Prisoner In Lebanon
by Edward Mitchell
(FPS-142)


INTRODUCTION 

Two American filmmakers arrive on assignment in the hotbed of the Middle 
East to shoot footage of petrochemical plants of Iran. In Beirut Chet 
Bentley is attacked in his hotel room; at the Beirut airport two Persian 
terrorists try to murder him; on the train to Iran, Chet and his lovely 
female assistant, stubborn, redheaded Karen O'Malley, are attacked in their 
sleeper car. 

Somebody was trying to kill them. Who and why? Prisoner In Lebanon is the 
incredible adventure of two innocent people who unwittingly find themselves 
in the midst of the Iranian/Iraqi conflict. Two Americans severed from the 
protection of the American flag . . . two Americans on the run from enemies 
they can not see. 

But it is a story offering more than bomb blasts and wartime terrorism. The 
pages seep with a deeper kind of terror that lurks in the hearts of women 
who become victims of the undeniably superior strength of the male sex. 
Kidnapped and held hostage in an Iranian sheik's pasha, Karen O'Malley, the 
redheaded dream of the oil world, becomes a target of abuse and desire. 

Turn the pages and read how a strong-willed ex-Special Forces Marine rescues 
the woman from the hands of swarthy-faced megalomaniacs bent on destroying 
her womanhood. 


CHAPTER ONE 

Chet Bentley lay bleeding on the cold marble Beirut hotel floor. He shook 
his head, trying to shake the searing pain from a clubbed blow above his 
right ear. 

He'd been savoring a stroll along Ras Beirut and poking around the Paris 
coutures for a present for his girl friend; the American had settled on a 
pair of lacey silk tap pants and matching camisole, paid for it, stuck the 
sales slip in his back pocket and headed into the navy blue night. After a 
few drinks at the Dolce Vita, he'd staggered back towards the St. George 
Hotel, musing at the poster-splattered walls chipped with gun fire from 
which Khomeini, Nasser and Arafat stared at him with militaristic daring. 

None of the terror of anarchy and confusion of guerilla warfare filled this 
American's veins! A veteran of the Special Forces of Viet Nam, the tall, 
muscular blond documentary filmmaker was in prize condition . . . except 
when he was drunk. 

like now. . . . 

He remembered twisting the key in the lock, dumping the Milady lingerie bag 
onto the chair, and swinging open the door. Had his senses been more lucid, 
he would have noticed the three dark figures crouching in waiting at the 
stairway. He'd heard a blur of movement behind him, but before his senses 
could react, they'd shoved him forward into his hotel room, kicked shut the 
door and clubbed him with a sickening crack alongside the skull. 

Beaten to his knees under a hail of blows, it took a moment to gather the 
strength to fight back. Punching blind blows into the dark, the second try 
landed a balled up fist into a fragile cheekbone. The attacker grunted out 
pain and crumbled to the floor. 

Chefs blood was running hot. Hunching down like a cat, his Special Forces 
Marine training surfaced like a cork in choppy waters. He slunk behind the 
chair and grabbed it by the back legs. The Milady shopping bag gave way his 
position as it rustled to the floor. With a murderous grunt, he caught one 
attacker across the back. Chet stood panting, confident he'd gotten them 
both. But the unaccounted for third, slammed a bolt of lightning pain into 
his ribs, cracking it brittley. 

Gritting his teeth, Bentley lashed into the dark with fists and feet. Harsh 
breathing gasped tauntingly in the blackness. Abruptly a looping roundhouse 
crashed into his cheekbone, sending him wind milling against the wall. The 
world had erupted into a crimson splatter of agony. 

The American regained consciousness moments later and lay panting on the 
cold marble floor, the blood singing in his ears below the background noise 
of heels bumping down marble steps. Seconds later, screaming and a blast of 
gunfire echoed from the hotel lobby below. 

Now Chet stood swaying in the dark, his head pounding cruelly. He dragged 
himself to the bathroom, pulled the light switch, gagged into the toilet, 
turned on the basin faucet and wedged his head into the cold porcelain bowl. 
The cold water's pressure diluted the coagulating globules of blood which 
dripped down his cheekbone onto his white shirt. His collar was soaked with 
blood. Chet shook his head, wincing as pain throbbed in his skull and the 
dancing light cord created a Frankensteinian monster in the mirror. 

The left eyelid had swollen shut and purpled; a cut above his left ear left 
an egg-sized lump and his chest was rivered with blood. 

The attack didn't make sense from a political standpoint or a mugging. If 
they'd wanted his wallet and Travelers Cheques, the street would have been 
the perfect stage for a robbery. Who listened to gunfire in war torn 
Lebanon, anyway? 

Bentley switched on all the lights and checked the hotel room. Minutes 
later, he sat propped up on the bed, sipping from a bottle of whiskey he'd 
taken from the airplane, and raked his fingers through his hair. None of 
this made sense! 

His camera equipment in the silver Halliburton case sat behind the dresser 
where he'd put it. The leather satchel and suitcase hadn't been opened. 
Wearily, he dabbed at the coagulating wounds with the cool washcloth and 
staggered toward the door. The hotel owner's foreign chatter from the lobby 
below filtered up the staircase. Chet was in no mood to involve himself with 
foreign police and, about to close the door, he noticed the white Milady 
lingerie bag on the third marble step below. 

Who in hell would want to steal women's underwear? 

Why had they attacked him? His assignment from CBS Network to take footage 
of petrochemical plants, offshore oil tankers, and recently constructed 
pipeline networks in the Strait of Hormuz was hardly an undercover 
assignment. If he'd been attacked in Abadan, Kuwait or even Baghdad, his 
stopover, he could have conjured up a few quick theories. What the hell had 
women's panties to do with the Iranian/Iraquian war, anyway? 

Tossing the crinkling Milady bag onto the chair, he stripped naked and 
decided to get some rest. Tomorrow morning's eight o'clock flight to Baghdad 
would come soon enough, and with the way his head was feeling.. . . If he 
were late to meet Karen, his documentary editor and lover, all hell would 
break loose! 

"Redheads," he snickered. Better he get his bags packed now, though. He 
braced his palm against the dresser and hauled out the Halliburton case and 
checked the movie camera for damage. That Halliburton case had followed him 
around the world-Uganda to cover the Idi Amin case, Tehran for attempted 
shots of the hostages, now back to the Middle East for the renowned Strait 
of Hormuz, the most powerful stretch of water in the world these days. 

From beside the bed on the marble floor, he plucked a handful of dirty socks 
and pajamas and stuffed them into his satchel, wishing to God he hadn't had 
that last Singapore Sling at the Dolce Vita. 

He zipped up the satchel and stood upright, swaying a bit from the pounding 
above his left temple. Scanning the room, his eyes fell on the Milady bag 
which he hastily stuffed into the satchel after pulling out the customer's 
receipt from his pocket and stuffing it in as well. His roundtrip ticket had 
Beirut scheduled as a stopover and if the sexy plaything didn't fit Karen, 
he could exchange it. Buying clothes for a woman, he mused, was the 
damnedest job in the world. If you bought it too big, they berated you for 
thinking them fat; if it was too small, they thought they had no bust at 
all.. . . 

Right now he'd better get some rest and pack ice on that eye. 

The hotel clerk at St. George's didn't so much as blink an eye when the 
American filmmaker checked out of the hotel on a sun-bursting morning at six 
o'clock. In route to the airport, the bomb shattered walls plastered with 
Khomeini's bearded face seemed to follow him, haunting him. The recent 
squirmishes over the coveted Strait of Hormuz were intensifying, but 
strangely enough, that disturbed him less than the attempted robbery of his 
hotel room the night before. One was personal, one was not. 

Right now there was something personal he'd like to get into: Karen 
O'Malley, five feet four inches of luscious flesh with a brain to match. 
Daring little bitch, he thought, the creepy feeling that a bomb could 
detonate any second and blow him to smithereens crawling up his spine. The 
Arabs were a strange bunch, and with the Israelis choking them out of their 
home lands, Mohammed only knew what destruction they would wreak on each 
other! Blowing up schools, hospitals . . . this land couldn't be trusted. 

These thoughts and a thousand others rambled through the American's brain as 
the taxi driver let him off at Beirut's airport. The concourse of the 
airport terminal was clogged, but he picked out the flaming red hair and the 
fresh Irish skin instantly. Looking officiously elegant, Karen was wearing a 
beige gabardine suit with an emerald green silk blouse that matched her 
eyes. Flames of hair tumbled about her shoulders, and the tight vest nipped 
in her waist and did nothing to hide the rich swells of her full, young 
breasts. Christ! Bentley shouldered his way through the crowd. Harry 
Goodfellow didn't know what a favor he was doing me, when he assigned Karen 
as my assistant! 

Karen stood near the check-in counter, checking her wristwatch every few 
seconds and glancing around impatiently. Her patent leather heels tapped 
impatiently and it was obvious her Irish temper was short fusing. 

Chet snuck up behind her, let his bags drop to the floor, and cupped her 
shoulders, swinging her around to face him. 

"CHET! You promised you'd.. . . "A tiny fist flew to her mouth, and she 
winced. "God, what in the world happened to you?" Her emerald eyes traced 
the purpled eye, up over the swell of his ear to his temple. 

The filmmaker's hand rose to his face and a crooked grin creased his lips; 
he shrugged defensively. "Had a little tussle last night in Beirut. Some 
thugs got me in the hotel room. Don't worry, the camera's safe.. . they 
didn't get anything." 

"You look terrible! Have you seen a doctor?" 

"Nothing a little kiss couldn't fix up.. . " he grinned, leaning down to 
kiss her soft, warm forehead. 

"Please, Chet . . . we don't have time." She pulled away and shot an anxious 
glance at the overhead clock. "Our plane is due to leave in a few minutes, 
and you know how Harry is about missing connections.. . . " 

They'd handed their airline tickets to the black -haired, doe eyed Lebanese 
airline employee who, eyeing their names and destination, paused a moment 
before drawing out a telegram. 

"This just came in over the teletype," she announced, handing him the blue 
envelope which he ripped open with a thumbnail. 

Chet frowned. "Now what the hell?" he grumbled. 

FIGHTING BROKE OUT IN STRAIT OF HORMUZ. STOP. IRANIAN TERRORISTS SUSPECTED 
OF POSSIBLE SABOTAGE. STOP. GO TO KARBALA AND WAIT INSTRUCTIONS. STOP. 
HARRY. BE CAREFUL. 

Chet handed the telegram to his assistant. She bit her lip. "I knew this 
sounded too easy . . . but gosh, I had no idea the war was so close. 
Terrorists?" she wrinkled up her perky, freckled nose and searched Chefs 
eyes for an answer. "This part of the world makes Harlam look like 
Forty-Second Avenue. Now what?" 

"Looks like we spend a vacation in Karbala, hon.. . might as well make the 
most of it." 

The next flight out to Karbala wouldn't be departing for three hours. "We'd 
like to cancel our reservations to Baghdad," he informed the Lebanese 
lovely. "Change it to Karbala." 

He guided Karen by the elbow and plucked the luggage from the floor. "We 
might as well head for a lounge and relax," he suggested. Changes of plans 
were customary when one's business was filming network news. He recalled 
with a shiver, almost being captured in Tehran by a gang of Iranian 
terrorists who'd eyed his camera with CBS's logo and wanted him for the 
fifty-first hostage. A vacation would do him good . . . and what the hell, a 
free vacation with Karen was nothing to sniff at! Maybe he'd have some time 
to do some independent filming.. . of Karen in a variety of sexy poses. 

Shivering with anticipation, he visualized the warmly clinging sleekness of 
her naked voluptuousness stretched out against his lean body, and the mere 
thought made the gabardine of his pants tighten against his thigh as the 
familiar tingling feeling crawled from his belly to his penis, feeding it 
with anticipation. 

The Beirut airport had suffered a few attacks of its own, but hastily 
rebuilt to show the world its recuperative powers against Israeli attacks, 
none of it showed from the inside. They found a table next to the glassed-in 
wall and contented themselves over wine as they stared wordlessly out over 
the concrete expanse of the runways. The morning sunlight glinted off the 
silver jets, their needled noses all pointing straight ahead like so many 
giant bullets. 

The baggage loaders were crawling toward a 747 jetliner, looking like a 
couple of mechanically operated Mattel toys from where the Americans sat. 
The tractor pulled away and the mellifluous voice of the Lebanese announcer 
hummed the flight departure to Baghdad. 

"I was looking forward to Baghdad," sighed Karen, resting her dimpled chin 
in the palm of her hand. "This is the first war time assignment Harry's 
trusted me with. Really," she said, turning her eyes to his, "I wouldn't 
have minded going to Tehran with you . . . but you know how Harry is about 
women and the military." 

They clinked glasses to that and idly turned their gaze to the jet's pivot 
for take off. Slowly it rumbled down the runway, the vibrations of its power 
felt in a slight tingle of lips to drink glass. The tail end rose from the 
ground, the wheels started to pull up . . . away to Baghdad. 

Suddenly, the sky turned into a ball of fire. Everyone in the lounge was on 
their feet screaming. Bomb? Air crash? The truth made itself known as an 
explosion showered fragments of wings, and metallic shrapnel into the air. 
The body of the plane, a ball of shriveled metal, plundered to the ground, 
shaking the foundation of Beirut's International Airport. 

The American filmmakers stood paralyzed in the chaos of hysterical friends 
and relatives, terrified observers and distraught officials. The morning 
freshness turned into a holocaust of sirens . . . ambulances, military 
always on guard in the Middle East, and fire trucks screaming toward what 
was left of the wreckage. 

Karen heaved a sigh of distress and rested her head on Chefs shoulder. "We.. 
. we were supposed to be on that flight.. . " she shuddered, and buried her 
face in his chest. 

Chet heaved back a sigh of acknowledgement. "I'm fully aware of that, 
darling.. . fully aware!" His voice was shaky, his body preened for 
survival. The Special Forces had done that to him-taught him the key to 
survival was a clear head. 

"Do . . . do you think anybody.. . ? " 

"Survived?" He shook his head and stroked her satiny hair comfortingly. "It 
blew up too fast. They would never know what hit 'em . . . thank God." 

"B-b-but what happened?" 

He shrugged and shook his head. "In this part of the world, it could easily 
have been sabotage." 

"Oh.. . " she sobbed. "Oh, Chet, this scares me, and I thought I was so 
strong!" she whimpered miserably. 

"Don't give it another thought." Bentley patted her shoulder and cogitated 
for a moment, recalling the telegram's message. How many other planes were 
scheduled for blow up? Crazy Arabs . . . don't give a damn who they blow up! 

"Let's have another drink," he announced, searching for a bartender in the 
emptied lounge, and finding none, slipping behind the bar to refill their 
glasses with healthy splashes of whiskey. They clinked glasses. 

"Let's put this out of our minds," he said as much to himself as to Karen. 
"And whiskey is the best antidote for that!" 

Two drinks later, he glanced at his digital wrist-watch through his one 
un-puffed eye. "If it would make you feel better, we could take a train to 
Karbala." He studied her expression of relief. "It would only take 
twenty-four hours, and after seeing what we just did, I think I'd feel safer 
on the ground." 

Karen sniffled in relief. "At least you have a chance that way . . . yes, 
yes, darling, let's do that!" 

After a quick, reassuring hug, he patted her cajolingly on the shoulders and 
announced he needed to take a quick trip to the men's room. "After I come 
back, we'll check out the train schedule and take a taxi to the train 
depot." He grabbed his satchel and left her standing alone. 

With everyone plastering their noses to watch the futile rescue attempt, the 
bathrooms were deserted. Wanting to dab antiseptic Neosporin on his healing 
cuts, Chet set down the satchel and ran the basin full of warm water. He was 
lowering his head toward the basin when he caught surreptitious movement in 
the mirror. 

The second attack took place. 

Two men, swarthy, black -haired young men wearing black shirts and pants and 
berets had been hiding in the deserted stalls. Simultaneously, they emerged 
from the stalls, like two dark demons of death. Lanky, panther-like bodies 
with strong Persian features set determinedly. 

For a second Chet panicked. A steely hand had gripped the nape of his neck 
and forced his face below the water. Taken by surprise, he'd automatically 
sucked in his breath. Now his mouth and nose and throat were burning from 
the hot water. His lungs felt as if they would burst for lack of air! His 
ears pounded and for a second, he knew how Houdini felt in the escape tank. 
They'd pinned his left hand behind his back; his other hand was pinioned 
between the sink and the second assailant's strong thigh. He heard the 
rustle of a paper bag next to his feet where the man behind him rummaged 
through his satchel. 

Chet thought wildly of dunking his head lower and pulling the plug free with 
his teeth, but his nose and chin, thrust down against the bowl of the basin 
would prevent drainage. 

Frantic, he bucked and heaved, trying to force his head up and back to break 
the grip on his aching neck. The blood sang in his temples; another few 
seconds and he'd be dead. 

Special Forces training in the Marines had saved his life more than once, 
and by God it had to work again. Struggling backwards would do no good. He 
must use his leverage in a surprise attack coming from the front of him. 
With the little strength remaining him, he lifted his feet from the floor 
and pressured down on the sink with his one hundred and ninety pounds of 
muscle. The effect crackled as the screws and bolts tore away from the 
poorly plastered wall (too many times repaired from small bomb blasts) and 
the basin tilted forward, separating from the wall. 

It crashed to the floor, pulling Bentley free of his assailants' grasp. 
Taken by surprise the Persian thugs reacted slowly, relying as was their 
practice on knives and guns and bombs instead of human innovation. By the 
time they'd scrambled to their feet to face him, he had sucked enough air 
into his burning lungs to regain strength. 

Crouchingly menacingly, arms outstretched, the two men advanced. Now Bentley 
got his first look at the attackers. The taller, leaner one sported a fresh 
wound over his right cheekbone . . . about as old as the one purpling 
Bentley's eye. Ah ha, so these were the same men who'd messed him up last 
night! 

A cold fury bordering on insolence piqued a rush of hot-blooded adrenalin in 
Chefs veins. After being attacked from behind by sneaky Vietnamese 
guerillas, he wasn't about to let a couple of Persian thugs do him in! 

His upper lip curling, breath hissing from his lungs, he grabbed the first 
man by the collar and tossed him against the wall, but not before he'd drawn 
back his arm and crunched into his jaw from below. The man dropped to the 
floor, a tooth flying from his mouth amidst a river of fresh blood. 

Behind him Bentley's ears sang with the hissed threats of the second 
assailant. Wincing, Chet staggered as a blow caught him in the rib cage. He 
careened against the wall until cold fury sparked instinct and he drove a 
balled up fist into the Persian's groin. The man fell to the floor in a heap 
of bawling pain. Chefs foot drew back for a swift kick in the belly which 
sent the swarthy terrorist sliding over the wet floor to bang his head 
against the sink's rim. Joyfully, Chet grabbed the first assailant by the 
hair and hammered a few blows into his broken nose before wiping his bloody 
hands on his pants, grabbing his satchel and making a hasty exit. 

As they headed for the Information Booth to inquire about the train 
schedule, he told Karen about the attack. 

"This doesn't make sense.. . first you're attacked in your hotel room, then 
the airplane crash, now this." She stared at him cautiously. "That makes 
three, Chet . . . and you know what they say about that." 

"Christ, I'm not a foreign agent, I'm just another schlep cameraman, that's 
what bothers me. If I had footage on the Strait of Hormuz, I could 
understand the attack . . . but I have nothing." 

Karen shook her head tragically. "You have one messed up face, my dear, that 
you have." CHAPTER TWO 

The train to Karbala was far more crowded than either of the Americans 
expected. Parties of anxious faced would-be plane travelers who, after 
watching one plane blow up into a fiery cloud, decided the ground would be 
far safer, made a mad scramble for an empty car compartment, but Chefs 
awesomely bruised face frightened the pushers aside and they slipped inside, 
closed the door, and relaxed. 

"Jesus, at last," sighed Chet, staring out the train window. From his vest 
pocket, he hauled out a bottle of bourbon purchased at the train depot and 
unscrewed the cap. He took a long sip and passed it to Karen. 

"That's just what I need . . . more booze," she quipped unworking the 
buttons to her tight vest and relaxing back in the seat facing Chet. 

Chet winked a purple eye at her. "More booze and a bit of sex'll make a man 
forget about his woes anytime. Come here.. . why are you sitting over there? 
I haven't felt that hot body since JFK last week." 

With a flirtatious flip of the hand, she pooched out her succulent lips that 
had touched the rim of many a shot glass that day, and slipped down beside 
him. His strong length felt fantastic, his hand cupping her shoulder and 
pressing her cheek to his chest. 

"Mmmmmm," she cooed. "I will have another sip . . . does wonders for the 
nerves. " Behind fluttering eyelids, the fiery ball that once was a jet 
flickered like a re-run videotape. 

"Forget about that and let's enjoy ourselves, relax, kick off your shoes," 
he cajoled in a lusty voice. 

Karen had no objections until the glass door slid open and a voluptuous 
Lebanese woman poked her head inside. Chet sucked in his breath at the 
beauty dressed in an airline stewardess' uniform. She was tall, with a 
succulent set of lips the color of ripe raspberries, and wide set, thrusting 
breasts that gave an hourglass shape to her body, thanks to the belt cinched 
tightly about her waist. 

Those sloe eyes traveled from Chefs handsome Nordic looks to Karen's Irish 
beauty. "Excuse me," she said with a French accent, "may I share the 
compartment with you?" She glanced over her shoulder and shrugged 
helplessly, then gesticulated with her hand as only the French can. "The 
rest of the train is filled." 

Karen let out a tiny sigh of resignation at Chefs generosity. "Of course, 
help yourself. Move the luggage if you like." 

As the airline stewardess lifted her luggage from where she'd let it rest on 
the seat beside Karen, the back of her hand brushed more than once against 
the smooth curve of the voluptuous filmmaker's breasts. 

"I am a stewardess on the Baghdad flight, but our flight was cancelled 
because of the crash. Now I must find my way by train to Karbala and then on 
to Baghdad." She heaved a tired sigh. "So many problems in this part of the 
world." 

"Ain' that the truth," muttered Chet under his breath, giving Karen a 
squeeze. 

