on her 
spine and she whipped her shoulders to dislodge the revolting stinking 
deposits. 

Henri ground his heel on the buttock. He felt the muscle flatten and he 
leered, and moved to the other cheek and crushed the ass-cheek, grinding his 
heel, feeling the rippling muscle beneath his weight. 

Marcia cried, choked on the dust and shit and grabbled handfuls of dust to 
keep from screaming. The heat which spread through her ass was going to 
ignite her flesh, consume her ass and her cunt, send her into a feverish 
trance. Already the ember in her cunt was kindling, becoming an inferno and 
there was no quenching the flames. They licked her pussy walls, turned her 
climax into lava, strained her clitoris, turning the tiny throbbing gland 
into a volcano. 

"EEEEE...." 

Her toes drummed the ground. Her fists flung dust. Her tits were crushed in 
the dusty waste and were smeared with the muddy ooze. Her belly thumped up 
and down, flinging clouds over her ribs. Her climax spilled into the dust 
and the smell of her passion flew above the dust and shit stink. 

"You bitch," Henri roared, "have you climaxed?" 

He kicked her over on her side, then her back and the sun burned her tits, 
belly and thighs. She clenched her eyes shut; he kicked her thighs apart, 
probed her cunt with his fingers, flicking her clitoris, sending her off 
again. 

The major cursed loudly, face flushed. He raised a boot over her face, 
paused when she flinched and covered her eyes. The gesture made her titties 
rise and the major put his foot down without following through. With the toe 
of his boot he prodded the left tit. Marcia winced, flattened her ass on the 
ground. Chuckling, he traced the swollen peak, wiggled the nipple with the 
underside of the boot, chuckling all the while, enjoying the excruciating 
agony he was causing. 

Marcia whimpered, shuddered. Heat waves were coursing from her titties, 
aimed at her snatch. She cringed, frightened of her reaction when she 
orgasmed, knowing exactly how the major would react to her climax. 

Laughing softly, Henri rubbed the underside of the black leather boot across 
the thrusting nipples. She jerked her shoulders, shied away from him. She 
wanted to flee. But she couldn't. She was hypnotized by this new thrill. 
Henri was overcoming Marcia's facade of disgust and fear; he was 
manipulating her emotions and was enjoying this new degradation. Enjoying 
it, immersing himself in the fear that turned her pretty face into a mask of 
terror. 

"You and I...we've done almost everything." Henri unzipped his fly. "We've 
enjoyed it all, but the one thing we haven't done...." He parted the front 
crease of his shorts. Leering, he pulled out his cock; it was soft. "I hope 
you enjoy this, bitch." 

He directed streams of urine at her face. She shut her eyes tightly, her 
mouth twisted, her lips drawn across her teeth. 

Marcia was revolted. She retched, wanted to vomit but wasn't able to. Her 
throat relaxed as the thick, hot liquid poured down her cheeks and gathered 
in the hollow of her throat and spilled down the cleavage. Her hefty tits 
seemed to fold inward, drawn to the scalding piss. 

This vile, disgusting act awakened a glow in her cunt. She forced down its 
girth. She couldn't...wouldn't allow herself to derive pleasure from this 
swinish obscenity. But all her efforts were in vain. The passion leaped and 
coursed and swelled her cunt and glands and her titties rose and fell and 
betrayed her desire. 

The major shrieked and beckoned to the recruits. They left the shade of the 
trees surrounding the courtyard and came over, eager to participate. 

"This slut is piss-crazy," Henri shrieked. "Look at her...look at those 
titties...look how the lust spits from her pussy. He shook the last drops on 
her nipples. They swelled tighter. "Come over here," he bellowed to his men. 
"Give her one helluva thrill, boys. One helluva wet thrill." He shrieked 
with laughter. 

They gathered around her trembling body, unzipped their flies, directed 
their piss at her shoulders, tits and belly and cunt. 