The airbrakes released with a wheezing sound and the train lurked forward 
heading southeast for Karbala. Some miles outside of Beirut, heading for 
Damascus, the sun began its westward journey, splashing orange ripples over 
the sand, reflecting as if on water. The eerie almost neon light splayed 
over the lovely Lebanese stewardess' gorgeous face.. . a fact of 
appreciation which Chet didn't ignore. 

Later, after the sun was down and they'd consumed sandwiches from the vendor 
who'd wormed his way from one car to the next with his cart of cold foods 
and Lebanese beer, Chet switched off the light above the window and settled 
Karen in the crook of his arm. She nestled her head on his shoulder 
kittenishly. "Mmmmm.. . " she breathed. "I'm so drunk, Chet, and it feels so 
good!" 

The filmmaker's hand was cupped around the bulge of Karen's breast slipping 
beneath the gabardine vest to rustle in the emerald silk. "Me too!" he 
grinned. "Jesus, it feels good touching you." 

The pressure of his warm palm increased against the weight of her melonous 
flesh, and his thumb made rotating circles around the bud of her nipple 
where it spiked out under the silk. 

"Chet!" she hissed. "Remember we have company!" 

"She -likes you," he whispered hotly in her ear. 

In the dark, Karen blushed. "Shhh.. . . " 

"She's asleep . . . don't worry." 

Despite protestations, Karen's hand, lying along the top of his muscular 
thigh, began a warm, squeezing motion. One of her slender red-tipped fingers 
started to make tiny circles, caressing the tightly-stretched gabardine. 
With the heel of her hand, she felt a sudden pressure as his long thick 
penis, trapped between the cloth and his flesh, began to jerk into hardness. 

Chet was breathing heavily. Reaching across his free hand, he pulled aside 
the stiff fabric of her vest and slipped it off her arms. Now he could touch 
the smooth curve of her lushly ripened breast behind the silk cup so warm to 
his touch. Gently, he stroked his palm up and down across the fleshiness of 
her now erect nipple, bringing soft mewls of pleasure from her laxly parted 
lips. 

The heel of her hand on his thigh began a rhythmic gyrating motion, rolling 
the hardness of his penis from side to side under the material of his pants 
as the fingers increased the tempo of their caresses. Chefs long, thick cock 
stiffened into a rubbery rigidity, throbbing beneath Karen's drunken, 
lust-provoking caresses. A dime-sized spot of seminal fluid stained the 
light beige of his pants. 

Chefs arm around her waist tightened, thrusting up his palm to shove the 
ripely swelling mound of her breast harder against the exploring fingers 
inside Karen's blouse. His exploring hand found the cleft of softly 
trembling flesh between the twin cups of her brassiere, played there for a 
moment, and snuck under the taut strap to slide tantalizingly down inside 
the satiny cup of her brassiere and fondle the warm, velvety skin inside. 

Karen gasped as he rolled and tweaked the rubbery bud of her strawberry 
nipple between his strong fingers, sending maddening charges of indecent 
sensation charging through her aroused young body. Her breath quickened, her 
chest began to rise and fall, and her luscious mouth dropped open. Her own 
fingers started rolling over the hard bulge of his massively pulsating penis 
outlined in bold relief, its mushroomed head seeping damply. 

"Ohhh, Karen . . . " Chet groaned in her ear. "Jesus, what you do to me!" 

Bending his head, he pressed his warm lips over her wetly parted ones and 
slipped his wet tongue between her lips. 

Karen's breath exhaled hotly from her flaring nostrils and her body 
convulsed in a sigh of appreciation. The terrifying events of one day in the 
Middle East was beginning to fade from the reassuring warmth of Chefs body. 
Ecstatically, she squirmed against the seat, her veins on fire with dancing 
demons centering in the heart of her womb. 

Sensing her drunken, agreeable state, Chet guided her hand to the vee of his 
loins, helped her tiny fingers unzip his pants, and aided, too, in pulling 
out the stiff tube of his penis. He wrapped her tiny fist around his eagerly 
throbbing cock. 

As her fingers closed around the muscled staff, Chet groaned deep in his 
throat and smashed his mouth down harder on her trembling wet lips. She 
jerked his hotly throbbing penis free of the flap and mewled with delight as 
it sprang quiveringly erect into the air and stood up from the fly like a 
heavy blunt stalk. 

He helped her at first, gradually milking his long thickness, his large hand 
clamped over her small one. The loose foreskin moved up and down the shaft 
as his tongue probed ever deeper towards her throat and the maddening touch 
of his fingers on her nipple sent shocks of desire tingling through her 
belly. 

Karen, this isn't like you, she berated herself. But I'm so damned drunk . . 
. and it feels so good to be touched! Shamefully, she realized she was 
drenched up between her legs. The moist nylon of her panties was cool 
against her throbbing cuntal lips as her thighs involuntarily parted and the 
cool, desert air played over her secret flesh. 

The seclusion, the loneliness of traveling in a foreign, war-torn land . . . 
was that the reason for this abandonment, she cogitated drunkenly. With a 
smothered groan of lust, she pulled her mouth free of Chefs warm lips and 
compliantly bent her head under Chefs urgent nudge. Now her flamed cheeks 
were posed just above the wetly glistening head of his lustfully pulsating 
cock. He could feel the hot caress of her breath blowing against the 
sensitive tip. 

The American filmmaker sucked in his breath as a tingle of lewd delight 
flamed through his body towards his loins. The trembling redhead's mouth was 
a lick away from his eagerly pulsing penis, now gleaming whitely along its 
rigid length. A thread of saliva dribbled down from Karen's slack lips to 
mingle with the seeping fluid oozing in pearly drops from the slit in its 
bulbous head as she took her hand from the shaft and felt for his testicles. 
She meant only to tickle and tease, but Chet, sucking in his breath, clamped 
his hand over hers and urged her fingers to squeeze and explore. 

Chet gritted his teeth as the girl's fingers fell into a rhythm of their 
own. She kneaded his sperm-bloated glands until he panted with desire. His 
chest heaved up and down and his head was thrown back against the headrest 
of the train seat. He felt her other hand reach for his cock and guide it 
toward her ovaled lips.. . and then he gasped and thrust his loins 
involuntarily as the warm moistness of her open lips closed tight as a 
rubber band over the throbbing mushroomed head. 

Put a woman in a foreign land, and by God what she won't do. Maybe it's the 
Arabic influence, thought 

Chet in a haze of lust. This was a first! 

His lungs were bursting with excitement that ricocheted through every 
trembling nerve in his body as she slowly lowered her head, taking almost 
half of his cock into her wetly heated mouth while her tongue licked 
kittenishly against the lust swollen cock head. He jerked his own head 
forward and stared down at the glossy red hair tumbling about her shoulders. 
God, if only he had her alone in bed . . . what he wouldn't do to her! 

His heart pumped dangerously in his chest as Karen pulled the foreskin back 
as far as it would go, tightening the flesh of his penis until it felt as 
though the head would burst. Her hot lips were sucking now at the inflated 
tip, and her tongue began to flicker around the glistening shaft. Keeping 
the skin pulled back to show off the naked head, she started bobbing her 
head experimentally up and down, at the same time twirling her tongue around 
the moist stickiness of the blood-swollen tip. 

Chet let himself go as far as he could. Leaning back, he smiled mesmerically 
down at the profile view of her lust-contorted face with the thickness of 
his cock stuffed between her sucking lips. Excitement charged through him as 
he watched his wetly glistening penis fucking rhythmically in and out of her 
ovaled mouth in time with his flexing hips. The sight was too damned erotic 
to let him sit still. His pelvis tensed and jerked up into the slavering 
face of his assistant until he thought she might gag. With each hard thrust, 
more and more of his thick hardness disappeared until f inally only a 
quarter of an inch showed in the dim light as they passed a small oil 
refinery somewhere in the desert. 

For being a neophyte at cocksucking, thought Chet with a lusty chuckle, 
she's got the practice down! Her tongue was making his cock head throb and 
jerk as though a second heart were beating within. Hypnotized, he watched as 
her fleshy lips pulled out grotesquely, clinging to the hard shaft as she 
sucked hungrily, her mind and concentration drunkenly centered on her lewdly 
thrilling workout! 

Easing out his hand from under her blouse where her breasts were squashed 
against his knee, he tangled his fingers in her wealth of silken hair and 
guided her greedily clasping lips up and down the hot throbbing length of 
his fleshy stalk with dominant power. God, if only that Lebanese airline 
stewardess weren't sitting there, he'd shove his cock up her pussy so far it 
would come out her throat! Jesus, he'd love to pump his sperm into her 
belly. Closing his eyes, he groaned in anticipation and ecstasy. 

Neither had seen the wide sloe eyes glinting across from them. "What a 
pleasant way to while away the time on this boring train!" The voice came 
directly across from them. Chefs eyes flew open to stare into the amused 
gaze of their travel companion. In a hush of clothing, the stewardess sat 
forward in her seat, her full lower lip shining wetly and her wide black 
eyes glinted in covetousness. 

Instantly, scorching with humiliation, Karen jerked her head away from Chefs 
cock at the sound of the silken voice. Her open mouth glistened with saliva 
and seminal fluid as she stared up at the hawkeyed stewardess. 
Absentmindedly, she grasped the rigidly pulsing penis. "Oh, deer God . . . 
I'm so sorry," she whispered in humiliation and guilt. 

Chet cleared his throat and froze, hating to stuff his stiffened penis back 
into his pants when he was so darned close to cumming . . . and with Karbala 
so far away too! 

A throaty chuckle broke from the stewardess' French-accented lips. "Don't 
let me stop you," she whispered warmly. "Perhaps we could all.. . ? " 

Chet heaved a titillated sigh and regained his poise. "Move over, honey . . 
. and let the lady sit down." 

"Oh, Gawd, Chet, what are you talking about?" barked Karen. "Aren't you 
satisfied with one woman?" 

Then Karen's head flew around when a warm hand descended upon her arm. She 
raised her head too quickly and dizziness set in. She counted four 
gorgeously snapping eyes boring into her soul. 

"We can all three enjoy ourselves, don't worry. I won't touch your 
boyfriend." 

"You mean?" Karen protested, but the stewardess awaited no further protest 
and dropped to the floor of the train on her haunches. "You see, we 
foreigners design for sheer enjoyment!" 

Deftly, she swung Karen's ankles up onto the six foot long train seat so 
that the drunken, puzzled redhead found herself lying full length along the 
seat with her head in Chefs lap and her burning cheek resting against the 
gleaming hardness of his cock. 

Chet Bentley grinned a hot blooded American male grin. Catching onto the 
idea (having spent plenty of time in Da Nang brothels) he shifted positions 
so that his weight was on one hip and his penis now jutted horizontally from 
his gaping fly, a dead target for her wetly parted lips. 

Karen's mind was a whirlpool of indecision. She knew it was horribly obscene 
to involve another woman in their lovemaking . . . perverted, immoral, 
indecent, a hundred objections flitted through her mind, but beside it 
flickered the rational that this was a foreign country and what happened 
here was somehow disjointed with the American life of Karen O'Malley. 

Chet could always stop it if something bad happened, she reasoned, not 
wanting to rebuke him after all the horrible things that had happened to him 
in the past twenty-four hours. Anyway, she needn't enjoy it.. . and it was 
for him. Yet flickers of strangely aroused desire danced through her loins. 
This one time . . . for Chet. 

Karen gasped and whole body convulsed as the stewardess reached deftly up 
under her skirt and yanked down her white panties in one practiced gesture. 

Karen's mouth flew open so that her head was resting on the seat and her 
lips brushed against the wet, velvety tip of Chefs penis! Her lips parted 
compliantly, and before she knew what she was doing, she'd raised a hand to 
guide the thick stalk of meat back between her parted lips. 

Down on her knees, the salaciously erotic Lebanese born stewardess licked 
her lips at the sight of the curling pussy hairs foresting Karen's trembling 
loins. She placed the palms of her warm hands against the girl's trembling 
inner thighs and spread them gently apart as far as the panties pulled down 
to her ankles would allow. 

Karen shivered and groaned as the pole of flesh invading her mouth made her 
a slave to the intolerable tremors of anticipation threatening her wetly 
throbbing cunt. Hesitations and doubts blew like desert sands. Her nipples 
hardened against the satin of her brassiere as she abandoned herself to a 
whirlwind of indecent pleasure that whirred in her alcohol-hazed mind. 

Gently running her polished fingertips along the tender inner flesh of 
Karen's thighs, the stewardess placed her thumbs on the pulsating lips of 
the squirming girl's pussy as she feasted her eyes on the moistly gleaming 
pink slit nestling in its furrow of damp hair. Then, spreading the vaginal 
lips with a teasing pressure of her thumbs, she lowered her face towards the 
silken, glistening cuntal flesh a lick away. 

Karen moaned again and sucked more furiously on Chet's cock, bringing up one 
hand to seize the thick base of the shaft and pull the throbbing stalk of 
flesh harder into her lust contorted face. The wildly aroused filmmaker 
snaked his hands beneath her arched back to unsnap the hook of her brassiere 
and then began frenziedly to caress her naked breasts, squeezing and 
tweaking the sensitive flesh as the two full mounts with their strawberry 
nipples sprang quiveringly free. 

Below, the kneeling stewardess muttered an obscene moan and flickered her 
tongue deep into the hot, velvety depths of Karen's splayed cunt. 

The young redhead jerked and quivered as she felt the tantalizing wetness of 
the hot, quivering tongue spear into her tight little vagina, and she ground 
her naked buttocks into the tweed train seat as she began a frenzied milking 
movement with her fingers along the base of Chefs cock. 

Panting lustfully, the stewardess licked gently at the swollen pink bud of 
Karen's clitoris, snuggled in the warm fuzz of her pubic curls at the 
entrance to her pussy, pressing her thumbs further apart to gape at the 
naked, wet slit. Her tongue traced a lusty path between the layers of 
succulent flesh, surrounding the moist hidden crevices up between the girl's 
softly trembling thighs. 

Unannounced, the kneeling Lebanese woman raised her head and grasped the 
underside of Karen's thighs and pushed them up, so that her legs, linked 
together by the wide stretched panties, rose high into the air and the whole 
flat plane of her genitals was exposed to her sloe-eyes. 

With a groan of appreciation, the dark head sank down again . . . and the 
ravishing tongue darted into the wet pink flesh of Karen's tight cunt. From 
this position, she could penetrate further, and soon, with her own lips 
clamped lasciviously to the swollen folds of the writhing redhead's vagina, 
her tongue could stab far up into the deliciously pungent depths of Karen's 
secret flesh. 

Karen's body almost jackknifed from the erotic contact of the tongue 
spearing so far up into her trembling belly. A choked cry burst from her 
wildly sucking mouth, her fingers fell from Chefs cock, and then her loins 
began a slow, eager grind against the Lebanese's face. 

And she lapped voraciously at the redhead's cunt. She thrust her hands 
between her raised and spread thighs tangled her fingers in the strawberry 
curls between Karen's thighs. Groaning ecstatically from the mouthful of 
Chefs thick cock, Karen locked her calves behind the stewardess's neck and 
pulled the hotly sucking mouth harder still against her seething cunt, 
trapping the stewardess' face between her thighs. 

Under the monotonous grind of the train's southbound wheels, the obscenely 
wetly sucking sounds filled the compartment's air as Karen sucked more 
frenziedly on the filmmaker's penis and the stewardess lapped kittenishly at 
her gyrating cunt. 

And Karen was out of her mind with desire, rolling on the seat in a fit of 
eroticism while the desert stars shone in diamond chips outside the train 
window. She thrust her quivering breasts hard up against Chefs mauling 
fingers as her mouth slid frantically up and down the saliva-coated shaft of 
his throbbing penis and her thighs tightened around the black head 
plundering her loins. Shudders of forbidden pleasure raged in her belly with 
fiery urgency. Nothing mattered now-not the attack on Chefs life, not the 
airline crash-nothing, but the shafts of piercing delight warring within her 
body. The torturous agony of the wonderful swirling sensations rippling over 
every inch of her naked body was her sole universe. She writhed and bucked, 
twisted and groaned under the Lebanese's expert oral fucking, making her 
suck harder on the bloated head of Chet's hard cock, her cheeks hollowing 
with effort as though she would draw out the last drop of blood from his 
body. 

As her fingers tangled tightly in the stewardess' hair, the kneeling 
stewardess slid her arms under Karen's naked hips and slunk her hands up and 
over the trembling white flatness of the redhead's belly, so that the cuntal 
lips were pulled tight against her hungering mouth. 

Karen was at the point of utter subjugation to the foreign lesbian lover. 
Her back arched convulsively off the seat as her hips began to shudder in 
involuntary spasms. At the same time, Chet dropped his head back against the 
cushioned head rest and let the sensations boiling through his own loins 
take charge. "Go on, go on, baby!" he hissed through set teeth. "Suck harder 
. . . it's . . . it's . . . faster!" 

Chet could feel it build in his balls. The pressure mounted like the squeeze 
of a handcuff. His wildly pulsing cock felt like a balloon being inflated 
with cum! 

He thrust his hips up against Karen's face, ignoring her protesting mumble 
as he worked for the final release of the unbearable tension building, 
forever building, and then, every nerve in his body drained away to his 
genitals and he felt the white hot current surge deep in his balls and race 
the length of his wetly plunging shaft of flesh. He gave a strangled cry and 
his teeth showed white in the gloom of the night as his lips writhed back in 
a sneer of ecstasy. 

His hips arched away from the seat back and his penis began a mad staccato 
jerking that flooded Karen's sucking mouth with gushes of scalding sperm, 
bloating her cheeks until she swallowed to keep from choking, mewling and 
crooning through gagged lips at his pumping loins. 

"Don't stop! Don't stop . . . suck . . . suck!" he gasped, ramming his madly 
jerking cock deeper into her throat as his hands kneaded the quivering 
mounds of her naked breasts. Karen sucked as he spewed his white hot cum 
deep into her throat, and then, with a dying groan, he emptied the last 
dregs between her lips and fell against the seat, a satisfied man. 

At the first acrid taste of Chet's hot sperm jetting against the back of her 
tender throat, Karen sensed her own orgasm building deep within her tongued 
belly. As she swallowed, the climax became a flood, a tidal wave of 
sensation carrying her along on a crest, breaking in the center of her being 
and sending her spiraling up amongst the stars. With a throaty cry, she 
wrenched her cum-smeared lips away from Chet's deflating penis as her head 
flailed from side to side on his lap in swirls of shimmering red. 

"Aaaggghhh! Oh God, oh God, I'm cccuummm-ming!" 

Her thighs tightened around the kneeling stewardess' ears as her cuntal 
juices seethed from her tongue plundered pussy to stream down the trembling 
crevice between her naked ass cheeks and flood the slavering chin of the 
frantically sucking stewardess. 

Insanely excited by the effect of her depraved attack on the redhead 
American's genitals, the stewardess dropped one hand to haul up her skirt 
and finger fuck herself in time with Karen's thrusting loins. Out of her 
mind with desire at the sluicing sounds of the twin orgasms echoing from the 
seat above her, she clawed furiously at her own wetly throbbing cunt until 
after a few seconds, her fingers thrust savagely under the elastic leg band 
of her panties to massage the blood engorged bulb of her clitoris. 

In seconds she, too, was twisting and groaning in climax, all the while her 
lips remained fastened, sucking voraciously at the sweet quivering flesh of 
Karen's cunt. 

At last it ended. The kneeling stewardess lowered the up-thrust legs gently 
to the seat and lay her shimmering black head against Karen's damp thighs. 
Karen, too, muttered a deep contented sigh and subsided against Chefs hips. 
Later, when the fear and strangeness of the day had dissipated, self-disgust 
and shame set in. But for the moment, after this harrowing, confusing day, 
she was happy to relax. 

"I must leave now . . . we are almost to Damascus," breathed the Lebanese 
stewardess, straightening her skirt and hauling her luggage from the rack 
above the seat. "From there I fly to Baghdad." 

Then she was gone through the sliding door of the quiet train compartment, 
punctuated by Chefs snores. CHAPTER THREE 

"What do you mean the train tracks have been blown up?" barked Chet at the 
Jordanian train conductor. "What does that mean?" 

"In the Middle East," explained the swarthy, chisel-faced conductor, "one 
must be prepared for inconveniences of all kinds. We believe it is the work 
of Iranian terrorists, since Jordan is, as you Americans know," he put in 
with bushy, arched eyebrows, "are on the side of Iraq." 

"A lot of good that does us," mumbled Karen, then tutting with a sigh. 

The hour approached sunrise. Outside their window a hint of pink streamed in 
elegant ribbons over the wind-rippled sand with steely fingers poking into 
the arid waste. Neither had slept well in the train compartment and 
irritability from repetitious delays shortened her Irish temper. 

'That means we're stuck here out in the middle of the desert until they fix 
the tracks, is that right?" she snapped at the chocolate eyed conductor who 
nodded affirmatively in a slump shouldered bow. 

'That's just great!" Karen stared up at Chet as if this inconvenience were 
his fault. 

Chet took one look at the tired emerald eyes, pleading for a decent night's 
sleep and, taking the conductor by the elbow, pivoted him into outside the 
compartment. He drew a handful of assorted Lebanese, Jordanian and Syrian 
coins out of his pocket and shoved them into the conductor's fist. "You 
think you might find us a sleeper?" 

The conductor balked. 

"Karen and I need time alone," he insinuated, offering the conductor one of 
those you-should-understand-because-you're-a-man smiles. "You see, I picked 
up this French lace lingerie for her in Milday's in Beirut, and I want to 
make it a special occasion." 

"French panties . . . lace, ah ha . . . I see." the conductor scratched his 
chin, the muscles in his jaws meshing. Rattling the coins into his pocket he 
crossed his arms over his uniformed chest and shifted his weight. "I 
suggest, you Americans do not lock your sleeper which I have agreed to find 
for you." He spread his hands. "In case of attack.. . . " 

* * * 

As Chet threw the luggage up onto the top bunk in their air-tight sleeper 
keeping the satchel below, something struck him as weird. The conductor 
didn't have a Lebanese accent like the airline stewardess, or come to think 
of it, like any other service people at the train depot or airport. He 
sounded more Arabic than . . . Don't let your paranoia run away with you, 
Bentley. You need rest to clear your head. 