The bubbling, sizzling urine cascaded along her rippling muscles, coated her 
titties, washed the mud from her belly, filled her belly button with tiny 
dirt pyramids, spilling over her mound and making winding sheets of the 
feces clotted to her cunt thicket, shot the dirt over her thighs. 

Marcia Andrus wailed, hysterical, outraged, bubbling with cum. She covered 
her face to hide her shame, to keep her eyes and mouth from the bath. She 
kicked at them, howled her anger, thrashed beneath this humiliating piss 
bath, clenched her fists, prayed to get close enough to the major to kill 
him. 

The men moved aside, did a sideways dance, to avoid her kicks. They kept 
pissing at her tits and the spray ricocheted, over her ribs and the ground. 
As she railed against this assault the fires flared in her pussy and her 
clit tickled, throbbed, swelled and spilled its contents. The orgasm kept 
on, matching the intensity of the pissing. Finally...finally it ended. The 
humiliation was done. For the time being. Her excitement was slackened, her 
perverse cunt-rage was assuaged. 

What sickened her more than this insult was her reaction to it. What the 
hell kind of twisted human being could get satisfaction from this abuse ? 

Just herself. 

Marcia wept softly as the men zipped their pants and retired to the trees, 
and the shade. 

Only the major remained, tapping his leg with the riding crop. "Well, slut, 
what do we do next? What pleasure can we give you?" 

Marcia opened her eyes slowly, blinked and drew herself into a ball, hatred 
turning her eyes into coals. 

"like me to burn your eyes? Shove hot pokers up your ass and cunt?" 

She whimpered, hugged herself, didn't answer. 

"I'd like to comply, give you all the pleasure your appetites demand," he 
cooed, "but, unfortunately, we must not damage your pretty body. Bruise it a 
little, perhaps, yes, we could do that without causing an international 
flap. But, to give you what you need to be happy...." He made an open handed 
gesture. "Is unthinkable. Impossible." 

Marcia tried to imagine him fucking her with a poker, then turning the poker 
on himself and being kicked off balance and impaling himself on that poker, 
severing his balls and cock. 

She heated up and he saw her passion rise. 

He flicked her nipples with the riding crop. They were stiff again. Henri 
nodded, wiped his burnished face. 

"Well, my dear American tramp, we've had our fun, haven't we? Now we must 
get to work." He waved over to an aide. "Get her off her ass and back 
inside." 

Again, she was dragged through the dust, her knees buckled and her toes 
scraped furrows through the dust and dung. The stallion whinnied. The 
recruits smoked, talked, laughed softly. 

A non-com snarled a command. The cigarettes were thrown to the ground; the 
troopers snapped to attention. 

The heat beat her shoulders and columns passed through her body where they 
lodged in her snatch. Judas Priest, just being dragged along, like a bag of 
garbage, was setting her off. 

No, that wasn't the reason her cunt was gushing, her clitoris was vibrating. 
The reason was waiting there, behind the double iron plated door, down those 
dank, dim halls, deep in the bowels of this prison. She would be trussed; 
the cold damp stone would feel good after the dirt and the flies and the 
terrible sun. And they would do more horrifying things to her flesh. But 
they wouldn't kill her. Knowing that she would be flung to the very brink, 
and then pulled back at the last instant, excited her further. So she would 
get satisfaction, at their expense, and they would keep her alive, to enjoy 
more of whatever they dreamed up to torment her passionate body. 

At the door, the major turned and gestured and the aides let her fall. She 
fell on her back, her head snapped against the top stone step and her foot 
hit the bottom step. 

"One last moment of privacy before we all get together in there. A last 
moment while we remain on the same plateau. Before we send you climbing the 
walls, clawing the ceiling, reaching a pinnacle that none of us chooses to 
go to." 

The major got his cock out and the aides spread her open and while she 
sighed and rolled side to side they held her wrists. Henri kicked back her 
legs, got her crotch open and fed his cock into her twat. He corkscrewed his 
shaft; she rolled and thumped her belly against his stomach, barely feeling 
the staff in her pussy. After what she had already experienced, a fuck by 
this sadistic animal...this shallow man...was like tickling the bottom of a 
foot already severed from the leg. 

Henri plugged her snatch, rocked side to side, shaking loose his cum, 
flooding her snatch, spilling his jizz on her thighs. He grunted, jammed his 
cockhead clear to the back of her snatch, and pulled out sharply, shaking 
the last of his climax on her belly. 

"Shit, this woman stinks terribly." The major zipped his fly, brushed dust 
from his highly polished black leather boots. "Use the leather vest and 
stockings on her. Take her to the second interrogation room and, while I 
wash myself off, warm up the transmitter. We will use the sound waves next. 
Oh, and cover her head completely. So her skull won't split." He twisted her 
nipple. "Bitch, the fun is only beginning and when it is finished, you will 
sign. You will beg to do whatever we demand of you. "Yes," he sneered, "yes, 
you will." 

TWENTY 

The machine was huge. It nearly filled the fifteen by fifteen foot cell: 
Three dozen rows of dials; each row one dozen dials each and under each dial 
a small black switch. 

Marcia was fitted with a heavily padded leather helmet and mask, a leather 
vest with thongs across the front and leather stockings that went up to her 
thighs. 

There was little space between the machine and the walls and, therefore, 
there was no room for a table. 

Marcia was placed against the wall in front of a thick rubber pad as tall as 
she was. She was tied to the wall; her shoulders and ass were flat against 
the rubber pad. And the lashes that held her to the wall were of thick 
leather. 

The room was stuffy, close; the air was stale. There were no windows, she 
recalled. At least she hadn't seen any. The room was lighted by a dim 
overhead bulb and the door was heavy steel, but rubber padded on the inside. 

Four long jointed tubes were attached to the machine. At the tip of each 
tube was a tapered, triangular microphone with a screen across the front. 
These four microphones were positioned at each tit and both thighs. 

Then as she tensed the machine was warmed up. A strong pulsing hum emanated. 
She visualized the sound as thick and, for no apparent reason, black. like 
an expanse of sky on a cloudless night. The tone increased. In the distance 
she heard switches turned on, dials twisted. The sound steadily built. She 
felt the reverberations in her teeth, skull, knees and elbows. Her toes and 
fingers felt the vibrations. 

The door opened and the familiar heavy footfalls approached. 

"The sound is only a sample," he roared over the noise. "Imagine the waves 
of sound tearing at your tits and cunt. Then reconsider my offer." He waved 
his hand and the noise increased. Even with the helmet and mask the roar was 
excruciating. 

Henri demanded her signature. Again, she refused. The excitement was making 
her cream. She could only imagine what her climax would be like when the 
machine was at full power. 

Henri retreated. The door swung shut and, as far as she knew, she was left 
with only the operator. 

A pause, then the sounds of dials turning and switches being thrown. The hum 
swept upward, becoming a shriek, then it was past human hearing. Her whole 
body was jarred; it was like being caught in a tornado. 

More switches were turned on. Needles pricked her thighs and tits but they 
quickly became pokers, then sharper daggers, then finally laser-like beams. 
They tore her tits and thighs and the tearing stiffened the tit peaks, made 
her belly throb and the muscles dance like tuning forks. Her thighs were 
drawn tightly; they pushed toward her cunt, and her snatch echoed with the 
powerful vibrations. 

The tearing reached her clitoris. The gland was rent. The orgasm spilled and 
her entire body vibrated. Every nerve was stretched and whipped. Her orgasms 
came faster and she wondered, through the pounding along her temples, how 
much longer she could take this delightful abuse. 

The sound waves plunged through her cunt, her clitoris, her thighs, then 
back up through her belly and her titties. The nipples, like her clitoris, 
became tuning forks. The climaxing was desireless, as though her sex organs 
responded to the stimulus on their own, without her brain. 

She couldn't stop the orgasms even if she wanted to. They kept erupting. The 
lust oil continued to gush and her nerve endings twinged. She begged for 
this sensation, prayed it wouldn't end. But she was afraid of what would 
happen to her if it continued. She didn't think she could stand much more of 
this tremendous mating. 