Karen kicked off her shoes and peeled off her suit and blouse, until she lay 
on her back staring up at the bedsprings of the bunk above them. Cascades of 
flaming red hair, tussled and unbrushed, tumbled about her naked, creamy 
shoulders. Her eyes followed Chefs deft fingers as, standing with head bent 
to avoid collision with the six foot ceiling, he stripped naked. 

"I'm getting tired of feeling like a hostage in a war zone, Chet." 

"Don't think about it," he appealed, getting down almost to his knees to 
crawl in beside her. "When you're in a better mood, I have a surprise for 
you." 

Her eyes saucered. 'That was a heck of a surprise last night.. . . " She 
blushed, hoping lovemaking with Chet would dispel the recriminations she had 
suffered ever since the outrageous scene with the Lebanese stewardess. Yet, 
she had to admit that the experience taught her that her own sexual 
inclinations were a little less normal than she'd realized! Chalking it up 
to 

Arabic influence and foreign travel, she decided not to think about it. 
Things had a way of working themselves out, and circumstances have a way of 
helping, too. 

He interpreted the stress in her voice. "Think some old fashioned lovemaking 
would cure your guilt?" Facing her, the voluptuous redhead suddenly drew in 
her breath as she felt his finger come into contact with her nearly naked 
flesh as she lay in her black satin brassiere and panties to match. 

An electrifying shock charged through her body as she felt him stroke gently 
towards the top of her thighs. A moment later, he raised himself up on one 
elbow and with the palm of his warm hand, cupped the full mound of one 
swelling breast. 

"Let's take that off," he breathed. 

"Again? In this heat?" 

Removing his fingers from her warm thigh, he guided one of her tiny hands 
towards his loins. She felt the hard rubbery head of his cock nosing against 
her skin. As the hotly throbbing shaft grazed rigidly into her palm, she 
gasped and muttered a protest. "Really, Chet.. . so soon after?" 

Karen's squeal of protest changed to a moan of pleasure as he stripped off 
the warmth of her brassiere and panties and kissed her on the lips. He moved 
the palm of his hand over the shifting mound of her firm young breast, 
teasing the nipple so that the tender bud of flesh hardened and stood up 
stiffly erect under his rotating caress. 

Releasing her hand, he stroked her thigh again, feeling the nudity quiver 
under his touch. Karen mewled with delight as the tip of his outstretched 
middle finger found the narrow, swollen slit of her vagina, hesitated, and 
then gently thrust into the wetly throbbing flesh. Her hips arched up from 
the mattress as his probing finger parted her softly curling pussy hairs and 
made tantalizing contact with the quivering button of her clitoris. 

The tiny shaft of flesh was already wet and slippery from the unexpected 
desire of laying naked with the man she loved. She sucked in her breath to 
hold back the groan of helpless ecstasy she felt building deep in her 
rapidly rising and falling chest. 

Chet shifted the hand on her breast to give its twin equal attention, and 
his other massaged the hairy length of her desire-soaked vaginal furrow. 
Maddeningly, he stroked the wetly throbbing inner lips of her tight young 
cunt, circling his middle finger around the swelling head of her clitoris as 
she squirmed and writhed on the cool sheet on the bunk bed. 

"Feel me, touch me," he breathed. 

It was a request she couldn't deny. Her own fingers clasped around the 
hardened shaft of his penis, rolling the loose sheath of the foreskin up and 
down the massively rigid pole of masculinity. 

He smiled at her, his pearly teeth making striking contrast to the ruddy tan 
of his cheeks from a week of Beirut sunshine. His bruises had healed 
astonishingly overnight; the swelling had gone down. 

"God, you know how to turn me on!" he panted. "Oh, my dear Karen." 

Staring at her with passion widened eyes, he eased his hips across her 
pelvis so that her fingers and the hot stalk of his cock were trapped 
between her warm thighs. 

His penis felt enormous, and it was! Her slender fingers could just reach 
around the sinewy hardness of the blood-engorged shaft. The bulbous head was 
squashed wetly in her clenched palm, seeping its seminal juices between her 
fingers to guide a sticky path across her softly trembling belly. As he'd 
taught her to do, she smoothed the lubricating juice around the penis, 
rubbing it into the folds of his foreskin so that it was slick and ready. 
Chet was a good teacher when it came to lovemaking. 

Chet groaned in lusty desire and smashed his mouth down on her wetly parted 
lips to plunge his tongue deep into Karen's throat. Forcing his hands 
between her shoulders and the mattress, he ran them over the soft curves of 
her back and hips, feeling the raised ripple of her spine as she undulated 
her perspiration sheened body up against him in a hypnotic motion. Her legs 
pulled apart, her thighs spread of their own volition and he sank down 
between them, the tautness of her tendons hard against the outside of his 
hips. He knew how great they'd feel later when he'd buried the domineering 
hardness of his cock deep up into that quivering little belly. 

The American filmmaker panted hoarsely and shoved his sweat-warmed hands 
further down beneath her, cupping the firm fullness of her buttocks in his 
palms and pulling her hotly open loins up tighter against him. Slowly, he 
began to move up and down, sliding his lubricated shaft in and out of her 
feverishly clutching fingers, feeling it grow hotter and harder and wetter 
with every thrust of his strong loins. The claustrophobic hotness of the 
train's sleeper, rivers of perspiration coursed down the crinkled skin of 
his testicles to mingle with the dampness seeping from her wetly gaping 
cunt. 

The erotically aroused redhead moved her ass cheeks in urgent circles, 
grinding her cock hungry little pussy up against Chefs thighs. Guiding her 
motions with the dominance of a male lover, she snaked her legs wide on 
either side of him, and locked him to her. Her heels hooked over the backs 
of his knees and her calves, sweating from the humid Jordanian air, pinioned 
his shuddering thighs and pulled him tighter to her. 

"Ohhh, Chet. . . " she gasped into his open mouth, her eyes tightly shut and 
her pelvis writhing uncontrollably beneath his weight. 

Moaning with desire, Chet began to shift his hips, dragging a warm hand out 
from under her quivering ass cheeks to reach for his hotly throbbing penis. 
But the girl was too quick for him, and she pulled the slippery shaft of 
hardened flesh across her belly, rolling his thick penis toward her pussy. 
Their sticky fingers met around the rock-hard pole of flesh, sending waves 
of shivering excitement through each of them as together they guided the hot 
pulsating head between the fevered lips of her passionately trembling cunt. 

Chet panted wildly as she slid his penis up and down between her legs, 
teasing it damply against the crinkly hairs of her pussy, forcing the blood 
engorged pole of flesh into greater hardness until it ached intolerably from 
the agonizing pressure within the veins. Reaching down with her other hand, 
she used her thumb and forefinger to spread her vaginal lips apart. 

The feel of her tight, young pussy opening for the head of his cock, brought 
a deep animalish groan from Chet's lips. Who could hold back with a cock 
tease like this hot redhead! Ramming his hips down with a cruel thrust, he 
drove the thick bursting tip of his cock into the gaping mouth of Karen's 
trembling cunt with a flesh splitting surge. 

"Aaaagghh!" whimpered Karen beneath him as he felt the warm sheath of her 
cunt slide wetly over his lust-hardened thickness. 

"Ohhh!" 

He rammed in deep as he could go, tearing another moan from her parted lips, 
louder and with more feeling this time. "OOOHHAAAHHH!" 

Chet levered himself up on his hands to gain more power, then thrust again. 
His relentlessly boring rod of searing hot flesh forced its way another inch 
into her warmly clasping cuntal hole. 

"Ohhh!" 

And another inch deeper. "Aaagghhh!" 

He bored into her wetly seeping folds deeper still. Then he stopped, feeling 
his sensitive cock head bang against the spongy tip of her cervix. It felt 
tight and hot, aching the full length of his rigidly pulsating shaft . . . 
her cuntal lubrications eased the way, and now his cock head was firmly 
jarred against her cervix as his heavy, sperm-bloated testicles slapped 
wetly into the wide split crevice between her ass cheeks. 

Karen's lips parted in a low animal cry. She was pinned to the bunk bed 
mattress, unable to move. The muscular filmmaker lay still for a moment with 
his long hard penis embedded to the hilt in her moistly clasping vagina, 
waiting for the shock of his brutal entry to subside into a warm glow of 
eroticism. Far up in the trembling girl's belly, he flexed the inflated head 
until Karen groaned, her teeth clenching between passion-drawn lips. He 
flexed the head again . . . and she groaned. It turned to a mewl of desire 
as her hot passage expanded to clasp the pulsing length of male flesh 
within. 

Then Chet began a slow revolving motion of his pelvis, grinding his massive 
hardness tightly into her naked loins, expanding the caressing walls of her 
vagina until her cunt fitted his pulsating shaft like a glove. Karen 
squirmed from side to side as she strained under his weight, arching up her 
hips to lift them both off the bed. Crooning with desire under his pounding 
body, the lust-inflamed redhead began to open and close her legs 
scissor-like around him as she thrust upwards to meet him on each spearing 
plunge. 

Her mouth gaped wide. Her red hair flung from side to side on the white 
sheet warmed with their damp perspiration. As Chet drove his penis 
rhythmically into the hot wetness of her pussy, a stream of warm moisture 
ran down the widespread crevice between her legs to saturate his fingers 
where he felt his own hard rod of flesh sawing away into the hairy lips of 
her tight young cunt. 

He massaged the warm softness of her buttocks, and felt his cock growing 
hard inside her clasping little cuntal hole until he was sure it would burst 
from the exquisite milking pressure of her caressing cuntal walls. His balls 
slapped wetly against her nakedly rotating ass cheeks below. It wouldn't be 
long now, he knew, hearing the blood sing in his ears. Christ, he hoped she 
was ready to cum too . . . nothing as embarrassing as leaving a woman 
hanging on the edge of orgasm! 

He rammed his penis into her with long, hard stroke, striving to excite her 
to that peak of climax. Their sweating, undulating bodies streamed with 
sweat as the ground frantically against one another. Her swelling breasts 
scraped voluptuously against the matted hair of his pounding chest. Their 
bellies slapped lewdly together in the damp heat of the room. Their thighs 
glided over one another as easily as the greased shaft of his cock plunged 
into her cunt. 

Chet could tell Karen was broaching the precipice of orgasm. She gripped him 
frantically with her ankles and knees, opening and closing around him in 
time with his surging thrusts into her hotly palpitating pussy. Beneath him, 
she gurgled and mewled, hissed and drooled. He knew it couldn't be long now 
. . . with that hope, he plunged into her with merciless speed. 

"Aaaahhgghh!" she chanted, spurring him on with pounding heels riding high 
on his muscular back. She jackknifed her legs up towards her shoulders, 
pulling her knees back savagely to offer him the widest possible opening of 
her loins. Her body was steaming with desire. She clasped him with the backs 
of her calves, winding her tapered legs around his nakedly pumping buttocks 
as her eyes rolled uncontrollably in her head. Her ankles locked together 
above his hips as she ground her ravenous cunt up and down his pulsating 
shaft as it fucked into her with maddening power. 

Her face contorted with lust as she strained for the final explosion that 
would set her free of this maddening lust! So close, so close. Almost. 

And then.. . . 

The friction of her moist elastic cuntal walls sucking at his throbbing cock 
did it for Chet! An irresistible flood of feeling built up in the nerve ends 
deep in his sperm filled balls and surged relentlessly outwards-a wave of 
white hot passion broke within his body and pounded in his ears. 

He hoped to God the force of his climax would make Karen cum too! 
Shuddering, he gasped. His mouth clamped voraciously down on hers and then 
he uttered a groan that swelled to a cry of victory as his lust-hardened 
cock jerked uncontrollably and spewed hot sperm far up into her wildly 
clasping pussy. She felt it gush against her cervix in torrents, forcing her 
closer to orgasm with each scalding spurt.. . and as he had hoped, the fury 
of his climax triggered off Karen's. 

Wrenching her lips away from his, she opened her mouth and screamed so loud 
Chet had to silence her cries with a kiss. Her naked heels drummed in a 
furious tattoo on his pumping ass cheeks, pounding at his sweating flesh as 
she sobbed her ecstasy into his mouth. She squeezed the cheeks of her 
buttocks up against his now deflating penis to trap it within her. Her 
seething belly ground frantically against his tense loins. For both of them 
it was a timeless moment of space and time.. . there was no train stuck in a 
desert, no war over the Persian Gulf, no attacks, no worries. 

When it was over, Chet expired a sigh and collapsed limply between Karen's 
lowered thighs, his softening cock slipping wetly from her well-fucked pussy 
with a lewd sucking sound. His lips nibbled gently at the soft skin of her 
warm neck, dipping under the curls of her red hair. He closed his eyes, 
giving himself into the feeling. 

In the airtight compartment, Karen lay quietly on the narrow bed, listening 
to his breathing and feeling the slowing of her own pulse. Drowsy and 
contented, she felt calm and completed. Tenderly, she kissed Chet on the 
forehead and cuddled into his shoulder. A trickle of tension returned to 
haunt her for a fleeting moment. When would the train move again? To where . 
. . how far had the war spread since she'd left the States such a short time 
ago? The attacks on Chet, by whom and why? 

She nudged him with her shoulder, a smile growing over her lips. Had he 
forgotten about the surprise? 

Tiredly, she glanced about the stuffy room, her eyes falling upon the door. 
Karen blinked, panic racing like ice water in her veins. 

"CHET! Somebody's coming through the door!" she screamed wildly. 

She jabbed Chet desperately. The door flew open and a lean figure with a 
black hatchet man's mask over his head and a gleaming knife in his hand 
leapt into the sleeper car. 

Chet was exhausted . . . but he was sober and his mind snapped back to 
alertness. In the split second before Karen had screamed, he had sensed the 
stiffening of her muscles, heard the sudden intake of breath and flicked his 
eye sideways to see the door opening. By the time Karen's cry had burst into 
the silence of the steaming hot room, his brain had already telegraphed a 
warning to his muscles and nerve ends. That Special Forces training again. 

As the Marines had taught him in hand-to-hand combat, he didn't try to roll 
away from the assailant, he went for him. 

like a bedspring, his steely body uncoiled; wrapping his arms around Karen's 
shoulders, he rolled over her and forced her to the inside next to the wall. 

The attacker hurled himself onto the bed just as Chet rolled under him onto 
the floor and Karen scrambled nakedly to the foot of the bed and crawled 
beneath. The knife blade plunged into the mattress still warm from their 
lovemaking, where Karen and Chet had been lying two seconds before. The 
black hooded mask reduced the attacker's peripheral vision to his 
disadvantage and, by the time he'd retrieved his knife from the ripped 
mattress, Chet had time to plan action. 

Scrambling onto the top bunk bed, Chet tore the sheet from the creaking 
bedspring. Whoosh! The cold steel blade jabbed at his naked belly; Chet 
whirled to one side, twisting away from the murderous steel and slammed the 
edge of his hand brutally down on the intruder's forearm in a swift karate 
chop. 

Grumbling in pain, the knife man clapped his free hand to the injured arm 
and thrust a second time, this time grazing Chet's upper arm. But Chet was 
ready this time. As the assassin drew back for another lunge, Chet tossed 
the wadded up sheet over the man's head. 

Beneath the lower bunk, Karen's lush young body trembled in terror. She 
heard the clang of the knife hitting the metal edge of the creaking bunk, 
heard the grunts of pain and raised her hand to her mouth in pure terror. 

Chet's arm seared with pain. Blood dribbled onto his chest, his belly and 
splattered on the walls. The sight of his own blood enraged him. As the 
assailant tearing at the sheet, pulled off the black hood and charged again, 
Chet recognized him as the conductor. 

"Dirty sonofabitch," grumbled the American, grabbing the Halliburton steel 
case housing his movie camera and flinging it with all his strength at the 
man crawling up onto the upper bunt, knife dripping with Chet's blood 
clutched in his fist. Automatically, the assailant's arms flew up to protect 
his head from the heavy case, but the weighty steel and its contents knocked 
him backwards over the edge of the bunk. 

That's when Chet took a nosedive off the top bunk. His lips thinned in s 
snarl of fury and his eyes blazed with rage. Chefs shoulder caught the man 
on the thighs and knocked him off balance so that the knife swung in the air 
above Chefs head, then tumbled to the floor. For a moment the two of them 
tangled in a hydra of arms and legs in the cramped space legs kicking under 
the bed where Karen lay cringing. Then Chefs strong fingers closed around 
the assailant's wrist below the knife blade's handle and forced it high 
above his swarthy face. 

Eyeball to eyeball, the American and Middle Eastern conductor glared 
murderously at each other. Panting, lungs burning for air, they locked 
together in the suggestive position of lovemaking. Gritting his teeth with 
the effort, Chet pinioned the man's free hand under his arm and used his 
superior strength to roll over on top. Then, using an old Marine trick in 
terrorism, he grunted out a murderous growl as every sinew in his body 
tensed and he tried to bend back the hand grasping the knife and force the 
assailant to drop his weapon. 

The sinewy attacker's tendons corded as he strove desperately to fight the 
pressure of the ex-Marine's powerful grip. Beads of sweat popped out on his 
swarthy forehead and he showed a gold tooth as he gritted his teeth, 
struggling to break the American's grip and plunge the blood dripping knife 
blade into his back. His lips went taut as a wild dog, and his smoky breath 
hissed up over Chefs handsome features. 

Under the bed, Karen let out a cry of helplessness. From her vantage point 
only Chefs naked hairy legs and the assailant's dark painted ones was all 
she could see. Biting her lip until it bled, her fists balled up for action, 
she lunged, propelling herself out from under the bed in attempt to grab the 
assailant's arm. 

But her timing was half a second off. Chet's steely body had spasmed into a 
tighter grip. The sudden movement behind him caught Chet off guard, as he 
relaxed his concentration. 

That was enough for the assailant. Thrusting a springy foot against the 
American's ankle, he kicked Chet's leg aside and brought up his other knee 
to crash into the naked American's testicles. 

Chet gritted his teeth in a choked cry of pain. He rolled off the attacker's 
stomach and let go the knife blade hand to grasp his balls. 

Karen screamed. Down on her haunches above the assailant's head and out of 
his line of vision, she watched in horror as the assassin rose to his feet 
and raised the knife high in the air to plunge it into Chet's heart. With 
adrenalin-powered strength, she picked up the steel Halliburton case and 
brought it crashing down on the back of the man's head. 

The assailant crashed to the floor, the knife fluttering from his hand. He 
fell face down, his body draped over Chet's spasming thighs. 

Chet ripped off the mask. It was the conductor. CHAPTER FOUR 

Karbala was a far more modern city than Chet had anticipated. King Khalid's 
putting his petrodollars to work, the American documentary filmmaker thought 
to himself as his shoes slapped urgently on the hot sidewalk heading for the 
steps of the American Embassy in Karbala. Arabesque mosaic architecture 
blended like fire and water with glass skyscrapers keeping odd company. 

He was in search of someone who might enlighten him on the sudden violence 
in the Middle East and shed some light on the Iranian/Iraqui upheaval. And a 
few personal issues-like attempts on his life-could use some illumination as 
well. 

The man he sought was an acquaintance from the Special Forces based in Da 
Nang back in 1975. Colonel Jibsen had been one hell of a Marine, and once a 
Marine, always a Marine. Chet needed a man like that right now and, luckily 
for him, Jibsen had found station in the Saudi Arabian branch of the Central 
Intelligence Agency. 

As Bentley's shoes climbed the steps to the embassy, his mind fled to Viet 
Nam those years back and recalled in particular one stout hearted American 
whose zeal for patriotism was matched only by his muscular structure. Two 
hundred and thirty pounds of unadulterated beefy muscle, closely cropped 
hair and bird-like eyes. If the gun he carried didn't scare the pants off 
indigent American officers whose poor performance was viewed as an 
embarrassment to the United States and due cause for death by their own 
countrymen specially trained in high intelligence, the burly sight of him 
did. That was Jibsen's job: killing lazy Marines who fucked up. 

There's trust in distrust, Chet reminded himself, and honor amongst Marines. 
Jibsen would help for that reason and only that reason. 

Jibsen hadn't changed a bit, except for a few extra crows feet under his 
eyes from the searing Karbala sun. His ruddy skin matched his hair in color, 
making his head look obscenely naked. Robin's egg blue eyes stared at the 
nervous American filmmaker. 

"What the Strait of Hormuz and oil has to do with my life, I don't the hell 
know!" blared Chet across the big man's desk. "I've been attacked three 
times, a plane was sabotaged that should have had me on it, and a train 
track gets blown up in Jordan!" he sighed heavily. "Jordan's not the hell in 
the war yet!" 

"The hell," corrected Jibsen. "They're backin' Iraq." 

"So what information have the police gotten out of the conductor who tried 
to put a knife through my heart.. . huh? What the hell kind of judicial 
system have they got in this country?" 

"You're in a foreign country," rebuked Jibsen, his blue eyes piercing Chet's 
blazing ones,". . . mind your fuckin' manners." His ragged fingernail picked 
at a piece of meat between his front teeth. "You're American, they're 
Arabs.. . they want what you got," he said flatly. 

Chet's voice whined in frustration. He spread his hands. "What the hell have 
I got?" He enumerated the items on his fingers. "A couple pair of underwear, 
dirty socks, banged up camera, coupla shirts and a present for my girl." He 
drew in a deep breath. "Shit, I forgot about giving it to her." 

"What?" Jibsen cocked his head to the side. 

Chet shook his head disgustedly. "It's not important . . . I bought my girl 
a little something in Beirut, something I was saving for a surprise and I 
forgot to give it to her." 

"Maybe that's what they're after," suggested Jibsen with renewed enthusiasm. 

"A pair of panties and a camisole; the world's in a worse state of affairs 
than I thought if that's cause for trying to kill somebody!" 

"So what do you want me to do about it? This is a big country, Bentley, 
biggern' Vietnam ever thought a bein'. " He shook his head appreciatively. 
"Lots a bucks to be made in this part of the world if you got the right 
connections." He leaned over his desk and grunted, "These fuckin' Arabs'll 
own the world in a coupla years after they clog up the Persian gulf. Huh," 
he snorted, "the stupid shits in the states'll be ridin' bicycles." 

Chet failed to see the humor in it. "Who the hell's side you on, anyway? I'm 
surprised you're not wearing a Khomeini button, for Chrissakes." 