Being fucked by a man was great; by two men even greater; by this 
machine...there were no words to convey what she felt. 

Her ass thudded the rubber matting; her leather clothing absorbed the blows 
and gave her only the velvet covered repercussions. 

Marcia bellowed, writhed, chewed her tongue, twisted and turned and tore at 
her bonds. She was being fucked to death. It was driving her CRAZY. 

She flattened as the power surged to higher decibels. Whips assaulted her 
flesh; that's how it felt. And she loved the fucking. 

From an echoing distance she heard her heart beat and the blood surge in her 
brain. More power and the clitoris was whipped mercilessly. Her tits were 
thrashed. The muscles in her guts trammeled. Through it all her orgasm 
steadily flowed, spilling over the rubber padding beneath her feet. 

Marcia couldn't stand it. Her body rebelled. She had, finally, reached her 
level of passion. She tried to cry out but no sound came. Her shoulders and 
arms and legs were pinned to the rubber backing. The leather thongs cut her 
tits. The stockings raked her thighs. Her body shook uncontrollably. It was 
electroshock, only worse. The sound waves were tearing her muscles from the 
bones, cracking the joints. 

And it continued. Now she knew she was going to die. She whimpered. She 
prayed. 

"Enough." 

The machine gradually shut down. As the power ebbed it was like weights 
being removed from her flesh. 

Then the machine was off. She jerked spasmodically. The clothing was peeled 
off. 

"Get her bathed quickly," Henri gnashed. "If you tell what has happened here 
you will never leave Algiers alive," he snapped in her ear. 

She didn't respond. Her head throbbed painfully but her nerves were alive, 
wonderfully alive. She didn't struggle as they carried her, on a stretcher, 
to another room at the end of the hall. While they bathed her, found a plain 
American made summer dress and dressed her in it, Henri fumed. 

"Someone saw us bring her here," he told an aide. "The American embassy was 
notified. The ambassador's aide is waiting in my office." He cracked his 
knuckles. "If I ever catch the bastard that notified the Americans...." 

He swore under his breath. Marcia heard him rant and rave from the other 
side of a soft pink horizon. She was so relaxed. Nothing bothered her. Not 
even this evil, stinking Frenchman. 

At first she thought her brain was damaged, but, no, everything was the way 
it should be. Except for this wonderful relaxed feeling she was the same 
girl she was when they brought her here. The one difference being she didn't 
crave the artificial or the bizarre. One man fucking her, or maybe two at 
most, was all she wanted. Right after she had a long, lazy sleep. 

But they weren't going to let her sleep, either. At least not there. 

Marcia was given a cup of coffee loaded with stimulants. She was awake, 
tingling. 

"Get her out of here before she comes down," Henri ordered. 

Upstairs, in the major's office, was a young, slim, bookish, blond-haired 
man in white ducks and gray sport shirt. He was the American ambassador's 
assistant. He raised hell with the major for detaining an American citizen 
without notifying the embassy. The dressing-down, which Henri took without 
reply, lasted for fifteen minutes. Then Marcia and the aide left. 

The sun dazzled and the streets were quiet, deserted during this hottest 
time of the day. The warmth felt good on her face. They got in a car. Seated 
in the back seat, a glove covering his stump, was Ahmed Mohand Madj. 

"My man told me about your abduction," he said. "Are you hurt?" 

She was too surprised to answer, and too grateful not to show her gratitude. 

The aide asked for a statement, at her convenience; there were other 
questions, other formalities to be observed. Which declined to answer his 
questions and asked to be taken to her apartment. 

The Arab leader accompanied her up the stairs into the musty coolness of the 
efficiency apartment. There, on the threshold they embraced. 

"The Frenchman treated you like shit?" he asked once they had separated. 
"Yes." 

"Tonight we are raiding his jail, to rescue one of our colleagues. Come 
along, if you feel up to it." 