"Listen!" Jibsen's coarse features coarsened. He levered his meaty palms on 
the top of his desk and rose off his chair. 'The only reason I'm talkin' to 
you is because you're a Marine. You were a chickenshit in Nam and you're a 
chickenshit now . . . but you're a Marine so I gotta treat you like one." 

"You win." Chet held up his hands. "Maybe I am a chickenshit, but I got this 
aversion to people trying to kill me. I want you to find out who's after me 
and why, and get some information out of that conductor. He's probably the 
bastard who blew up the tracks. I've got an assignment to work on, I'm 
waiting for orders from CBS in New York. I need a bodyguard for Karen. I 
can't take her to Abadan with me." 

Jibsen stiffened. "Abadan . . . that was bombed yesterday." 

"What?" 

Jibsen slapped an English newspaper on the desk under Chet's nose. "We're at 
war, boy. The fuckin' Strait's all clogged up!" 

Back in the hotel room, Chet explained the situation to Karen: She would 
stay in Karbala under Jibsen's auspices and he, unassisted would head for 
location when word came from Goodfellow to advance. War documentary 
assignments, he was beginning to understand; we aren't a hell of a lot 
different from being in the Special Forces. Both took guts. 

That afternoon the awaited telegram arrived from CBS. CONTACT ABDULLAH IN 
BASRA. STOP. REPORT BACK UPON ARRIVAL. STOP. HARRY. 

'That's it," sighed Chet resignedly, never having appreciated Karen's 
luscious bumps and curves more in his life. Christ, he hadn't felt this 
scared since he landed in a rice paddie in Viet Nam up to his knees in muck, 
leechers chewing at his kneecaps and guerilla farmers throwing glass Molotov 
cocktails in his face. 

Something about being in the midst of war with no gun and a sense of 
survival your only ammunition, unnerved the ex-Marine. He felt it, but 
didn't show it. 

"Cupping Karen's shoulders, he stared into her emerald eyes. "Jibsen's an 
asshole, but he stays alive." He shook a finger at her. "But don't let the 
ugly bastard seduce you, that's all I ask, because if you get turned on by 
him, that'll make me look pretty damned unattractive." 

"Oh, Chet, I want to go back to New York, both of us." Her lovely shoulders 
shivered and she pressed her soft curves to match his muscular ones. "I 
don't like being in the middle of war with no news of what's going on. I 
keep thinking of the American hostages in Tehran who've been cooped up going 
crazy for over a year, and anything seems possible." 

"I've got a plane to catch," he announced, pulling reluctantly away from her 
tempting lusciousness. He'd have given anything for an hour naked in bed 
with her in one of those Hemingway love scenes, feeling the earth move for 
them. . . but damn it, this was real life. He had a job to do. 

Chet was retracing those thoughts, wishing he'd gone for that one last 
screw, when he walked up the steps of a government building in Basra. The 
streets of the city were eerily vacant and the smell of sulphur and burning 
oil stung his nostrils. The imminent feeling that a bomber could strafe 
overhead any second and nail his bloody carcass to the American Embassy 
doorstep, shivered through his lanky frame. Times like this, he wished he 
shared some of Jibsen's cocksure sentiment. Jibsen was a man who'd never 
die. 

Chefs growing distrust of Arabs intensified as he eventually came face to 
face with Abdullah. Events happened so damned fast in war, yesterday's 
friend could be tomorrow's foe. With that in mind, he extended a hand to 
Abdullah, the Minister of Information at the Embassy. The sweaty faced Iraqi 
looked the epitome of the typical Arab male. A large nose dominated his 
long, thin face. Taut lips spreading in a welcoming smile nearly brushed the 
tip of his nose. His attire created a strange contrast of East and West. He 
wore a natty suit, with a crisp white shirt and about his head a turban 
draped over his shoulders. 

Bentley handed him the letters of introduction which the diplomat read 
carefully. After pursuing them, Chet stuffed them back into his satchel 
along with his clean socks and underwear. His fingers touched the crinkly 
Milady lingerie bag stuffed in the bottom, and mentally he snapped his 
fingers at his stupidity for neglecting to give Karen her gift. He wondered 
what the Iraqi would think if he knew he was carrying a pair of lacey 
panties in his bag. Damn things getting to be a bad luck charm.. . . 

"You are from New York City, the Big Apple?" put in Abdullah rhetorically 

Chet eyed the Iraqi diplomat quizzically, and nodded. He hadn't expected 
this kind of reception in a country devoted to anti-Americanism. 

"And your assignment is to take footage of our petrochemical plants for use 
in a documentary film?" He spread his hands as he spoke. 

Chet nodded. "Correct. I was originally scheduled to go to Abadan but after 
the oil war broke out, my supervisor decided my assistant and I should not 
risk the dangers." 

"You are wise not to step foot in Iran," he said crisply, shuffling slightly 
in his chair. The Khomeini has treated your people badly." 

Chet got the instant impression that anti-Iranian was equated with 
pro-Americanism in this country, and that helped dispel a bit of distrust. 

"The world does not understand that Iran and Iraq are two totally different 
cultures. They are Persians, Indo-Europeans, we, the Iraqis are Arabs," he 
said proudly. We belong to the Sunni sect of Islam, the Iranians to the 
Shiite sect." 

The American filmmaker stared at the map of the Islam world over the 
diplomat's shoulder. Red arrows marked war zones. "I had no idea the war had 
spread that far. When I left the States there was talk, but-" 

"It is the war of the century." 

Chet dove for the chance to change the subject. He had the distinct 
impression he could waste a whole day listening to the Iraqi damn the 
Iranians. "About my permission for filming.. . . " 

"Oh, yes. You mentioned an assistant." The Iraqi leaned back and touched his 
fingers together. 

"Karen O'Malley. For safety sake, I left her in Karbala under the auspices 
of an American by the name of Jibsen." 

Abdullah's eyebrows raised, and his thin lips fell slack. "Jibsen . . . I 
have heard many things about the man." 

Chet didn't like the delivery of that admission. "Yes, he works with the 
Central Intelligence Agency. I knew him in the Special Forces in Viet Nam." 

'There have been reports that your Mr. Jibsen is allied with an Iranian 
terrorist group who are anti-Khomeini." His face was set in a knowing smirk. 

"Jibsen? With the Iranians?" Chet scratched his head. "I find it hard to 
believe.. . the man would have given his right testicle to die for America.. 
. . " 

Abdullah lit a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. The air stung with a 
clovish smell. "Believe me, Mr. Bentley, the man is a clever capitalist. The 
Arabs are just now coming into wealth; we are enamored by what I shall call 
Western fast talk, and your Mr. Jibsen fits well into that category. He has 
made many petrodollars procuring wives for American-hungry sheiks and now he 
is reputedly working in this country for an oil field heir back in the 
United States who despises the Ayatollah, and wants only to embarrass him. 
You see," and here the Minister of Information stiffened judgmentally, "the 
Ayatollah is the savior of the poor masses. There are others who oppose his 
dictatorial regime." 

The idea of Jibsen being involved with wealthy oil men didn't sit 
comfortably with Chet. Somehow it amused him that the burly, redheaded hulk 
had managed to fanagle his way into Arab money. 

The American filmmaker squinted off into space. "Come to think of it, I 
recall there being a rash of arrests involving anti-Khomeini demonstrators." 

"You see, this is the war of the century. We are twice torn-by religion and 
by money. The Iranians are united for a cause now, but soon it will be the 
oil rich versus the hungry masses. Such is the cur of our universe." He 
paused. "Which is why your Mr. Jibsen is being hired to gather information 
in case of future wars within our countries." 

"Meaning.. . . " 

"I'm talking explosives, bombs, Mr. Bentley." 

Chet gulped. A dark cloud of doom haloed his head, growing more dense as he 
lifted his head to stare into the Arab's snappy eyes. 

"I fear you've made a grave mistake leaving Mr. Jibsen to care for your 
assistant. The man is ruthless." 

Bentley's hand rose to his forehead. Alarm sizzled through his veins. 
"Karen, I've got to find Karen." 

"Believe me, Mr. Bentley, I will do anything to assist you in dealing with 
this Mr. Jibsen. If you need help, please feel free to contact me." CHAPTER 
FIVE 

Karen O'Malley blinked her emerald eyes and stirred to a drugged wakefulness 
as she lay belly down on the warm sheets. For a moment she stared dizzily at 
the flaking stucco walls. Where was she? She pushed herself up on the palms 
of her hands, tumbles of red hair cascading about her naked shoulders. 

Stripes of sunlight filtered through the barred windows, creating a 
rectangular slash across the small room. Dimly she recalled Chet packing for 
Basra, him telling her that she would be under the care of a Mr. 

Jibsen, was it? Wearily, she slung one shapely leg off the rumpled bed, and 
realized with a shiver that she was naked. Now her saucered eyes took in the 
small room with its single chair and elaborately carved table. In the corner 
of the room her luggage had been spilled open and its contents scattered 
about the floor as if someone was looking for something. What? 

In a burst of alarm, the facts started piecing together. The attacks on 
Chefs life, the robbery in his hotel room, and now this. 

She had distrusted and abhorred the red faced Jibsen the moment he appeared 
at her hotel with instructions to pack immediately and relocate to a safer 
part of the city. Something odious and offensive about the man disturbed her 
and when he drove her further into the poor, congested sections of Karbala, 
distrust crystallized into fear. She'd struggled to get out of the car, but 
his steely grip caught her tiny wrist and whipped her around to face him. He 
drove then, one hand gripping the wheel, the other clamped to the nape of 
her neck. 

Trapped in an Arab town, God only knew where.. . left alone, imprisoned. It 
was ridiculous as a B-rated movie, melodramatic and terribly real! A naked 
prisoner.. . Karen O'Malley, film assistant, CBS, New York. What a story 
line, she whimpered. 

In a burst of white hot panic, she leapt for the arched door. The heavy wood 
plank with its iron hinge refused to budge. Terror like she'd never known 
rippled through her body as she twisted frantically at the hinge, until 
beads of perspiration sheened her nakedly jiggling breasts and red tendrils 
clung in sweaty swirls to her creamy forehead. 

Her eyes flew about the room, settling on the chair. She dragged it to the 
window and with the tips of her red polished nails, pulled herself up until 
her dimpled chin rested on the rough window ledge. The dusty smell of camel 
dung stung her nostrils as a parade of Arabs in tarbooshes and white robes 
rode waddling camels toward the marketplace beyond. Her tiny fists grabbed 
the bars and clung to them with desperation. Dizziness overcame her, and the 
terrified American climbed off the chair and collapsed onto the rumpled bed. 

How would Chet find her, imprisoned in this dung-smelling cubicle? 

And Jibsen . . . what happened to him? Had he brought her here to die? She 
gave in to emotion, weeping helplessly, her body wracking with sobs that 
splashed onto her flushed cheeks to dribble onto her luscious breasts. 

Jibsen's face wore the self-satisfied smirk of a satiated cat as he slipped 
the heavy key into the hinged door and stepped into the coolness of Karen's 
prison. He stared at the hostage's sleeping body. Christ, what a piece of 
ass Bentley managed to find, the lucky bastard! Just looking at her naked 
body splattered with Arab sunlight was enough to make his balls ache and his 
thick cock stiffen and jerk inside his loose pants. 

He rested his hands on his hips and glanced around the room where her 
luggage contents were strewn recklessly. Obviously she hadn't come to yet, 
he grinned. The smirk faded and his thick fingers clawed at the back of his 
head. He grunted with dismay. Sudan and Mitch sure managed to fuck things 
up. Christ, three attacks on a guy and still they couldn't get their grubby 
Persian fingers on one measly garment bag! And it was nowhere to be found in 
the luggage. Faisal was going to be damned pissed for this mess-up and he 
knew who would have to pay. Arabs didn't fuck around when it came to 
leveling judgment on defectors, and he would be termed just that if he 
didn't find that damned bag with the lacey underwear. 

His eyes fell on her magnificently rounded breasts bursting out from around 
the sheet immodestly draped over her soft pink flesh. Her naked shoulders 
and swan-like neck looked so sweet and fresh compared to the swarthy, sweaty 
Arab women. One of Karen's legs had kicked out to the side, making the sheet 
bunch up and show off one silken thigh. If he craned his neck far enough to 
one side, he could see the slit of her pink pussy and the patch of red 
tendrils. 

A dull pounding ache coursed through Jibsen's stalky cock. Christ, how he'd 
like to ram it deep inside her belly while she moaned and thrashed and 
bucked under him. Lucky bastard Bentley! Even in Nam he got the lookers and 
left the dogs to him. The man had a way with women. By God, Bentley wasn't 
the only man who could make snooty little bitches beg for cock. 

Jibsen sucked in his breath and Karen's eyes opened slowly . . . at first. 
When her emerald eyes caught sight of the bird-like orbs lecherously raking 
over her naked body like dirty little insects, she yelped and bit at her 
clenched fist in terror. Karen saw the bulge under Jibsen's loose pants and 
turned her head in revulsion. With an angry gesture, she yanked the sheet up 
to her neck and tucked in her leg. 

"What do you want with me?" she spat up at him. "Why have you taken me here, 
and where's Chet?" 

A crooked grin showed off yellow teeth and Jibsen's paunch heaved as he 
sucked in his breath, his hands resting on his hips in military fashion. 
Lewdly he cupped his balls with one meaty palm. "This is what I want with 
you, and number two, I've brought you here for safe keeping, let's say, 
until certain items show up. About your precious-assed Chet, he's probably 
in Basra with his balls blown off by now." 

A cry that was half rage, half shame tore from Karen's tightly pursed lips. 
"How can you call yourself an American . . . what have you got to do with 
the attacks on Chet?" she demanded icily. "I'm beginning to see this all 
fits in, you kidnapper!" 

Jibsen stood grinning down at her with a taunting smirk, cupping his balls 
and staring at her. 

"You ugly pig!" she spat. "Don't get any ideas about-" 

With that insult, Jibsen leapt to his feet and seized the trembling redhead 
by the shoulders; his nails dug cruelly into the soft, tender flesh as he 
shook her savagely. Karen squirmed and writhed, trying to wiggle free of his 
steely grip, but he held her tight. 

Karen threw her head back and laughed hysterically. 

"You think you can scare me, you've got another think coming.. . and as for 
Chet, don't underestimate him, he's as strong as you'll ever be and twice as 
tough." Her eyes raked rancorously over his massive hulk. 

"He's a chickenshit!" grumbled Jibsen. 

"You make me sick!" she yelped. "You ugly, filthy pig!" Karen stopped, 
panting for breath, the room was suffocating, dusty and close. 

He threw her back onto the bed, her head slamming into the wall. His upper 
lip curled hatefully. "You think your Bentley's such hot shit you ain't had 
nothin' till you've had a real Marine fuckin' into your belly." He held her 
motionless then, and stared insolently into her small frightened face. "If I 
want to fuck you, I'll fuck you." He gave a short, cruel laugh, his lips 
curled back over tobacco stained teeth. 

"You lay one hand on me and so help me God, when Chet finds me, he'll kill 
you!" 

"Shut up!" Jibsen's hand shot out, seizing the sheet from her nakedly 
shivering body in one swift motion. He wadded it up and tossed it to the 
floor amidst the wreckage of her luggage. Holding the fear frozen American 
by one meaty paw, he struggled out of his pants. Deftly, he eased them down 
over his thick hips until his thick, rock hard cock sprang free, stiff as a 
pole, its bulbously swollen head oozing drops of lubricating fluid. Karen 
gasped in disgust. It was the hugest set of genitals she'd seen on a 
man-elephantine in size, and angry looking, red as the shortly cropped hair 
crowning his head. Whereas Chefs penis was silken and hard, this one was 
stalkish and brutal looking. She shivered. 

"What's the matter?" he sneered. "You never seen a real Marine prick 
before?" 

Karen stiffened as his calloused hand slid down over her smooth stomach to 
the gentle mound of her pelvis, then further down between her legs to crawl 
with insect slowness along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She 
gasped, struggling to free herself from his lecherous fingers. Huge wet 
tears rose to her eyes and purled down her flushed, satin cheeks. 

"Please," she begged, "don't touch me. I'll give you whatever it is you 
want, but please don't touch me." 

"What I want, you ain' got . . . that chickenshit Chefs got it, the fuckin' 
bastard!. And when I find the shithead, I'm gonna pull out every hair on his 
head, one by one until I get that damned bag!" 

Karen buried her face in her hands, sobbing. "Why? Why are you tormenting 
us? What is it you want?" 

He shot her a contemptuous look as he forced her naked body down on the bed. 
In a wheeze of breath, he got on his fat knees and straddled her 
defenselessly shivering body. His snaky eyes filled with red hot lust, his 
mouth twisting sardonically. 

"Anything. I'll give you whatever it is you're after," she whimpered. Her 
voice trailed off into a hopeless wail of despair. Nothing would placate 
this odious creature, nothing! Dear Chet.. . where are you? Why didn't you 
take me with you instead of leaving me with this beast! Tears of rage and 
horror poured from her emerald eyes. 

The ex-Marine turned foreign agent bent his head to Karen's and mashed his 
thick lips wetly on her tightly closed mouth. Brutally, he forced his hot, 
wet tongue between her futilely resisting lips, lashed in and out, and 
slithered its slimy way down her fear constricted throat. 

Karen struggled against him until the last ounce of her strength had died in 
the heat of confusion and despair. She lay whimpering beneath his weight, 
sobbing softly as his calloused, meaty hands roamed over her pinned down 
nudity, stroking her neck, her throat, the soft, naked flesh of her smooth 
white shoulders, pinching and tweaking and appreciating with a lustful 
vengeance. His hot, sweaty palms moved down to cup a melonous breast in each 
hand, kneading and squeezing. Hot hungry lips explored her face again, his 
tongue sinking deep between her lips so that she could taste the clovish 
smell of tobacco. Tauntingly, he ran it down the valley between her milky 
white breasts and with a lewd, savage growl, he fastened his sharp teeth 
harshly into the small bud of her nipple while Karen recoiled in pain. She 
began to struggle feebly again, her naked flesh squirming up against the 
hard, massive body that pinned her to the sagging mattress. 

With a deathly movement, Jibsen caught her small wrists in his powerful 
grip, crushing them until she swore she could hear her bones crack. When he 
lifted his head and snapped down at her, she could see the needle-pointed 
sharpness of his incisors. She shivered, recalling Chet having described the 
practice of certain serious-minded Marines who, for the sake of creating a 
weapon of their mouth, sharpened their incisors to beaver-tooth blades. 
Fearfully, she bent her head and noticed the red marks on her breasts where 
those teeth had drawn blood. 

"Please . . . don't hurt me again." 

Jibsen snickered lewdly. "I'll chew your clit off if you don't shut up!" 

And this man was animal enough to fulfill that promise, Karen realized in a 
sizzle of terror. 

He bent his head again, the bristles of his crew cut red hair brushing 
against her cheeks brazenly. His thick lips roamed moistly over the snowy 
whiteness of her heaving breasts, teasing the nipples into taut little 
cherries, despite the fear and rage ricocheting around in her brain. His two 
meaty hands slid down the flesh of her silken belly, roved over the soft, 
sensitive curves of her hips, slipped under the twin half moons of her 
smoothly rounded buttocks with a touch that sent little quivers of tingling 
dread through Karen. 

Dear God, could it be this ugly creature with his dominant touch was raising 
desire within her? She closed her emerald eyes tight, feeling his hand 
seeking the thin, softly curling wisps of pubic hair to slip with slow 
deliciousness into the narrow slit of her pussy. He searched teasingly 
between the warmth of her inner thighs until he found the tiny bud of her 
clitoris and stroked it into throbbing erection with the strength of his 
middle finger pad. 

With a deep, animalish growl, he slipped his fingers from Karen's helplessly 
quivering cunt and kneed up over her again. "-liked ol' Jibsen finger 
fuckin' ya, didn't ya? No better than them Nam whores," he leered down at 
her. His harsh tone brought Karen's mind back to reality of her gloomily 
imprisonment with a horrible abruptness. Chet flitted to mind again and the 
thought of his wonderful maleness and subtle gentility, closed shut any 
traitorous circuits of desire this horrible creature had flicked on within 
her. 

Gruffly, Jibsen pried her thighs apart, then hunched over her, his red head 
inches above her loins. As she realized his intentions, she let out a wail 
of despair. The filthy pervert! How dare he defile her body! 

She thrashed about, flailing her arms until she exhausted herself. 
Triumphantly, Jibsen held her down with a mocking grin. When panting, she 
lay back limp and unresisting, he fixed his bird like eyes on the thin, 
tight slit up between her trembling legs. 

"Jesus, I could make a fortune sellin' your cunt to these pussy starved 
Arabs. Blondes and redheads, that's what they want." 

Jibsen rested the palms of his hands on her soft inner thighs, while his 
strong thumbs sought out the fleshy edges of her cunt. With a slow, teasing 
outward movement that brought a low cry of shame from Karen, he pressed the 
softly hair fringed lips apart, exposing the pink, glistening hole of her 
cunt to his gaping eyes. He growled out a snarl of appreciation and riding 
her body like a cowboy, buried his face in the vee of her openly spread 
genitals. His tongue flicked in and out of his mouth, running over his 
parted lips with lecherous intent. Lizard-like, he slipped the slimy digit 
into the wetly seeping hole of her pussy! 

"Oooohhhh . . . nooooo!" Karen screamed out in shame as the lewd, maddening 
sensation raced through her nudity, making her tingle against her will and 
goose bumps raise on the sheened globes of her breasts. The suffocating 
heat, terror at reprisal and her own body worked against her will, and her 
legs jerked wide apart, hanging over the edges of the bed as though they 
belonged to a limp rag doll. 

The ex-Marine ran his slimy tongue up and down the hairy virginal furrow, 
probing and lapping and exploring until his razor sharp teeth found the tiny 
bud of her clitoris and, once again, with a maddening swirl of the tongue, 
he licked the quivering mound into throbbing erection. 

Karen whined with agonized pleasure, torn between the traitorous exquisite 
feelings that his insistent licking of her wetly throbbing vagina aroused 
within her helpless body, and the shame and humiliation at the wicked 
delight.. . not un-like the train car episode, she thought dully. Could it 
be she possessed a mania for oral sex? 

Her body rippled and shivered and goose bumped as Jibsen's mouth closed over 
the hardened bud of flesh that throbbed against his flicking tongue. 
Breathing with instant lust, the burly man began to suck it as if it were a 
shellfish. Grunting and growling, he gave the tiny tit of flesh a sharp, 
cruel nip with his sharpened incisors that tore a gasp of real pain from 
Karen's heaving chest. A bolt of electricity shot through her body, 
scissoring her legs and sending her head to bang against the wall. 

She arched backwards desperately, struggling to free herself of this monster 
ravaging her disgustingly. Closing her eyes tightly to shut out the shame, a 
groan of despair tore from her body and overwhelmed by his maddening 
licking, she slumped back against the bed. He plastered his open mouth to 
her ragged cuntal lips, sucking them into the hot wetness of his mouth until 
they dripped with saliva. He flicked at the soft folds of the throbbing pink 
flesh there, withdrawing to push her legs up over her head and lick 
downwards at the narrow crevice between the smooth twin moons of her nakedly 
upturned buttocks. 

Karen's cheeks burned in shame, her breath came in heavy pants. 

Jibsen smirked inwardly. Hot redhead bitch . . . Christ, she's almost 
cumming! Then, lifting his lips from her vaginal furrow, he grabbed his 
thick, veiny cock in one hand and, kneeling up between her widespread 
thighs, guided the bulbous tip to the tiny vertical mouth between her legs 
pushing forward until the thick, rubbery head slipped through the red 
strands of her pubic hair towards the swollen flanges of her pulsing vagina. 

Karen gasped and held her breath as damning desire churned with the 
agonizing guilt within her. This was her kidnapper, her tormentor. How could 
she feel desire from this evil creature's wicked lapping of her cunt. And 
now he was going to fill her belly with his seed. 

The blood swollen tip of Jibsen's enormous prick slipped into and penetrated 
the tightly clenched opening of her naked cunt. The searing contact of his 
huge cockhead with her swollen, itching cuntal lips sent her into sharp 
little spasms of pain and pleasure and she screamed from the bottom of her 
soul. 

"Please . . . no . . . please!" 

But with a sudden thrust, Jibsen flicked his heavy hips forward and thrust 
his cock deep into that seeping narrow cuntal slit, spearing into her with 
mercy or respect. It was up to him to show her what a Marine could do . . . 
that he could break anyone's will. 

He flexed his hips forward again, plunging and drilling into her until Karen 
felt as if his fleshy shaft had exploded up inside her womb to shatter every 
nerve ending. Vainly, she braced her hands against his hirsute, steely 
forearms and levered back, trying to escape this evil rape. But his cock 
held her in place, it might have been a spear stabbing into her womanhood. 
Still and exhausted, she lay panting beneath him, impaled on his cock that 
pressed against the soft, ridged flesh of her cunt, inflaming it, turning it 
into a searing sheath of fire. 

Jibsen lay still too, until suddenly, he arched his back, raising himself 
above Karen to stare contemptuously down into her fear stricken face. 
"Bigger cock than Bentley's, ain' it? Don' it fill that belly to burstin'? " 

Karen's lips trembled and shook her head violently. "Never!" she spat. "He's 
a chickenshit and I wanna hear you say it!" 

"No . . . never.. . . " she shuddered. 

"Then I guess you need a little more cock." He flicked forward, fucking so 
deep into her belly he bored into the spongy tip of her cervix with pinprick 
force. 

Karen let out a wail of pain and again tried to squirm back to lessen the 
bursting pressure within her belly. 

Jibsen withdrew partially, raised himself up and snarled: 'Tell me Bentley's 
a chickenshit or I'll turn your guts to pudding!" His tone was brutal, his 
manner animalish. 

Terrified he might do just that, Karen bit her lip until tears squirted from 
her eyes. His final torment was to make her degrade Chet while he raped the 
woman Chet loved. 

"Never, I'll-aaaggghhh!" He'd bored into her another three healthy inches, 
skewering her to the bed with his burly, hairy body, his cheeks flushed with 
a rich suffusion of blood that matched his carrot hair. 

'Tell me.. . I want to hear you say it." Flexing with his hips, he slammed 
forward so hard Karen's head banged cruelly into the wall. 

"He's a chi-chick.. . . " No, she couldn't say it! Flinging her head from 
side to side in a wave of red curls, she refused to open her mouth. 

"By God, say it!" 

Harder this time, deeper and more painful. 

Karen couldn't take the torment a second longer. "He's a chickenshit . . . " 
she hissed through pearly clenched teeth. 

"Want some more cock?" he taunted, grinning lewdly down into her contorted 
face, wallowing in the power he exerted over her flesh. 

"Oh, no . . . no.. . no!" she wailed. 

"No? You sure?" A threat of rebellion rang in his voice. 

"Y-yes . . . I d-d--! " Karen hurriedly amended as through her agony, she 
caught his tone of displeasure. "Then beg for it, bitch!" he snarled. 
"Please . . . no!" 

"So help me, you beg for my cock or I'll turn you over to a greasy sheik and 
they like nothin' better'n to screw a redhead in the ass!" 

Karen sucked in her breath. "Do it," she pleaded, her eyes stinging with 
tears. 

"Say fuck me, and you'd God damned better mean it!" 

Karen's head lolled to one side in abject humiliation and shame. With tears 
streaming down her cheeks, she pleaded, "Please, please f-fuck me with your 
cock." 

"Marine cock." 

"P-please fuck me with your M-marine cock." There it was out, her shame 
completed. 

Jibsen's mouth twisted scornfully. He slipped his strong hands beneath the 
smooth, rounded cheeks of her ass as he began the slow thrusts that would 
bring him to ejaculation. He slaved above her, fucking in and out of her 
tightly clenched pussy in long, smooth strokes, burrowing his cock deep up 
into her moist pussy that clasped and released it in smooth motions of 
acceptance. 

Then, a wicked grin creasing his contorted, bulbous features, Jibsen bored 
the tip of his outstretched finger into the tiny puckered opening of her 
anus, bringing a moan of agony from Karen's parted lips. Slowly, he wormed 
it deeper into her secret nether depths, goring in deeper and deeper. Karen 
moaned in real pain as his ragged hangnail tore into the buttery flesh as 
the stretched rubbery rectal hole until his finger brought lessened mewls of 
pain. 

Jibsen fucked in and out of her cunt wildly now, making the bed creak and 
bang against the wall with each hip thrusting lunge. And it worked its 
effects on Karen. Exquisite tongues of fire seared in her loins, her 
quivering belly, shooting high up through her shivering nudity to lick at 
her tender, teeth-nibbled breasts. She tossed her head from side to side, 
delighting in the feel of his hard driving penis, and the finger skewering 
deeper up inside her rectum. 

The ex-Marine grunted and drooled, his face beet red as blood surged from 
his head to cock and back again with the force of his impending climax. He 
felt his captive jerk and lurch beneath him. A wet, sticky fluid gushed from 
the walls of her hotly clasping pussy and then, unbelievable to them both, 
she writhed and churned wildly under his strong body. Teeth clenched, tears 
squirting out of her emerald eyes, the captive American grunted out her 
climax. 

That did it for Jibsen! He felt his own lust tormented cock bloat in 
agonizing spasms, the insides of his testicles seemed to explode and split 
wide open. The hot white liquid churned there for a frothing moment before 
shooting out the rock hard prick deep into Karen's hotly contracting young 
belly. It churned and swirled there with her own flooding juices before 
dribbling down her inner thighs in thin rivers of surrender. 

Jibsen collapsed on top of his captive, his sweaty, hairy chest grinding 
against the smooth nudity of her melonous breasts. Limp and exhausted, she 
tolerated his weight.. . her legs spread lewdly to the sides of the bed in 
shameful defeat. CHAPTER SIX 

In the twelve hours following Chet Bentley's arrival in Basra, his meeting 
with the Minister of Information, and his subsequent decision to leave based 
upon Abdullah's inside scoop on the ex-Marine Jibsen, the conflict had 
escalated to a full scale war. 

Chet was sitting dejectedly in his hotel room, trying to make arrangements 
to return to Karbala, when the first Iranian warplanes headed for the 
petrochemical plant in Basra strafed the plant at a low one hundred feet 
altitude. The $1.1 billion complex, geared to produce polyethylene vinyl 
chloride and other valuable petroleum by-products, was obliterated in 
seconds. 

"Holy shit," the American filmmaker wheezed, hearing the air raid sirens 
wail in his ears. Shades of Viet Nam came back to haunt him. Death, 
destruction in a foreign land, and with no weapons to defend himself. He had 
to get back to Karbala, but how? 

With Iranian warplanes clouding the skies of Basra and the confusion of 
evacuation attempts of over three hundred workers, the officials turned a 
deaf ear to the cries of one stranded CBS filmmaker. No city busses were 
running to the airport closed to tourist travel, and no one could promise 
him when the airport would operate again. 

"Shit . . . " Chet paced his hotel room, listening to rockets bombing the 
city. The skies had turned into fireballs. Reports filtered through the 
hotel's front desk that part of Camp Camelot, the housing area for foreign 
workers, had been bombed. Now many Americans dead or injured, he wondered, 
feeling a panicky helplessness. 

Attempts to reach Abdullah, Minister of Information, were aborted and 
frustrating. Wait.. . he could only wait. 

As he sat on the edge of his bed chewing his thumbnails, his eyes fell to 
his satchel where the white Milady lingerie bag peeked out tauntingly. Chet 
stared at it for a long moment as if he expected it to reach out and shake 
hands with him in complicity. 

Back in Karbala, things fared no better. Irate over his ineffectiveness in 
finding the long-sought for item that would win him a nice slice of wealth 
and power, Jibsen vented his rage on the nearest target: one quivering, 
naked Karen O'Malley. 

"I don't know what your intentions are," snapped Karen with a confidence she 
didn't feel, "but I demand to be let out of here immediately!" 

Jibsen chuckled coarsely. "Save it," he rasped. "You'll get out of here when 
I let you out, but if you're so Goddamned hot on bustin' out of here, I know 
of a nice greasy sheik who'd powder my fist for a red head with big tits 
like you!" 

"You wouldn't dare.. . " But the fierce glint in his eye told another story. 
"B-b-but, w-w-what do you mean?" 

"Just what I said. I hauled you off to this dung smelling dump to find 
something and I ain' found it yet and I'm gettin' real pissed. If you ain' 
got it, that means that asshole Bentley's got it." 

"Got what?" Karen's chin quivered. 

"That would be tellin', now wouldn't it?" he smirked, glowing inwardly as 
she wept into her cupped hands. 

"He'll find me. He won't stop until he does! He's got more p-power than you 
ever thought of having!" 

Jibsen laughed. "Fuck that shit. I got half of Iran backing me . . . more 
money than the fuckin' federal government, so don't tell me that 
chickenshit's gonna risk his balls for a redhead with big tits." 

"You'll never get away with it." She broke off with a wail of pain as the 
ex-Marine's hand slapped viciously across her tear wetted face. The blow 
sent her reeling back against the wall and a red mark welted across her 
cheek. 

Shooting her an evil glare, he stomped out the door, locked it behind him 
and left her to misery. Some time later, when the sun was dipping toward the 
west in orange ribbons and the night grew cool, Karen raised her head from 
the bed at the sound of a key turning in the lock. For a moment hope soared, 
then plummeted miserably as she recognized Jibsen's jowled face and two 
swarthy Persian faces emerge from the deepening shadows of night. 

"Oh, dear God!" A hand flew to her mouth and she bit her fist. 

Jibsen barked orders in Arabic at the two young Persian men. Their black 
eyes danced and their mouths spread in lusty smiles. 

They emerged from the shadows, their lanky, strong bodies in full view. 
Strong, aquiline noses gave symmetry to tensely strained expressions that 
bordered on a lust for violence. 

Before Karen realized what was happening, the two Persians leapt for the bed 
and seized her by the arms and legs. She screamed wildly, flailing her arms 
and legs. like a sack of potatoes, they picked her up and flung her 
violently face down on the bed. One of them threw his lanky body across her 
scissoring legs while the other sat on her writhing shoulders, his bony 
knees pinning her arms to her sides, his sweating face towards her feet. 

Painfully twisting her head to one side under his weight, the hysterical 
captive girl saw with a shrill of horror that Jibsen was slowly unpeeling 
his clothing. 

"Mitch," he barked at one of the men, "pull them pretty thighs wide." 

"W-what are you going to do to me?" she quavered. 

Jibsen pulled his shirt over his head and licked his thick lips. The room 
was dark, save for a slither of dying sunlight. "Redheads with big tits big 
game in this country, little girl. But sheiks like their women used, you 
know . . . virgins don't cut it in this country." 

Karen stared at him through the glow of orange light that splashed over his 
ruddy cheeks making him look all the more evil. 

The big ex-Marine unzipped the fly of his pants, peeled them off and stepped 
out of his shorts. Standing naked before her, he looked even more immense. 
And his penis.. . dear God, his penis! His meaty, muscular body towered with 
strength. Over the heavy, bloated pouch of his hairy testicles, the stalk of 
his penis jerked toward the plaster-chipped ceiling in a bulbous erection. 

Karen gasped aloud as she felt her legs suddenly freed of Mitch's bony 
frame-and then her ankles were pinned and wrenched brutally apart, so that 
she was held spread-eagled face down on the bed. And now Mitch leaned 
forward with a toothy grin and dug his bony fingers into the softly rounded 
half moons of her naked buttocks. Gripping her top half between his splayed 
thighs, he pried the quivering mounds of her smooth flesh slowly apart, 
exposing the entire length of her hairy cunt to Jibsen's searing gaze. 

She felt cool night air on her genitals, and she realized with a desperate 
sob that she had never in her whole life felt so utterly helpless and 
degraded. Shivering, she jerked again, shuddering with disgust as Mitch 
worked a thread of spittle to the front of his mouth and spat it down on the 
tightly clenched nether ring of her anus. 

The shameless gesture was only the beginning of the humiliation and pain she 
would suffer. Staring mesmerically at Jibsen's cock, she watched saucer-eyed 
as he rubbed the loose foreskin up and down the rigidly bloating pole, 
exposing the purplish, bulbously inflated head as he massaged the pole of 
flesh into rock hardness. 

"Arabs ain' big on cunt, they use camels for that," he guffawed hoarsely. 
"But assholes, now that's some-thin' different." 

"Noooo!" Karen grasped the meaning of his evil intent. She wailed as the 
full implication of his bestial, indecent intentions popped luridly into her 
mind. "You can't.. . nooo!" she gasped. "Please, not there, no!" 

"Save your breath, honey. Don't wear yourself out. The best is yet to come." 
Stepping towards the bed, he leaned down and thrust the tip of his 
outstretched middle finger against the tight hole to her naked rectum, 
poking viciously at her defenseless anal hole. 

Spread helplessly on the bed with her legs brutally forced apart by two 
Persian terrorists and her hips jammed down by the pressure of Mitch's 
buttocks-splaying hands, the sobbing captive writhed her naked buttocks 
against the fiery rape of her anus, thrashing wildly from side to side and 
clenching tightly her ass cheeks to fend off the brutal penetration of her 
tender anus. That these merciless terrorists could conceive of such vile 
acts was monstrous! Maybe they were just tormenting her, trying to scare her 
into something, but what? She couldn't be any more frightened than at that 
moment, trapped by three strong bodied men bent on ravaging her defenseless 
body! 

Jibsen leaned down and spat a wad of saliva onto her desperately contracted 
anal ring shining like a puckered button between her brutally stretched ass 
cheeks. With a grunt of evil intent, he bored his finger deeper into the 
warm buttery depths of her anus. 

"Assggghhh!" Karen couldn't hold back a scream. 

"Tight asshole you got there . . . gonna take some stretchin', " he grunted. 
Lewdly, he drilled his finger deeper and deeper, stretching and expanding 
the tightness of the girl's rectum until she thought she would faint from 
the pain. Moans of protest bubbled from her fearfully quivering lips as he 
moved the finger around the inside of her contracted little hole, sawing it 
in and out to stretch the clenched anus in preparation for worse tortures to 
come. Between his thick thighs, his evilly swollen penis throbbed with 
delightful anticipation. 

"Ahhh, don't!" the redhead screamed again and he jammed a second finger into 
her warm, velvety depths. "You're hurting meee!" she wailed from the depths 
of her soul. 

"Scream all you like, but Arabs like to hear redheads scream," he taunted. 
Abruptly, he plucked the raping finger away from Karen's defenselessly 
puckered hole. Forcing his hand between her fear-tauted stomach and the 
rumpled bedsheet below, he stroked his fingers lewdly back and forth along 
the hairy length of her vagina and smeared the fluid of his earlier excesses 
still warm in her cunt up and around her plundered anus to lubricate the 
hole further still. A moment later, she felt the bed sag as he climbed on 
and kneeled between her cruelly spread thighs, and then the hard, warm 
seeping rubbery tip of his bulbous, hotly pulsating cock was pressing 
tightly against her hairless anal opening. 

The spread-eagled girl held her breath as she felt the thickly rigid penis 
wedge into the crevice of her forced open ass cheeks and pressure 
remorselessly forwards. Dear Lord, it was huge! He would kill her with it! 
Rape her in half! 

Jibsen's stomach muscles contracted, and then stood out as he strained 
forward. Karen felt the hard probing pressure between her buttocks grow into 
an agonizing fiery pain that seared through her anus and up into her 
intestines. Stars flickered before her eyes and she went dizzy with fright. 

"Ohhhaanngghh . . . God!" she belted out. "Please, agghhhh!" she shrieked in 
agony as the nether ring gave way with an evil, ominous plop and the 
inflated head of his penis popped inside her anus with a surging power. 

A spasm of miserable agony shot through the nakedly quivering redhead's 
loins, a pain so unbearable it rent screams from her burning lungs. 
Squirming with all her strength to evade the impalement, her naked buttocks 
writhed wildly under Mitch's splaying hands, but her wigglish attempts only 
abetted him in wedging the thickly gleaming cock deeper into her tortured 
anus. It felt as though a monstrous battering ram was being relentlessly 
thrust into the tiny opening of her virginal back hole! 

Grinning cruelly, Jibsen slammed his thick penis forward another agonizing 
inch, and then another, and still another hot inch into the screaming girl's 
nakedly thrashing body. Then his beefy loins smacked heavily against the 
softness of her lewdly spread ass cheeks. She was hopelessly skewered on the 
brutally thick fleshiness of his raping penis! It was buried to the hilt in 
her tightly clenched anus and there was no hope for escape or mercy! 

Panting and wheezing from his exertions, the ex-Marine began to fuck 
rhythmically in and out of her hot spongy depths under the lustful gaze of 
the two Iranian terrorists. 

As the helpless girl fought with frantic desperation against the horrible 
degradation of this monstrous attack on her defenseless anal hole, his 
pounding hips pumped faster and faster, thrusting the inflamed spear of his 
lustfully expanding rod again and again into the brutally ravaged tightness 
of her rectum. She was impaled on the stone hard cock as helplessly as an 
insect on a collector's board! 

The kidnapped redhead's hair flailed over the bed, her head twisting from 
side to side in helpless subjugation as the tempo of his pistoning hips 
increased and his huge penis plowed on and on and deeper and deeper into her 
savagely stretched rectum. Her mind was adrift on a sea of pain and 
humiliation. The flesh of her ripe young buttocks shuddered and quivered 
uncontrollably under the pressure of the terrorist's fingers. The soft bowl 
of her belly trembled convulsively every time her agonizingly splayed thighs 
were buffeted by another hellishly thrusting plunge of the American's raping 
shaft. Her ankles, held painfully wide in Sudan's grasp, were aching for 
want of blood, and her proud young breasts, still bearing the incisor marks 
of his earlier rape were squashed under the weight of evil Mitch. 

Jibsen's mind was an inferno of impatient lust that burned in his cheeks and 
sent another pint of blood to bloat the tube of his inflated penis. The 
sensation of the naked captive's warm, velvety rectum clasped so tightly 
around the base of his passion inflamed cock was driving him on to greater 
excesses. His eyes locked with piggish delight on the sodomizing pole of his 
iron hard flesh buried deep in Karen's upraised ass cheeks, and he felt his 
heart pumping wildly in his chest. Never had he seen a more exciting sight 
in his life! He was almost sorry he was turning the bitch over to Faisal! 

With steaming breath, he eyed the tender ridges of her pink anal flesh 
pulling out with each withdrawal of his long thick staff-and then 
disappearing once more as his inward thrust drove her little rectal ring 
back up into her belly. His breath gushed in jets, faster and faster, 
through his flaring nostrils as he fucked like a madman in and out of her 
piteously puckering anal hole. 

And scream, Karen did. 

Pounded into the bed by his hammering cock, pinned in total submission, her 
cruelly distended anus brought fresh groans with every scalding plunge. 
Gradually, she discovered when she relaxed the muscles in her anus, the pain 
lessened and experimentally, she concentrated on just that. Amazingly, a new 
sensation, frightening in dimension, overwhelmed her loins. Unexpected, 
forbidden sensations of excitement began to ripple in her tingling loins. 
The shame of lying helplessly on her face being sodomized by one man while 
another sat astride her back forcing her buttocks apart, was joined by a 
strangely masochistic sensation. Pleasure? Could she possibly be feeling 
pleasure from their cruel rape? She was a white slave, her body being used 
like a whore's to satisfy his cruel male lust. 

No doubt about it, she realized with self-degrading humiliation. Twinges of 
pain still shot through her belly, but the feeling of Jibsen's hard cock, 
that hard spear of male flesh, racing up into her vulnerably filled rectum 
was flooding her veins with a sensation of pleasure-pain! Shame and ecstasy, 
pain and pleasure mingled to fill her with wonders of what a man's body can 
do to a woman. 

The sweat poured from Jibsen's face as he plunged in and out of her anus. 
Spittles drooled from the corner of his mouth. The insanely writhing redhead 
felt Mitch's splaying fingers removed from the stretched cheeks of her 
ass-only to be replaced by Jibsen's mauling hands. 

She gasped again as she felt someone's obscenely intruding fingers forcing 
themselves beneath her hip bones and creep lewdly through her drenched pussy 
hair to feel the ragged swollen lips of her cunt. 