"Fuck me like you did that night. Then I'll feel up to it." 

They rolled together on the twin bed. Her body ached and he saw the bruises, 
the welts and tried to be gentle but the passion was too strong and he 
wasn't able to control himself. 

He pummeled her yielding cunt. She wrapped her legs around his hips and 
pulled quickly, taking all of his cock right up to the shaft. He railed her 
snatch, whipping in and out, bruising her pussy, giving her an orgasm each 
time he fucked into the deep curve of her snatch. 

With each fuck she visualized what had been done to her, and the major that 
had done it. As her rage, her lust for revenge swelled her passion for 
fucking intensified. She wanted his cock all the way up her cunt and into 
her throat. 

And she was going to have all of it! 

He climaxed and she pushed him out. A startled look on his face, he let her 
push him down. She swung her butt around, dropped her lips on his cock and 
suckled wildly. Her cunt and ass were inches from his face. He reached up 
and pulled her down and they sucked each other rapidly, deeply. 

His cock filled her mouth and she had to breathe through her nose to keep 
from smothering. The veins in his prick rippled and he tasted pre-cum. She 
laved every inch of the huge hard on, tickling his balls with her tongue 
tip. 

She loved his bitter sour taste; the thick syrup that lay on her tongue and 
coated the back of her throat, and formed pools of heat in her belly. She 
grasped his buttocks, squeezed the male-hard rump, and tried to bring him 
closer to her rapacious mouth. 

Marcia gasped, whined, breathed faster as she felt his cum explode, as her 
climax rapidly approached. She drank his cum, sucked deeply, took it all and 
loved every drop. 

He stayed at her clit. The gland filled, went off and he continued to kiss 
and nuzzle the dripping cunt walls even after her clitoris failed to 
respond. 

They lay in each other's arms, listened to their deep even breathing and 
pounding hearts, and the sounds of pre-dusk traffic on the streets below. 

"It is nearly time," he finally said. 

TWENTY-ONE 

The hall outside of the major's office was quiet. The guard had just been 
changed, and the mid-evening rounds had been made. The major always worked 
late. 

Tonight he will wish he had gone home early, she vowed. 

Ahmed Mohand Madj left her with one of his soldiers, a youth of twenty, with 
fair skin and short beard. He carried the pistol. They waited outside the 
door and when the explosions and gun fire went off in the basement cell 
block, they rushed in before the major could draw a side arm and join his 
troops. 

Henri's hand was on the side arm when the door burst open. He saw the Arab's 
weapon, heeded the command to raise his hands. Marcia slammed the door and 
locked it. 

Henri's eyes widened but that was the only show of fear. 

Marcia moved between Henri and the youth. "Drop your trousers," she ordered. 

Even as this evil man leered, defiant, his cock filled and tented the 
breeches. He didn't move. She grabbed the paperweight on the desk and 
slammed it into his balls. The attack occurred so quickly the major wasn't 
able to react. He doubled over. She let him sag back, strike his chair and 
fall into it. 

"Comfortable?" 

He gasped, white faced, the fight knocked out of him. She hiked up her 
skirt, climbed over his lap and bracing her hands against the wall behind 
the chair, she dropped her ass on his face. 

"Enjoy the snack." Marcia giggled as she raised her flanks, to keep from 
soiling herself. She pissed in the major's face, then shit. 

Henri gagged, struggled weakly but when his gyrations became too strong the 
youth hit him in the balls. Marcia emptied herself, climbed down, wiped 
herself on his shirt, then as he lay weak, retching, blinded by the 
foulness, she jerked down his pants, nodded at the youth who handed her the 
weapon. 

"This is for the wonderful time, fucker," she gnashed. 

She balanced the weapon, then brought the barrel down on his cock and balls. 
His screams were muffled in shit. Then he was limp, unable to scream, his 
groin a bloody pulp. As she stepped back she felt a twinge of pity. She 
handed the pistol to the youth who pumped a single shot in the major's 
forehead. 