Abruptly she mewled a new wail of agony, this time from the soul. Her 
defenses crumbled and the young redheaded captive began screaming again with 
clenched teeth passion as the raping fingers patted her throbbing cuntal 
lips and scrabbled at the tightly erect bud of her swollen clitoris. Dear 
Gawd! It was unendurable, intolerable, delicious . . . if his fingers 
continued their unbearable clawing and torment of her secret inner flesh, 
she just might cum! 

Jibsen's blood fed penis sawed into her seething anus with burrowing 
strokes. No, she couldn't cum! She couldn't respond that masochistically to 
rape, her mind screamed. To cum would be an admission of something dark and 
defiled lurking in her soul. The same element that had made her relent to 
the Lebanese stewardess' lapping tongue, and that repetition was 
unthinkable! 

The tidal wave of erotic lust swept over her remorselessly. She heard a 
voice within her soul scream: "Do it . . . fuck me harder . . . harder!" She 
realized with a shrilling bit of horror that that voice belonged to Karen 
O'Malley! 

Jibsen felt the sweat stream from his every pore as he fucked into her 
widely stretched hole between her buttocks. He stared down in fascination at 
her tightly clasping rectal mouth, pulling her softly rounded ass cheeks 
further apart as he fixed his piggish, staring eyes lasciviously on the pink 
ridges of her anal flesh clinging to his raping cock on each withdrawal 
stroke. 

She was pumping her ass insanely back against him now, meeting thrust with 
thrust as she screamed her lust aloud. The little bitch was going out of her 
mind she was so damned hot! Faisal would pay a good bit for this one, 
thought Jibsen greedily, proud of himself for thinking up this plot of 
getting rid of the bitch, since she didn't have the thing he wanted. Once he 
had disposed of her, he'd go after Bentley and by God, that would be the end 
of them both! What a stroke of luck, he chuckled to himself, that Bentley 
had come to him for help.. . what a god damned lucky stroke that was! 

"Aaagghhh!" Karen cried wildly. Her tingling body was bursting with 
sensation. It didn't matter what they did to her now, as long as she could 
cum! 

Sensing that his victim was about to reach the peak of sensation and topple 
over the precipice to one teeth-gnashing orgasm, Jibsen plunged his stone 
hard cock into her fire filled anus with redoubled fury, brutally splaying 
her lust white buttocks apart as his pistoning cock fucked faster and faster 
against her eagerly thrusting ass cheeks. And suddenly he felt her back 
arch, her body stiffen and shudder. 

"Aaaghhh . . . Ohhh, Gawd! I'm cumming!" Karen screamed in a demented wail 
of lust. Then her lusciously ripened young body bucked and jerked and 
thrashed with a crescendo of intolerable delight as her orgasm tremored 
insanely through her with the force of a tropical hurricane! 

The wildly churning of her lust inflamed buttocks triggered off the 
sodomizing ex-Marine's climax, he threw back his big head and bellowed out a 
gasping cry of release. His hips arched convulsively forward, ramming his 
raping staff even deeper into the helpless girl's rectum as the throbbing 
head of his cock exploded into a storm of powerful jerking in the tightly 
convulsing depths of her vise-like anus. 

Scalding spurts of semen jetted far up into the ravaged redhead's bowels, 
and she shrieked in a mindless ecstasy with each fresh gush of his white hot 
cum. For a long moment, the men held her cruelly pinned to the bed, as 
Jibsen skewered his spewing penis, ejaculating his churning cum in forceful 
spurts up into her quivering rectum. He thrust violently down on her 
spreading thighs and levered himself away from her, his deflating cum 
covered cock pulling free of her plundered nether depths with a lewd 
plopping sound. 

"Christ, what an ass!" he panted, clambering off the bed to leave a pearly 
trail of cum stringing across her trembling buttocks. "She's still tight as 
hell. . . Mitch, jump on and see what you can do!" 

Crushed into abject subjugation by the rape of her anus and the Arab's 
obscene mauling of her clitoris and humiliated even more by her own lewd 
reaction to it-Karen lay sobbing into the bed. 

She felt Mitch's weight lift from her ankles, and then the other leapt down 
to take his place. Straddling her back and arms, he leaned forward to pry 
apart the shuddering cheeks of her ass once more. Again her thighs were 
excruciatingly spread wide as Mitch took up Jibsen's position between them 
and hauled down his pants to produce his stiff, swarthy cock! 

"Oh Gawd!" wailed Karen as she felt herself falling into new depths of 
despair. They're going to rape me again! 

The lustful Persian terrorist, his dark eyes dancing with triumph, guided 
the rigidly throbbing shaft of his cock in one hand, rammed the wetly 
seeping head against the plundered hole that his friend was holding wide, 
and plunged the hot, searing pole of flesh two inches into her distended and 
sperm wet anus in one powerful thrust. As she screamed in a combination of 
pain and pleasure and shame and remorse from the animalistic attack, he 
rocked back on his heels and grabbed her hips to drag the tightly clasping 
ring of puckered flesh still further up the raping shaft of his penis. 

Jibsen was zipping up his pants. "Do it to 'er, boy.. . stretch that tight 
asshole!" 

Stuffing the limply shining tube of his deflated cock back into his pants, 
he chuckled down at Karen's flailing body. "Sheik Faisal's gonna have 
something for you ol' chickenshit Bentley never dreamed of." CHAPTER SEVEN 

Almost as soon as the air-raid sirens shrilling in the Basra skies broke the 
silence, Iranian Phantoms roared over the skyscrapers. Chet Bentley stood on 
the balcony of his Basra hotel enduring the ten minute holocaust of whirring 
Iranian rockets and Iraqi anti aircraft guns. Moments later silence fell, an 
eerie, untrustworthy silence. An hour later the sirens screamed anew. 
Seconds later two Phantoms streaked in 200 feet above the hotel. Its belly 
nearly scraped the upper floor of the hotel. 

"Holy shit!" muttered Chet Bentley. At least in Viet Nam he had weapons; 
here anything in the way fell victim. Including foreign filmmakers! 

He slunk dejectedly back into his hotel room and threw himself down on the 
bed and stared up at the ceiling. His mind hadn't jarred from the worry of 
Karen. Only one man could help him get back to Karbala in one 
piece-Abdullah. 

Karen O'Malley lay on a gold-tasseled divan in an arabesque, vaulted room. 
The divan sat on a platform with mosaic swirled tapestries strewn with gold 
hung on the wall. She lay on a heap of pillows. The smell of incense was 
heavy in the air. 

She could recall nothing of her journey-the fumes of hashish surrounding 
her, combined with the dulling effect of the drug Jibsen had shot into her 
hip to keep her quiet, made the horror of his bestial rape a fantasy and 
nothing more. 

CBS and New York and even Chet Bentley seemed unreal as dazedly, she 
wondered if she would ever see him again, feel his warm, loving fingers 
touching her flesh. Languidly she stretched out on the divan and crooked one 
naked leg to-naked! She hadn't even realized she was naked! 

Her head turned slowly as a tall lean man in a white Arab robe pulled aside 
the curtain and floated into the room. His dancing dark eyes bored into her 
flesh, bringing a whimper of fear to Karen's trembling lips. So much had 
happened, so much to think about, if only she could think! 

He spoke English brokenly through tensile lips. Mockingly, he bowed and 
said: "I have come on behalf of Faisal, your master." As she lifted her 
frightened green eyes to him, his began to roam over the smooth, ripe curves 
of her naked body, a sadistic smile playing over his thin lips. His face was 
long and swarthy, his nose hooked so exaggeratedly the tip nearly touched 
his lips as he grinned lecherously down at her. 

Karen shivered. "My m-master?" 

He settled down on the divan beside her and she could smell the heavy 
sweetness of his oil. Without ceremony, he reached out and pinched one of 
her nipples into a hard peak of tingling sensation. "I have come in my 
master's behalf to examine you and see if you are worthy of partaking in our 
diffa." 

Karen didn't listen to his words; her mind was centered on the tips of her 
breasts, burning with growing excitement. The effects of the hashish and the 
tranquilizer softened fear and heightened sensation, leaving her floating on 
a Persian carpet in unclouded skies. Her mind blocked out his voice, 
concentrating on his actions. A tiny moan escaped her throat as she felt a 
strange churning in her loins. 

"You have a magnificent body. The master enjoys women with big breasts." 

To test her reaction, he squeezed hard on her milky breasts until jagged 
spears of pain shot through the reddened nipples, wrenching her from dreamy 
arousal. His closeness was suddenly making her claustrophobic. She struggled 
frantically to pull herself free of his excruciating, biting grip. A rush of 
adrenalin flooded her veins and she managed to tear herself from his sweaty 
grasp and leapt up from the divan to dart for the curtain. But the Arab was 
accustomed to frightened women in harems, it was his job to control them, 
and he caught her before her bare feet hit the floor. He looped one arm 
around her waist and dragged her back down on the divan, sending the pillows 
flying. She lay there quivering, naked except for the ring of her master 
which identified her as property of Faisal, the chieftain. 

"Do not try to escape or the master will be most displeased. You will be 
beheaded for such attempts." 

"Be-beheaded?" she gulped. 

"And disemboweled." 

"Disemboweled?" 

"Yes. Women in our country belong to men. You displease us and we do away 
with you." 

Karen blinked at that clear cut philosophy and cowered into the cushions 
against the wall, crossing her arms over her breasts in a feeble attempt at 
modesty. 

Her weak defenses curled his lip in amusement. A couple more tugs with his 
large hand and he'd grasped for his penis that poked out from under his robe 
like a snake crawling out of a hole. It jutted out menacingly as his fist 
pumped at its blood-fed length. 

No.. . he wasn't going to take her from behind, she prayed. 

Dear God, Chet! 

A crooked smirk creased the Arab's face as with a sudden movement, he wagged 
his penis at her with one hand and eased her back down on the divan with the 
flat of his palm. 

"I want you to suck my cock," he said flatly. The young naked woman cringed 
at his crude words, just one more torment in an endless nightmare of rape 
and pillage. 

Wide-eyed, paralyzed with fear, she watched him hold onto his robes and knee 
his way up to straddle her naked breasts, pinning her arms to her sides with 
his knees. She saw the blood fattened head of her Arab master's penis thrust 
forward and press wetly against her tightly clenched parched lips. 

"Oh, God, Chet!" she wailed. 

"You must take my cock in your mouth or suffer the consequences," he panted 
lewdly. He grinned lewdly and with his sweaty thumb and forefinger, reached 
down and pinched the nostrils of her finely chiseled little nose tightly 
together until she sputtered out in a desperate need for air. 

"Mmmmmmphhhgghh!" Karen groaned, dizzy from holding her breath and the 
unctuous smell of his heavy oil. It was either open her mouth and accept 
that stiff tube of Arabian meat, or die. The choice was an easy one to make. 

Finally, her lungs burning for air, her eyes blinking against the stars 
flitting before her dizzy, drug-dulled eyes, her lips popped open wide, 
sucking in great gulps of long denied air. 

"You are being sensible now. The chieftain has paid a great deal of money 
for your favors." 

For an Equal Rights Amendment supporter like 

Karen O'Malley, that hardly made sense. Dear God, why had she asked for the 
Middle East assignment? Why couldn't she have taken the Mt. Hood assignment 
instead! She'd rather lose her life in a flood of scalding lava than to 
drown on Arab cum, and that's what the choice was, pure and simple. 

With a cruel lunge, he shoved it into her helplessly gasping mouth, ramming 
it down deep inside her parched throat until it seemed to brush all the way 
back against her open throat. She gagged and tears filled her eyes as she 
fought wildly to expel the rock hard protuberance that filled her mouth to 
bursting, so unnaturally. The smell of his genitals stung her nostrils, 
pungent and unclean. The telltale smell of women's love juices was distinct 
in her mouth and she wondered how many women this detestably ugly man had 
raped that day. God, it was sinful, disgusting and unclean what he was doing 
to her! She would suffocate on the smell of him if the length of his 
drubbing cock didn't kill her first. 

Viciously, the Arab grasped Karen's tumbles of red hair in his gnarled, 
knuckled hands and yanked her head cruelly forward. Karen broke free just 
long enough to suck in more of the genital-scented air, and panted with 
relief. Then the triumphantly grinning Arab sank his lust hardened pole deep 
into her mouth again, in . . . in deeper . . . up to the kinky curls of his 
pubic hair. The short, wiry hair around his penis grazed and tickled her 
lips, while his sperm heavy balls slapped lewdly down against her chin, 
beating a lewd tattoo. Now he began to fuck in and out of her widely ovaled 
mouth with long, quick strokes, and strangely, partly due to the drugs 
numbing effect and the aphrodisiac effect of the hashish she'd been forced 
to smoke, and partly due to the rising tide of masochistic acceptance of the 
debasing act she was being forced to perform in this godforsaken country, 
Karen began to feel a whispering wind of unwanted passion again rising in 
her that took possession of her body, leaving her helpless to fight against 
this obscene defiling of her cock-stretched lips. 

He rammed his Arabic cock so hard into her tiny mouth that Karen could feel 
the tight, parched corners of her lips stretch, then split painfully. Chills 
of damning excitement whipped up and down her goose bumped spine, little 
sparks of lascivious delight seemed to explode, fluttering like butterflies 
in her blood. With a terrible shame masked by the threat of death, she felt 
the sticky moistness seeping wetly between her now wide spread legs, felt 
the warmth of it suddenly hotly flooding her pulsing pussy, felt the ache 
and throb of desire down there between her legs. 

How could it be that she was surviving this obscene act? Sucking an Arab's 
cock, she thought dully. It was wonderfully horrible! Wicked and evil. In a 
sudden burst of love for life, she shed her self-degrading inhibitions about 
this strange race of people and their morals, and threw herself into the act 
of cocksucking. She ran her shamelessly searching tongue back and forth over 
the sensitive length of his huge prick, teasing the tiny slit into the tips, 
licking the drops of sticky fluid that oozed from it, tasting it, savoring 
it for dear life . . . as he jerked his hips forward and fucked deep down 
inside the saliva filled cavern of her mouth. It throbbed there like a 
heartbeat in its hotly clasping liquidy warmth for a moment, then withdrew, 
and plunged in again. 

Karen's lust-distorted brain brushed aside all rational thought except for 
the will to live . . . all memories of Chet and their life together, and she 
gave herself completely to her task of being fucked in the mouth by a foul 
smelling Arab . . . an utter stranger whose swarthy face she'd never seen 
before and hoped to God to never see again! No! She'd never sucked anyone's 
cock but Chefs and that was only to please him . . . never herself. Irish 
Catholics were raised that way, and Karen O'Malley, despite her perfect 
curves and proportions, was no exception. 

Now it seemed she could not get enough of the stabbing of his swollen penis 
deep into her throat, as if she could not bear to wait for him to shoot his 
foamy white sperm, filling her mouth with the searingly pungent flavor of 
his male cum-pouring it down her throat, letting it flood out over her 
parched lips, dribbling down her dimpled chin while she thrashed in erotic 
bliss below him. 

Madly, insanely now-she sucked on that rubbery knob, her cheeks of their own 
volition contracting, tightening around his fleshy staff that moved in and 
out between her tight, pursed lips like a well-oiled oil rig. And then, 
suddenly, the man's faceless body above her went into a violent spasm, and 
his abruptly jerking testicles sent the hot stream of thin, milky sperm 
gushing warmly up into her tightly clocked mouth, welling up and over her 
young lips like a fountain of half whipped cream. 

Karen gulped to swallow every precious drop, her throat constricting and 
relaxing in turn to squeeze it dry. The captive American mewled and cooed 
and gurgled and swished her tongue hotly around the now slowly deflating 
penis, while the Arab threw back his head and ground his teeth together in 
pure joy. Her lips clung possessively to it, her ovaled lips elastic and 
ught in a last desperate effort to prolong the moment. At last he grunted 
and pulled away from her mouth with a wet, sucking sound, and reeled 
backwards, a thin, glistening strand of his sperm following him away and 
across the firmly rounded melons of her shimmering, heavy breasts. Karen's 
exhausted head sank heavily down onto the divan. 

"You are a beautiful woman," she heard him say as she buried her head in the 
cushion and sobbed in utter despair. 'The chieftain will be pleased to make 
your acquaintance, I am sure." 

Chet was jubilant! The Minister of Information had decided that because of 
heavy air raids, culminating in the bombing of Basra's petrochemical plant 
and the subsequent hurried expiation of American families, all but a handful 
of foreign correspondents covering the war, would be asked to leave Basra. 

He stuffed his dirty socks into his satchel, gathered up his shaving 
equipment and paid his hotel bill. A special courier bus would pick up the 
reporters from UPI, AP and the major television networks and deposit them in 
safer Karbala. 

The journey from Basra to Karbala is a long one. A single highway joins the 
two cities, a lonely ribbon cutting through seas of sand rippling under the 
orange sun. Now and then an oil rig added a touch of spontaneity to the 
monotonous arid wasteland; clusters of buildings housing foreign oil 
drillers sat in inanimate testimony to life in the barren land. 

The ride was tedious, temperaments rang from despair to tension with reports 
of fresh attacks drilling further into the heart of Iran. There was talk of 
foreign involvement and fear of the United States entering the war. 

One man ignored the heated chatter of rumors and sat alone with his chin 
cupped in his hand, staring out into the sensuous wind-whipped wastelands of 
a country he'd come to despise. The smooth outline of sand dunes, curved and 
smooth as a woman's body, sparked heated reminder of what lay ahead in 
Karbala. 

The idea of Jibsen being involved in foreign terrorism both amused and 
terrified him. And what of Karen? What was his crazy intrigue over his 
baggage, he wondered, his head spinning around as a white Toyota pickup 
truck hauling two camels in the back, whizzed by in reminder of changing 
times. Funny, he cogitated, now time moves differently in foreign countries. 
Bedouins hauling camels to their diyarat, traditional grazing areas, white 
slave trade, sheiks in 

Halston suits wearing the traditional turban. 

A weary load of travelers debarked in Karbala. Hotel rooms were made 
available in a downtown hotel not far from where Chet and Karen had spent 
one night before his instructions to leave for Basra. Chet checked in his 
luggage at the Hussein Hotel with the instructions to keep it under lock and 
key, and headed straight for the Hotel Americana. 

The buxom old Frenchwoman at the reception desk sat sipping mint tea. She 
studied the handsome American's face behind the rim of the delicate tea cup 
and set it down with a clatter. No, she had not seen Miss Karen O'Malley 
since she'd checked out of the hotel room two days prior, and no, she had 
left no forwarding address or message. 

'The room is vacant, sir, if you wish to look for yourself," she encouraged, 
reading the distress on Chet's tired face. 

"A large American with red hair?" Again a negative. A finger touched her lip 
then. "Wait. . . yes, I do.. . I believe he was carrying her luggage." 

Second guessing Jibsen's Marine mentality, Chet accepted the large brass key 
and headed for the marble staircase. He slipped the key in the lock, turned 
it and eased open the door. 

And stood dead still in his tracks. CHAPTER EIGHT 

In the palatial headquarters of Faisal's region outside of Karbala, the 
diffa, a ceremonial dinner, was in the midst of preparation. Chieftains from 
surrounding regions were due to arrive that evening for three days of 
hedonistic pleasure. The air was redolent of chickens cooked with lives, 
succulent roast lamb cooked over a spit, rose-flavored milk, pilaf and 
orange juice. 

The women of the harem, of course, were not permitted to participate in the 
affair until called for. A woman, in traditional Arabia, is not worthy of 
mingling socially with men and for that reason, Karen O'Malley lay in a 
drugged stupor in her quarters. In the hallway beyond, rich carpets were 
hung for the occasion and the air was perfumed with spice burning in a 
brazier. Beyong was a twisting, high-ceilinged corridor closed off by heavy 
drapes. The Moorish arches were highly decorated in painted mosaics. Beyond 
this anteroom was the courtyard where the diffa was to take place. 

The checkerboard tiles of the courtyard were strewn with expensive Persian 
rugs and velvet cushions, and on these about thirty men attired in 
ceremonial robes reclined around low tables set with an incredible array of 
hot dishes, fruits and earthenware dishes. Faisal himself sat on an 
arabesque tapestry divan covered with Siberian furs. Attired in plain, white 
robes, he wore a traditional turban. Large-stoned rings studded his fingers 
and he sat with arrogant ease. 

The occasion for this diffa was secret to most. As owner of the largest oil 
field in Iran, and having fathered twenty-seven sons (daughters didn't 
count), his penultimate concern in this his fifty-third year of life, was to 
perpetuate the power of his region. Two things assured this: money and 
weapons. The paranoia of wealth ran thick in his veins, the fear that the 
masses, backed by a fanatic like Khomeini, could some day by force steal 
from him what Mohammed had given him, was precisely why he backed the 
anti-Khomeini Iranians in the United States. And, thusly, he had employed 
one Colonel Jibsen to get for him the necessary information to assure his 
wealth. 

This diffa was in celebration of the delivery of that information. 

The night was warm and sticky, diamond chips stars sprinkled in a navy blue 
sky. The greasy smell of roast lamb cooking over an outdoor spit filled the 
air. 

In the center of the courtyard a center platform had been set up with a 
divan and countless velvet cushions, built for the express purpose of 
showing off Faisal's harem of luscious bodied American women . . . who 
ranked, somehow, one step above Arabian women. 

The women were bathed, scented and scrubbed. Each sat in her separate room 
inhaling the sweet tasting hashish through a bazuka pipe. Garrish strands of 
yellow gold draped about their naked bodies, around their necks, waists and 
ankles. Their hair was brushed back in traditional Arabic fashion and held 
with semi-precious stone studded combs and barets. 

Karen lay in a drugged lassitude on the divan, knowing her turn would come 
to please the Arab sheiks lustfully filling their gullets in the courtyard. 
The tinkly sound of belly dancers filtered in through the mud walled 
building, along with the lewd laughter of men in heat of hedonism. The sound 
grew louder, and, turning her head, the red trail of her hair falling over 
her naked shoulders, she noted the door was opening. 

They had come to get her. 

Leading her by the hand, her bare feet cooled by the marble courtyard floor, 
Karen's saucered eyes took in the thirty robed, swarthy faced men nibbling 
from greasy fingers bits of roasted lamb which they had torn off the roasted 
carcass in handfuls. Her body's movements tinkled in the still, warm night 
air as Karen, in a drugged stupor, was being dragged by the hand to the 
center stage. 

A chorus of appreciative grunts rippled from the circle of men as the lush 
bodied redhead hesitantly sat down on the divan. As she settled herself down 
in drugged complacency, the mounds of her full, milky breasts jiggled under 
the wealth of gold strung about her neck. Nervously, she eyed the crowd of 
hedonistic Arabs whose dancing black eyes bored into her naked flesh like an 
army of crawling ants. 

Where had Faisal found this lovely young thing? She was gorgeous, fresh 
faced and innocent looking, un-like some of the haggard looking women Jibsen 
managed to scrounge up at the airports and bus terminals clogged with 
unsuspecting tourists. 

Karen smiled vacantly, drugged, her wetly parted lips laxly open as she 
stared off absentmindedly into the night. The torches burning in braziers 
reflected in dancing flickers in her scared emerald eyes. 

The collection of sheiks and chieftains leaned over their low tables for a 
closer look at this virginal looking creature whose shimmering red hair 
tumbled erotically over her creamy shoulders. She seemed too well bred, too 
gorgeous to be real. They stuffed their faces, licking their fingers and 
belching while Karen settled herself nervously on the divan, one elbow 
braced on the pillow, head cupped in her hand. 

A belly dancer swirled from out of the anteroom, her belly rippling 
erotically. Her long black hair danced down her back with the erotic 
movements of her art. Karen languidly turned her head and then her jaw fell 
slack. 

Behind the belly dancer danced two black dwarves, nakedly shining in the 
brazier light. Their piggish eyes stared at the naked woman and their 
tongues lasciviously circled their thick lips. Karen sucked in her breath 
with alarm, instantly knowing her fate. From the hairless vee above each 
pair of stunted legs, the biggest cocks she had ever seen in her life 
dangled grotesquely! As they danced towards her, hopping up onto the stage, 
the two limp rods of dark flesh expanded and stiffened in obscene jerks, 
stretching the elephantine-wrinkled skin until the two shafts were gleaming 
with tautness and the prune colored bulbous heads burst out of their 
foreskins to point at the stars sprinkled overhead. The bull-like sacs of 
their testicles swung heavily between their knees. 

Karen bit her lip to choke back the cry of fear that sprang to her lips. 
Those menacing black Denises, spearing out so lewdly, so horrifyingly from 
the loins of the black, dwarves was the most hideous, obscene sight that 
ever stung her eyes. She was cowering into the divan when the twin dwarves 
leapt up onto the stage feet away from her. 

What kind of perverted sense of humor possessed the Arabs? she wondered 
wildly. One of the robed servants arranged braziers burning with torch light 
on either side of the stage. The illumination splattered over Karen's 
provocative body and a gasp of awe rose from the crowd of men at the satiny 
flesh beneath. They could not see the goose bumps of terror prickling over 
her naked skin or the tear squeezing out one horrified emerald eye. Karen 
sucked in her breath miserably as the twin dwarves scrambled up onto the 
divan. 

Intuition preempted inhibition and Karen, sensing the sadistic lust flanking 
her naked body on both sides, recalled the warning: "You will be beheaded or 
disemboweled if you do not please the master." Oh, dear Chet.. . what has 
become of me? With disgust clogging her throat and fear prickling her 
nudity, she hastily traced her icy fingers down and tentatively felt for the 
half-bloated stem of his bulbous cock, dangling lewdly in front of his hairy 
balls. Tentatively, she gave it a heartless squeeze while her emerald eyes 
squeezed out a tear. Slowly, she slipped the foreskin back, leaving the tip 
of his mushroom-shaped head naked and shiny. It didn't feel cold and slimy 
as it looked in the glistening lights playing in orange shadows over his 
clammy skin. The other dwarf muttered something in a chipper, high tone and 
sensing the lust in his eyes, Karen reached out and grabbed his penis, too. 

Some of the sheiks, well acquainted with Faisal's penchant for American 
women and his brutal, sometimes lethal treatment of them, drank nervously 
from their vessels of wine, wiping their mouths with the backs of their 
hands. The Arabs reputation for sodomizing sometimes took on deathly 
implications. They waited for the screams, the whips . . . waited to see 
this poor gorgeous creature down on all fours with whip marks crosshatched 
over her creamy flesh. 

A grunting sigh broke from the white robed crowd of men as some of them, 
uninhibited in showing lust amongst other men, hauled up the hems of their 
robes and stroked their genitals in rhythm to Karen's pumping fist. Greedy 
black eyes took in her voluptuous Irish beauty . . . the high breasts with 
puffy nipples hardening from the touch of cool yellow gold draped about her 
luscious flesh, reflecting in shimmers from the torches below on the 
checkerboard courtyard marble. 

Her rib cage and waist were slender and her hips full and mature as she sat 
on the red velvet divan. Her thighs were firm and marbly and her shimmering 
red hair accented her creamy Irish complexion. Total innocence and angelic 
pleasure.. . white and pure, in the eyes of the Arab men. Her stomach was 
flat and firm, and her pubic mound jutted out as it offering something very 
special. 

The droopy eye lidded Faisal licked his greasy fingers and stared at the 
newest addition to his harem with awed pleasure. His half-closed eyes fell 
to her pussy, on the two softly pouting cuntal lips peeking out as she sat 
with her legs spread. 

The grotesque, naked dwarf on her right ground his teeth, his pulse racing 
out of control at the velvety feel of Karen's pumping fist working him into 
a hard erection. He sat beside her on the divan, his feet dangling off the 
edge of the bed, humping his hips with the movements of her hand. 

On her left, the other dwarf squeaked in delight as, standing in front of 
her, and to the side, he bent his knees a little, grinding his hips in time 
to Karen's pumping fist. A single drop of pre-coital fluid oozed from the 
tip of his cock and Karen gave his penis a tug and wiped the wetness on her 
naked thigh. 

From the audience, Faisal stuck his greasy fingers in a warmly scented 
finger bowl and grunted in broken English: "Play with your cunt . . . let 
these honored men see your cunt!" He gesticulated expansively, turning his 
head to see the admiring glint in the men's eyes. 

Wanting to keep her head and her bowels intact, the nervous American captive 
let go of the rigid stalk of male flesh and slipping off the divan, jutted 
her smooth hips out at the men, giving them a peek at her pussy's ragged 
lips. The Arab gathering groaned collectively and the sound of rustling 
robes sluiced the night air as they cupped their hairy testicles beneath 
their robes and panted with lust. 

Encouraged by that response and confident of her suspicion that the only way 
to keep her head was to be as whorish as possible, she smiled a lewd, 
drugged grin as her free hand slid down over her belly and her fingers 
played in the nest of her pubic curls. The torches blinded her, hiding from 
her the men's lusty glares. 

Maybe it was the hash they'd forced her to smoke, maybe it was the flaming 
survival instinct that had kept her alive through the past few days, but 
instead of fighting to separate herself from this humiliation, she turned 
into a groaning, shivering, goose bumped mass of red hot passion. If it was 
sex these Arabs demanded of her to stay alive, then sex they'd get.. . red 
hot and ready! She'd show them what liberties American women could have with 
their own bodies! 

Her polished fingertips played over her cuntal lips like butterfly wings. In 
a tempting pose, she spread her feet wide apart and thrust out her hips; she 
clenched her dimpled buttocks tightly together and swirling slowly around, 
bent her head and wiggled her buttocks at the hungry eyed men. Her fingers 
unconsciously spread the swollen lips of her cunt wide apart, opening it 
like a fish's mouth. One of the dwarves grabbed her free hand and she 
squeezed and pumped it, rubbing his pre-cum onto her thigh in glistening 
threads of lust. 

"Squeeze it!" the dwarf squeaked, reaching down to guide her hand to the 
tender spot underneath his stubby cock where the vein gushed with hot blood, 
bloating the black tube another inch. 

A gasp of awe rose from the gathering of masturbating Arabs. 

"American!" barked Faisal, pointing at the second neglected dwarf with one 
hand, while his other hand dipped into the warm bed of birds and rice at his 
elbow. 

Immediately, the dwarf seized her free wrist, wrenched it away from her 
pussy lips and spun her around, .tearing her other hand from his twin's 
genitals. Four rough black hands fell upon Karen's creamy nudity, grabbing 
at her, forcing her down on all fours on the divan. To keep her balance, she 
spread her legs wide, exposing her buttocks and the split of her pussy. They 
jumped on her at once, each seizing a cheek of her ass and spreading it 
aside like so much bread dough to show the Faisal the winking hole of her 
rectum! 

The collection of Arabs murmured their appreciation and here and there one 
muttered filthy epitaphs in Arabic, bringing a titter of laughter from the 
men. Some wanted to see blood, some wanted chains . . . one suggested the 
snake charmer might do well in the act. 

"Squeeze their cocks!" belched Faisal, growing impatient. Automatically, 
Karen's hands wrapped themselves around the stumpish cocks, this time 
pulling the black skin all the way back until the pair of mushroomed heads 
turned vibrant purple. The two dwarfed bodies, grotesque in proportion, 
brutalized her body with savage, pinching touches. They attacked her nipples 
and gouged at her soft glowing flesh. Their hard hands got wilder and groped 
over her naked flesh, pulling and mauling her tender flesh as if trying to 
rake the skin from her bones. 

Karen fell into a trance. Her eyelids fluttered and a dazed grin parted her 
wet lips as she stroked their iron hard black cocks with two pumping fists 
while their stubby fingers ran torturous paths over her slim rib cage, down 
over her naked belly, to probe at the jewel of her belly button. Then 
straight down to the furry vee of her cunt.. . 

Compliant, she bent one knee and lifted the leg slightly, her weight on her 
bare toes as she sat on the divan, giving the men a wide open crack to her 
pussy. She grimaced half with pain, half with masochistic pleasure as one of 
their thick forefingers forced its way up into her wetly throbbing cunt and 
began to saw in and out of the lust seeping hole. His finger dripped with 
lubrication, thick and creamy as sour cream. 

The dwarf sucked the finger free, licked the cum slickened digit and shoved 
it back in. The Arabs went wild! 

That humiliation should have made her want to die of shame . . . being 
mauled by two physically grotesque black dwarves . . . but pleasure filtered 
through the fear in the warm Arabian night. 

The men masturbated in rhythm to Karen's ravishment as, jutting her hips 
forward, she let them pump in time to the finger sawing in and out of her 
vagina. Her hands were still squeezing the two stumpish cocks and stroking 
them rhythmically as if letting go of them would mean death-and it would! 

One of the dwarves jumped up alongside her and grabbing her long red mane 
from behind, pulled her head back, nearly snapping her spine. His livery 
lips locked in a long wet slobbering kiss. Their hot tongues sparred, 
licking at each other as his little hands pawed at her naked breasts, 
leaving red streaks where his ragged fingernails scraped her flesh and 
raised blood in its path. 

The night seemed to grow hotter, more humid too from the steam of lust 
rising from the stage. Everyone watched intently on stage, witnessing the 
ravagement of this strawberry -haired angel. Low animalish grunts and groans 
rippled from the men as they played with their rock hard cocks. 

Now the finger was yanked from Karen's sucking hole up between her gorgeous 
legs as the little dwarf forced the captive to her knees on the divan. 
Kneeling between them, her red hair cascading from her head in shimmers of 
fire light, she stroked their bludgeoning cock and gazed with hungry eyes at 
the brutal, steel hard cocks wagging in front of her eyes. 

"Suck his cock. . . " demanded Faisal. "Suck his nigger cock!" 

Obediently, Karen hauled the pulsating black stump down to her half open 
mouth and let her tongue flick out and lick at its swollen head. Nobody 
needed whips to coax her to do it. Opening her pouty lips wide, she slowly 
guided the hot shaft of male flesh into her mouth as if it were her first 
food in days. Her lips closed down around the blunted head and her cheeks 
hollowed and expanded in a sucking motion. The dwarfs cock glistened with 
her saliva and shone in the flickering torch light as the little man fucked 
brutally in and out of her mouth, his grotesque little body humping wildly. 
With a lewd snarl, his hands reached down to tangle her long red hair and 
hold her head steady as he began to jump up and down, levering his hands on 
her shoulders. The other dwarf contented himself with caressing her nakedly 
quivering breasts as she sucked on the other raging penis. The men had 
finished eating now and several lit up clovish smelling cigarettes that 
filled the night air in blue smoke. 

"Suck 'em . . . suck both of them!" 

She couldn't, could she? Her lips clung to the shiny black flesh, her tongue 
licking its vein heavy underside before she snapped her head around and 
opened her mouth wide to accommodate the other's thickness. Her free hand 
groped behind her until she found the cum sticky length of the other penis. 
She fondled its hot stubby length as her mouth slid back and forth like an 
oil rig. 

The two dwarves squealed with lusty glee. Their rough hands dug into her 
tender flesh, massaging, caressing, pinching, poking. They mauled every inch 
of her satiny flesh, leaving trails of blood from their ragged, unkempt 
nails. With a shove of his hips, the second dwarf guided his cock between 
her lips and shoved deep into her mouth. Karen acted only out of self 
preservation and felt a strange purging from the hideous act of sucking two 
black cocks at once! 

They held her head tilted back, holding her brutally in place by the mane of 
her long red hair as they stood side by side, fucking into her beautiful 
face, punching at her. The audience went wild, but they knew better than to 
move before Faisal gave the signal. 

Karen's head was pinned back and her mouth wedged open until the corners 
nearly cracked. The two stumpish penises crammed into her hot mouth gagging 
her. Wildly, insanely, she sucked at both of them, her hands reaching out to 
cup their oversized buttocks and pull them closer into her. 

Her hardened nipples rubbed against their hairless thighs, thrilling her 
from their clammy heat. The Arab men gaped with open mouths at the sight of 
this voluptuous American sinking to the lowest depths of depravity! 

The girl lay sprawled obscenely on stage, her legs opening onto the lustful 
view of her hair fringed pussy with its glistening, dewed petals. The nub of 
her clitoris winked at her viewers, glowing like a neon bulb in the orange 
splatters of firelight. 

Faisal clapped his hand once and a servant came running. He barked orders in 
Arabic and seconds later a bottle of oil was thrust into the hands of one 
dwarf. Unscrewing the cap, he tipped the bottle above Karen's breasts, 
splashing her with the warm liquid. Big oily blobs dribbled over Karen's 
magnificent breasts, pooling in the shadowy cleavage. 

Lewdly alive with lust, Karen used her hands to smear the oil all over her 
stomach while the dwarf rubbed it all along her curving thighs and abdomen. 

Faisal barked another order in Arabic to the dwarves and quickly, not 
wanting to lose his head, the little man devoted his efforts to greasing the 
deep shadowy crevice between her ass cheeks. Faisal's moustache twitched in 
anticipation. 

Karen O'Malley was lost in a private world as she caressed herself, 
massaging the oil over her bumps and curves. She tucked her chin in and bent 
her head as both hands tried hard to hold one slippery mound in place while 
her tongue licked and swathed the hideously humping dwarves. CHAPTER NINE 

"I knew you'd show up sooner or later," chuckled Jibsen, looking every bit 
the ex-Marine as he stood with feet wide apart fondling the black length of 
a billy club. 

Bentley's hand had barely lifted from the door opening onto the hotel room 
where he'd last seen Karen, when the coarse-featured Jibsen started 
laughing. Chet stared into the gloating piggish eyes, his fists drawing up 
into steely balls. He didn't like being betrayed; if he'd wanted to get 
stabbed in the back, he would never have left Viet Nam. "Where's Karen? What 
have you done to Karen?" 

"Forget that little shit with the big tits. Me and my Persian buddies fucked 
her ass off and sold what was left to Faisal. You'll never see her again.. . 
never," he grinned triumphantly. 

Chet stepped forward and glared the man in the eye. Instantly the fondled 
billy club waved ominously in the air. From where he stood, Chet could see 
raisin-colored splatters of dried blood. "So help me, Jibsen . . . I should 
have put a bullet through your ugly skull in Nam!" 

The coarse featured man laughed. "You got a lotta balls coming back to this 
hotel after my Persian thugs bashed your face in." 

"I came back to look for Karen." 

Jibsen spit on the carpet. "Nobody does that for a fuckin' woman." 

"I have and I did." 

Jibsen's smile faded and his eyes raked up and down the tall handsome man 
standing ten feet away. "Where's your luggage?" 

Chet glanced around his ankles and an amused grin broke out over his face. 
"Gosh, I guess I forgot it, huh?" 

"You bastard!" The billy club wheezed through the air, barely missing Chet's 
cheek. "Where's your luggage?" Jibsen bunched up his ham-like fist and drove 
a cruel force into Chet's stomach. The blow seared into his guts, sending 
waves of agony flaming up into his skull. The billy club was jabbed into his 
diaphragm and with a choking cry of pain and doubled over. 

"Where's your luggage? You don't hear so good, huh?" the big American 
bellowed as Chefs tortured lungs gasped to draw in a lungful of air. 

". . .told you . . . I don't have it." he groaned. 

Jibsen jerked his head and two Iranian terrorists emerged from the closet. 
Chet took one wincing glance into their swarthy faces and instantly 
recognized them as his attackers in the Beirut airport men's room. They 
pinioned his arms behind his back without giving him a chance to struggle. 
Jibsen went to work, punching his victim's chest and belly and solar plexus 
with rapacious, ruthless force. 

The helpless captive's body bucked and jerked and writhed under the 
battering attack. The sound of knuckles on flesh and bone filled the room 
along with an occasional whack of the billy club crashing into Chefs rib 
cage. Chocking groans and gasps forced their way through Chefs bleeding 
lips. When Bentley was doubled over, Jibsen barked an order at the Persian 
thugs who let the American's body fall like a sack of cement. They stood 
back as Jibsen went to work. 

"Where's your fuckin' luggage . . . I'm asking you one more time, Bentley . 
. . and then I'm gonna get rough." 

Bentley's right eye was swollen shut, his nose bleeding red dribbles onto 
his once white shirt. He panted desperately, the pain in his rib cage 
excruciating. "I don't know.. . looking for Karen.. . I don't have it all . 
. . with Karen.. . " 

"You lying shit.. . tell me!" 

Behind his tortured, swollen eyes, Chet's mind raced. What was Bentley's 
obsession with his luggage? What had his socks and underwear to do with 
international espionage and weaponry? It had become a matter of principle 
now. 

The ex-Marine stepped towards the crumpled victim. Chet sucked in his 
breath, his broken ribs crippling him. With a wicked grunt, the big man 
leaned down and grasped the sac of Chet's sensitive balls and pinched them 
hard. 

Chet belted out in pain. 

"I'm askin' you one more time . . . and then I'm gonna castrate ya!" 

Chet stared incredulously up into the big man's eyes. ". . .don't know . . . 
" Another ounce of pressure would kill him. "Hotel . . . in the Hussein 
Hotel.. . " 

"You lying sonofabitch.. . first you don't know and now you're lying!" 

"Aaaggghhhh!" Chet screamed as a bolt of intense agony shocked his system as 
Jibsen's steely fingers grasped the sac of his manhood and yanked so hard 
Chet's body jerked puppet-like. 

Jibsen had drawn back his booted foot, ready to bury it in the pit of the 
filmmaker's groin, when a thunderous roar rent the air. "What the hell's 
that?" 

One of the Persian thugs darted to the window, stuck his black greasy head 
out and stammered: "It's an Iraqi military helicopter!" 

"Shit. . . " muttered Jibsen. "An we ain' got the luggage yet. I can't 
afford no fuckups when we're this close. Come on, let's get the hell out of 
here.. . take the back fire escape!" 

On the floor, the battered body of the American filmmaker lay twitching in 
agony. Minutes later, the door opened and Abdullah came into his fuzzy 
vision. 

Under the starry Arabian skies, the torches blazed, splattering orange 
reflections over the redheaded American's oil glistened body. The mounds of 
her milky breasts danced with the rhythm of the dwarves' caressing touches. 
Her belly shivered, her thighs quivered . . . and the Arab sheiks and 
chieftains were growing heatedly impatient. 

Abruptly, Faisal clapped his hands, barked commands at a white-robed servant 
and seconds later the two screaming dwarves were hauled off of Karen's 
writhing body. They were not to have their pleasure with the American, a 
treasure reserved only for guests. Faisal jabbed a finger at Falid, 
indicating it was his privilege to jump on stage. Next a quick glance around 
the gathering and Faisal indicated to Ahmed he could join in the defilement 
of this luscious bodied American too. 

Both men wasted no time stripping out of their robes and clambering up on 
stage to join Karen's oil glistening body under the heat of the brazier 
torches. Falid and Ahmed, their swarthy, hard muscled bodies topped in white 
turbans fell to work, punishing her with poking fingers and prying hands as 
they stuck their finger up into her pussy . . . sometimes both at once, and 
fucked her hard, jabbing into her tender pussy flesh with their bony digits. 

Karen, grateful that her dwarfed lovers had been replenished, wriggled on 
the divan like a belly dancer made with lust. The men's hands mauled at 
every inch of her body as they stroked over her oiled flesh, pinching, 
pulling, tweaking her creamy nudity. It was a wild pagan scene. 

The men's muscle-rippling bodies sweated profusely under the torch lights. 
Finally Ahmed, slipping and sliding over her lushness, got a firm grip on 
her slippery waist and crouched over to whisper in her ear: "I'm going to 
fuck you.. . " 

Karen shuddered with anxious anticipation. Her ripe young oiled body 
trembled and she spread her legs wider still, returning his threats with an 
open invitation to do just that. She shuddered with an unholy desire. 

The Arab's well-used muscle crashed down on top of her slipping and sliding, 
crushing her voluptuous breasts. His throbbing cock jerked and he guided it 
between her legs. 

The gathering of lustful Arabs riveted their eyes on Ahmed's buttocks and 
they leaned forward to get a better look at this wonder of Arab fucking 
American. It was a commonly told rumor that American women were very 
liberated in sex. . . but could this petite lush body take the camel-sized 
prick jutting from Ahmed's loins? 

The voyeurs sucked in their breath as the purple-mushroom headed penis 
slipped easily into the girl's well lubricated cunt and shoved with an 
obscene sucking sound that smacked of sadism. Her pink cuntal hole spread 
wide and her hair fringed pussy lips clutched involuntarily around the thick 
shaft as it sank out of sight into her tautly rippling belly! 