As the major's face disintegrated, she grabbed the paperweight from the 
desk. She was alone, as far as she was concerned. Alone and excited by the 
carnage, the afterglow of satisfied revenge. 

While the youth looked on she shoved the paperweight between her labia, 
corkscrewed the awkward object, striking her swollen clitoris. The orgasm 
gushed over the round, jagged chunk of glass, and filled her palm. She 
squatted closer to the floor, opening her twat wider. Her titties tented the 
thin cotton bodice; the nipples were straining thumbs. 

Her thighs clenched the object, then the outer labia. She strained against 
the jagged sides. The rough glass gouged her clitoris and the surrounding 
muscles. The discomfort sent her into paroxysms. She nearly fell over. A 
pressure on her shoulder prevented that from happening. 

"Give it to me," the youth said, taking the paperweight, throwing it against 
the wall. He threw back the burnous, peeled down the serouals. 

"Is there time?" 

"For a short one. Yes." 

While shots continued in the basement she and the youth lay together. He 
mounted her thighs, and skillfully eased his cock into her snatch. He fucked 
quickly, as though anxious to get her rocks off. She came quickly, barely 
feeling the spurts through her fatigue. 

"Now it is my turn." He pulled out, still hard, and helped her over on her 
side. 

He mounted her ass from that side, forcing his prick up and into her anus. 
Her cum lubricated the shaft and made the quick passage less painful. 

A faint smile on her lips, she let him fuck her ass, crush her ass cheeks 
with his hips, scratch her sloping cheeks with his thick Brillo-stiff pubic 
hair. She didn't help him; she didn't move. The hardness drilling her ass 
strained the ass walls. If she moved too quickly he would rip her bowels. 

The first cum spurts tickled, shocked as it always did. The fullness spread 
from her anus, through her bowels and into her stomach. The cum load rammed 
under her heart. 

Ass fucking was a good second-best to cunt fucking. She decided that while 
they straightened their clothing. 

At the door the youth drew back. "The French. They are coming." He slammed 
and bolted the door, dragged her behind the desk, tipped the desk over and 
used it for a barricade. Crouched behind the desk he steadied the piece 
against the rim. She crouched beside him, quaking with fear. 

The door was rammed; it splintered. Three French Legionnaires, their pistols 
firing, charged. 

The youth killed the first two with four evenly spaced, carefully aimed 
shots. The explosions made her jump and she found herself touching her cunt. 
Her fingers were wet. 

From outside the door the third Frenchman returned the youth's fire. As he 
ducked in, staying low, he lobbed two volleys into the thick mahogany desk, 
then ducked back. The bullets chipped and gouged the surface and lodged a 
safe distance from their faces. 

Her cunt burned and throbbed. Fear got her juices flowing. She plucked with 
two fingers, stroking and patted and twisting and jerking the thumb sized 
gland. 

As the youth emptied the clip she strummed her clitoris and the orgasm 
erupted. He was out of shells and the clips were on the major's beheaded 
corpse, some distance away. 

He took her in his arms, held her tightly as the Legionnaire threw more fire 
at them. 

Only a few more moments until the Frenchman realized the fire wasn't being 
returned. Then sensing the truth he would take the big chance, enter the 
room firing. It would only take moments. 

She closed her eyes, felt the youth's heart slam, felt his heat and the 
smell of his vigorous body. 

Then, as the Frenchman wheeled into the room, squeezing off a round, he 
spun, toppled, fell, his weapon flying across the room. 

Ahmed Mohand Madj stood over the corpse, beckoning. Outside, in the truck 
that would take them to safety, he said to Marcia: 

"You and the boy, you like each other?" 

She and the youth exchanged smiles. 

"That's good. Now, if you haven't been formally introduced, allow me: Miss 
Andrus, this is my son: Ben." 

They were fucking Marcia Andrus in the cunt and ass. These two Algerian 
nationalists, father and son, were fucking her puss and asshole, driving her 
into a fucking frenzy. And she loved it. And loved it. And loved it.... 


THE END