This is what the Arabs had been waiting for! They hauled up their robes and 
squeezed their balls gently as would a lover's hand, they pulled at their 
swarthy penis until they pounded with blood . . . all the while their fiery 
black eyes watched the defilement of the hapless American captive. 

Ahmed and Karen began to move in savage harmony, as if they'd rehearsed this 
act for the benefit of Faisal's pleasure. Ahmed's bulging biceps rippled as 
he held the slippery naked girl beneath him and fucked in and out of her 
wetly clasping cunt with brute force. His balls slapped wetly against her 
oiled buttocks and Karen's tight little pussy rolled inward with each 
violent thrust. Each time he pulled out to the tip of his lust swollen cock 
head, Karsn's cuntal lips clung to the thick shaft like a rubber glove 
pulled from a surgeon's hand. 

And Karen was fucking the Arab to save her life! Her greased hips gyrated 
and pumped as if on ball bearings, and she bucked and undulated with a total 
disregard for her long gone lover, Chet Bentley. Who was fucking who was 
anybody's guess. Ahmed fought to hold onto her slippery body while the hands 
of a dozen hungry Arabs reached out to grab a leg, a breast, a pubic curl. 
Her mouth gaped open like a beached fish and deep animal moans of pure 
pleasure rumbled from her throat as her head thrashed from side to side, 
whipping her red hair about her face. When she did open her eyes, they were 
glassed over with a distant, reckless glint to the emerald green. 

An orgy was a few strokes away.. . . 

Falid, growing impatient and feeling a bit the fool, got into the act. "Roll 
her over," he grunted at Ahmed. Karen, lost in her wild lust, her slim waist 
bucking as her hips lashed up to take all of the Arab's hard cock, didn't 
hear the suggestion. Her emerald eyes blinked open when she felt hands 
twisting her nudity around, rolling her over on the divan. 

The tall Arab kept punching into her cunt as if trying to bludgeon her to 
death, even while they rolled over onto Karen was riding his swarthy, sweaty 
body like a horse. It was a relief, having his weight off her lissome body, 
and the night air was cool on her perspiring nudity. She breathed freely 
now, taking deep lungfuls and resting for a moment, concentrating on the 
hotly throbbing cock buried deep in her velvety cunt. Then she leaned down, 
taking some of the weight with her arms and allowed the nipples of her 
oiled, ripely swaying breasts to brush back and forth over his chest. The 
effect was electrifying! Stars flickered before her eyes and 
adrenalin-powered lust charged through her veins. 

Ahmed looked into the gorgeous face of the redheaded American and smirked 
lecherously. He ground his teeth with frustrated lust. Karen deliberately 
teased him by clenching and unclenching her cuntal muscles, milking his cock 
with maddening tightness. Slowly she tightened her buttocks muscles and 
rocked back and forth over him, grinding her cunt into his pubic curls and 
mewling from the feel of his pubic kinks grinding maddeningly against the 
oily nub of her clitoris. 

The gathering of sheiks stared with dancing black eyes at the American's oil 
slickened buttocks only a hand's grab away, shining like two full moons in 
May. 

Then eyes fell on Falid crouching by the writhing couple whose moans and 
yelps of lustful joy filled the night air. A cruel, depraved expression in 
his dark moody eyes glistened in the night as he held in his pumping fist 
the angrily throbbing head of his yellow, veiny cock. 

Karen was slowly spreading her oil sheened legs wide, until she had to bend 
her knees to ward off cramps. She paused, a moment of depraved ecstasy as 
she exposed her nakedly churning buttocks to the gathering of lustful Arabs. 
Murmurs-low, lewd, intent filtered up into the night skies as the men 
masturbated themselves shamelessly between guaffs of wine and nibbles of 
food. 

All eyes were glued to Karen's naked ass cheeks as they slowly spread apart, 
showing off the tightly puckered button of her anus buried deep and snug in 
the fleshy crevice between her ass cheeks. Her buttocks undulated, rolled 
tantalizingly as they moved up and down, teasing the men as they pumped over 
the Arab's stalking pole covered with the slippery sheen of oil as it 
burrowed and gored deep up into the gorgeous American's cunt. Every hungry 
eyed Arab could see that swarthy pole of male meat spreading the ragged lips 
of her pussy so wide they almost folded back on themselves, reveling in the 
buttery softness of her seeping, willing pussy. 

The captive American deliberately used her cuntal muscles to grasp more of 
his cock, as if her cunt were a nibbling set of lips. She slithered on her 
knees slowly forward until they hugged the Arab's hairy armpits. Her 
quivering ass cheeks rode shamelessly high in the air, her buttoned anus 
winking invitingly at Falid as she ground her cunt frantically down on the 
stalk growing from the black hairy forest of Ahmed's loins. 

Falid fell to his knees on all fours, slipping between the hairy widespread 
legs of his friend and the sleek ones of the captive woman, until he was 
crouched over her upturned, oiled ass cheeks. 

Karen was one goose bumped mass of quivering female flesh, moving as if run 
on batteries. Her mouth hung open lewdly, her eyes glazed, a spittle of 
drool threading from the corner of her lovely cock-stretched mouth bleeding 
from the torture of sucking the two black dwarves at once. It wasn't until 
she felt the hotly probing naked head of Falid's rubbery prick squeezing, 
pressing against her anus that she realized Jibsen's evil threats were a 
stroke away from reality. 

The Arabs went berserk, shouting obscenities in Arabic, goading on their 
friend to take the American in the ass. They sucked in their breath as Falid 
held his thick jerking cock in one hand, guiding it up and in to nudge 
against Karen's tightly clenched little anus. 

Karen's eyes sprang open as if on springs when she felt the first digging 
pressure. She froze in her obscene position, scared of moving for fear of 
displeasing Faisal or Ahmed who was grunting underneath her, bathing her 
face in smells of roasted lamb and mint tea. He was tweaking her nipples 
now. Karen panicked. 

Her red hair swung around and her wide emerald eyes stared uncomprehendingly 
at the swarthy figures hovering close to the stage. They were closing in on 
her: tight lipped, lusty eyed Arabs, pumping their cocks in their fists and 
muttering undecipherable promises in a language she couldn't understand. She 
tried to move, but both men held her tight, their hands digging into her 
oiled flesh, their ragged nails scratching her back in red trails of blood. 

"Nooooooo!" It was a long lost wail that bubbled in her throat. Desperation 
glinted in her eyes. She had to get out of here . . . all these men . . . 
dear God, what would they do to her? What was there left to do to her? 
Desperate could not convey the helplessness of being held prisoner 
sandwiched in between two lustful, vengeful men from a culture that despised 
women and American to boot. She could only hope they didn't flail her alive! 

Now Falid was using the thumb of his hand to spread her slippery ass cheeks 
apart. Karen clenched her teeth, an elephantine tear squeezing out her eyes 
to dribble down onto her quivering breasts. 

She quivered with dread as Falid's hands brutally wedged open her tightly 
clenched buttocks, drawing them apart like a dinner roll. The crowd hissed a 
gasp of encouragement as Falid used his knobby brown middle finger to tease 
at her rectal opening. 

With a quick jab, Falid rammed his oil coated finger into her puckered anal 
hole and twirled it around in widening circles. Up to the first joint it 
bored. The muscles of Karen's buttocks clenched automatically and her anal 
hole gripped defensively at his finger like a closing fist. The pain was 
reflected in her twisted face, and a low hoarse moan came from deep in her 
bosomy chest. 

"Pllleeezzz noooo!" The horrible experience with Jibsen and his Persian 
thugs was still ripe in her mind. Two Arabs raping her at the same time . . 
. they were going to kill her! 

Falid's face was a mask of sadism. His taut lips were pulled into a straight 
line, black eyes snapping, nostrils flaring. As if in answer to her panic, 
he sawed and reamed in and out of the buttery warm depths of her cunt, 
ramming a finger into her up to the palm of his hand. Karen groaned in agony 
from the scalding anal rape. Her aristocratic features contorted in pain and 
incredulity. Recklessly, he fucked like a madman into her poor little hole 
in preparation for bigger things to come. And that bigger thing was 
throbbing dripping with pearls of pre-cum now . . . dangling between his 
thighs! 

Karen closed her eyes and tried to be still, Concentrating, trying not to 
think or feel. She could see her ragged, bleeding body left on the divan 
once Falid had finished with her. Chet . . . dear God, what had happened to 
Chet? She'd been so sure he would find her, rescue her. 

She crouched on her stomach on top of the groaning Ahmed, her legs spread 
wide, her knees tucked under. His hard cock throbbed inside her cunt like a 
live animal, and she felt Falid's thick worming finger stabbing through her 
rectum from behind. She had cooperated with them, suffered the indignity of 
sucking an ugly, grotesquely disfigured set of black dwarf cocks, because 
she'd wanted to save her life. Now they were going to kill her anyway! Tears 
of betrayal scalded her eyes, and inwardly she damned the detestable Arabs 
and their lies! Dear God, if she lived through this torture, she would never 
trust another Arab as long as she lived. 

She begged and pleaded, but it did no good. The Arabs jeered at her, pumped 
their cocks in her face, climbed up onto the stage and pinched her buttocks, 
taunting her. They yelled in Arabic for him to "fuck her in the ass . . . 
fuck the American in the ass!" 

Falid pulled his finger from Karen's tight little anal button with a lewd 
plopping sound. He aimed the lust bloated head of his aching cock directly 
at that cringing puckered hole and flexed his hips with every ounce of 
strength in his body. 

"Aaaagghhh . . . ! " All eyes fell on Karen's lust contorted face, saw her 
emerald eyes gape open as the brutally stiffened cock plundered into her 
with the speed of an oil rig. 

"AAaaagggghh GGAAWWWDDDDD!" 

Every black eye turned to her nakedly upraised buttocks as she froze, 
screaming up into the blinking stars. Every Arab eye watched the grotesquely 
stretched hole give more, spreading, slipping like a glove over the probing 
tip of his thick, rampaging cock. Falid grinned in triumph and thrust his 
hips heavily downward, burying half of the hardness of his male meat into 
the soft velvety channel with one vicious thrust of his powerful hips. 

Her groans choked back into her throat as Karen fought for freedom from this 
crucifying assault; but her every move only helped to impale herself deeper 
with each jerk and twist of her tortured body. Falid's massive prick sank 
deeper into her futilely resisting anal hole. Beneath her, Ahmed grunted and 
rammed his penis into Karen's cunt until his cock bored into her tender 
cervix, doing his sadistic best to pin her in place. 

The voyeurs pulled at their penises and stroked their balls, watching as the 
lucky man leaned over the redhead's up-thrust buttocks and fucked his 
bloated penis through the last remaining resistance . . . going deep up into 
her tight little rectum, right up to his sperm-bloated balls. 

They fell into a maniacal fury of fucking the redheaded prisoner, buffeting 
her body between them as if she were a sack of potatoes. . "AAAGGGGAAHH!" 

The scream sluiced through the air, piercing the ear drums of every voyeur. 

"Ohhh Gawwddd . . . help meee!" Karen screamed piteously as she felt Falid's 
hotly throbbing cock fucking deep up into her rectum, banging against the 
tender, thin membrane separating her cock-filled cunt and rectum. She 
whimpered and tossed her head in agony, sandwiched whorishly in between the 
sweating Arabs who treated her like the lowest of Mohammed's creatures. With 
only that thin blood-fed membrane separating Ahmed's plunging cock from 
Falid's thundering one, Karen felt everything magnify intensely. In and out 
they thrust in unison, pumping into her, punching her belly and anus at the 
same time as if trying to meet in the middle. 

The scene in Faisal's courtyard was close to riotous. The men, with robes 
hauled up to the waist, pumped their penises frenetically squirting their 
cum in white steaming arcs onto the stage above. Pearls of cum splattered 
over Karen's back, dribbled in white rivers from her thighs. 

Now her rapists fell into a smooth cadence that pounded her oil slickened 
body between like a rag doll. Faisal, watching intently, clapped his hands 
and ordered the servant to bring out the other women in the harem. One woman 
wasn't enough. 

Seconds later a dozen hashish drugged white bodied women, nude as the day 
they'd become hapless prisoners of Faisal's palace, were herded out into the 
courtyard. The Arabs jumped on them with lewd grunts. In moments, the sound 
of wet cocks ramming into wide-stretched genital openings like high powered 
oil rigs, slapped through the courtyard. They screwed and sucked and defiled 
the helpless women as they watched the frayed edges of Karen's pussy flesh 
pull out with Ahmed's penis on the out-stroke and disappear back inside her 
cunt as he plunged again deeper into her quivering little belly. 

But it was Falid's thick cock pulling out of her backside, drawing the tight 
ridges of her tightly clenched anus with it, then wetly ramming back up into 
her until his cum filled balls were wedged hard up into her softly yielding 
buttocks, that every one watched. 

Something started to loosen within the redheaded American. Maybe it was a 
hysteric reaction born of the will to live. Maybe it was the idea of being 
ruthlessly 'ucked by two men while forty people watched oogle-eyed . . . 
that unscrewed the masochistic bent in her. 

Couples scrambled up to their knees, breaking the chain of lovemaking, to 
watch the miraculous performance. A strange, far away glint sprinkled in the 
captive's eyes and a low ecstatic moan trembled from her lips. 
Involuntarily, her oil glistening buttocks began to undulate and from the 
pleased expressions on the Arab's faces, she obviously was clenching 
fist-like with her cuntal and anal muscles, milking their cocks. 

"The American -likes ass fucking!" one of the Arabs chimed in his native 
tongue and a chorus of agreement rent the night skies. Winces of pain on her 
sweat-streaked young face were breaking into rapturous moans. 

"Fuccckkk itttt.. . " she grunted thickly to them as they bored into her 
anus and cunt in synchronized speed. The words coming from one so beautiful 
were doubly arousing. The other women of the harem stared and blinked 
incredulously at the newest member of the secret society of lost American 
travelers who'd found themselves prisoners in the ruthless Faisal's grasp. 

Faisal, too, could not believe the transformation in the redheaded woman's 
rape. Shedding his robe, he stepped toward the stage. Copulating Arab sheiks 
rolled to the side, parting like the Red Sea, to make a path for the 
powerful man who would soon be the most wealthy and powerful man in all of 
Iraq. 

With a snarl, Faisal kicked hands and legs out of his path until he stood at 
the side of the divan near Karen's thrashing head. He watched as Ahmed 
fucked in and out of her cunt with sadistic, punishing blows and Falid 
pumped his hips, slapping up against Karen's rectum. The bitch was supposed 
to be screaming for mercy like the women of Islam, not loving it! She was 
being battered and jerked and twisted about, her head flying back and forth 
until her screams turned to moans and moans to groans, finally to wild 
sounds of animalistic delight as her body found the rhythm and she moved in 
fucking unison with her two Arab rapists. 

"Fuck the bitch until she dies!" barked Faisal in a queer falsetto as he 
pumped at his rock hard cock that outsized any male's there by a full three 
inches. He caught hold of Karen's thrashing head and held it between his 
strong hands and, with his thumbs, forced her parched, bleeding lips open. 
Brutally, he guided his cock toward her lips and shoved the full ten inches 
down her throat like a sausage being stuck into a meat grinder. 

This was ultimate thrill.. . sucking the cock of the perpetrator of her 
capture and humiliation. Some weird sense of survival whispered from a deep 
corner of her subconscious that by lowering herself to this debasement, she 
would somehow purge her soul. And purge she did, and suck she did. 

Faisal began jerking his hips back and forth as Ahmed and Falid fucked and 
bucked, and Karen let her body ripple and go limp while she ovaled her lips 
and lapped at Faisal's dripping penis, tasting the bitter-sweetness of his 
rape-bound arousal. She sucked like a new vacuum cleaner, drawing the sperm 
from his testicles that beat against her chin. She clenched shut her green 
eyes, glassy with lust, her long eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings 
over flushed cheekbones. She sucked and twirled her tongue as they beat into 
her from all directions. 

The four sweating bodies, glistening with perspiration of mixed races and 
love oils, completed a circuit of lust. Faisal was the first to scream out 
his release. His stiff, proud body rippled, his teeth gritting, while white 
hot sperm shot into her mouth, bulging and hollowing her cheeks as she 
gulped and swallowed and sucked for more, her tongue twirling around the 
slitted end madly. When it deflated like a stuck balloon, she licked the 
splattered cum from his hairy testicles like a baby kitten. 

Ahmed came next, exploding his thick cum into her cunt with a wild roar that 
sluiced the night air. Karen was up in the heavens with the blinking stars 
as her own searing orgasm blinded her for a moment. She felt as though her 
insides were coming out when it hit with a thunderous force and she let out 
a wild cry. "Fuck my asss . . . hurrrttt meee!" 

And hurt her Falid did. White hot pain coursed through Karen's anus and 
mingled with her orgasm, making it wilder, sweeter, more intense and 
damningly memorable. She felt as if she were riding a Persian carpet through 
the diamond studded skies, whirling off into limitless time and space on a 
ride of eternal pleasure. 

Opening one emerald eye, she saw Ahmed lying beneath her, his moustache 
still twitching from his orgasm. From behind, she felt Falid's hot oily cum 
shoot into her ravaged anus, filling her up until it dribbled down between 
her legs. 

Then all went black. CHAPTER TEN 

"You must not approach Faisal's pasha as an American dressed as you are," 
insisted Abdullah dictatorially. "He will have you beheaded by his guards. 
The man is ruthless, powerful and to be feared." 

Anger surged through Chet's veins. "But he's got my woman! I don't give a 
shit if I have to go as a beggar, but I'll drag Karen out of his ugly 
hands!" 

"I regret I can be of no greater help to you, but to interfere would cause 
dissent in a country already torn by war." 

"And just who the hell is this Faisal, anyway?" Chet winced, held the ice 
bag to his swollen forehead and felt nothing but hate. 

"Faisal owns the largest oil fields in Iraq. Because of his power, he is 
frightened of peasant uprisings. He is paying your Jibsen to get him the 
formula for the H-bomb." 

Chet's head flew around. "Are you shitting me? Jibsen with a bomb? Huh?" 

"Do not laugh," warned Abdullah, strolling up to the hotel window and 
glancing down into the clogged streets below. "This is a country of many 
changes." 

"I can never thank you enough," said Bentley, offering a warm hand to the 
pro-American Iraqi. "I would have been a dead man had you not come just 
then." He adjusted the brown, dirty rags of his beggar's costume arid felt 
the weight of the holster riding his hip. 

"More reports of Faisal's treachery and possible treason have filtered 
through the embassy . . . and with your concern for your assistant, I felt 
it my duty to seek you out. Fortunately, Mohammed graced us with good 
timing." He bowed to the East reverently, accepted Chet's warm grip, and 
disappeared through the door. 

On foot, his ankle length tattered robe marking him a beggar, Chet pulled up 
his hood to hide waves of blonde hair and a bruised face. Below, his white 
Addidas whispered over the sidewalk as he made his way towards the heart of 
town, outside of the tourist district to where the heart of Karbala pulsed. 
Chefs pulse quickened at the thought of seeing his redheaded Karen again. 

He neared the marketplace bustling with Iraqis who'd come to sell their 
wares, charm snakes, tell fortunes, juggle and do anything to earn a living 
in this land of extreme wealth and dire poverty. A parade of soldiers 
guarded the archway leading to the open market. Guns slung over their khaki 
shirted shoulders, they kept a wary eye out for suspicious foreigners during 
these days of strife. 

Keeping his eyes peeled to the ground and looking the humble beggar, Chet 
quickly surveyed the hub of activity. Abdullah had given him vague 
directions to Faisal's palace, but he needed more concrete information to 
avoid looking the lost foreigner he was. He was swinging about, peering 
under the hood of his beggar garb, when a soldier on horseback whipped his 
horse into a gallop chasing a ragged youth who'd been seen stealing a 
pomegranate from a vendor. With disregard for filthy beggars, the horse 
charged into Chet's path. 

To avoid being trampled under the dusty hooves, Chet nose-dived to the 
ground. The protection of his hood flew backwards, revealing a tanned 
American face. The sudden movement, following Jibsen's hideous attack on his 
genitals, left him temporarily stunned. Laying in the dirt, he shook his 
head and started rising to his feet when an Iraqi soldier caught the 
incongruity. 

"Halt!" he barked in Iraqi. 

Chet took one wide-eyed glimpse over his shoulder, muttered a desperate 
"Shit.. . " under his breath, and scrambled to his feet. He was a foreigner 
in a country at war, an enemy at that, and his Arabic wasn't strong enough 
to withstand the rigors of long cross-examinations. Besides, the battered 
condition of his Nordic face and his new Addida tennis shoes would lend no 
credence to any story, no matter how wildly convincing. They would probably 
throw him into a hay-floored dungeon and feed him gruel until every last 
hair fell out of his head. No, there was no other way around it. 

The soldier, on horseback, had halted his horse, swung around and raised the 
barrel of his rifle. Had it not been for Chet's impeccable sense of timing, 
he might have been trampled under the heavy camel hooves being led by a 
Bedouin bringing earthenware vessels to market. The agile American yanked up 
his beggars robe, the legs of his denim Levi's scissoring frantically in a 
mad dash for the twisting alleyway. Behind him, shots rent the air. The din 
of screaming women and thundering horse hooves screamed in Chet's ears. The 
marketplace became a bedlam of rearing donkeys, frightened camels and 
maddened soldiers hot in pursuit. 

He followed the alleyway lined with mud-walled buildings. Behind him, the 
shouts of Arabic soldiers winging bullets in the air hastened his speed. His 
addida tennis shoes slapped along the dusty street as he headed for the 
adjoining alley and plunged into an arched doorway whose steps lead up to a 
courtyard above. But beggars weren't welcome in Iraq . . . he'd better keep 
running. 

They were hot on his trail, no doubt about that! Panting wildly, he sprinted 
around the first bend in the narrow lane. He dashed into an entry smelling 
heavily of urine and littered garbage and ran up a flight of stone stairs, 
crossed a wider street and headed for an archway that led into a maze of 
alleyways behind. Footsteps and shouting voices sang behind him; bullets 
whizzed over his shoulder to chip plaster from the wall. 

The length of the beggars robe was prohibiting his speed and he ripped it 
off, tossed it down the steps behind him and tripped up another set of steps 
leading to an alcove. He was making a split second decision when he felt 
something warm grasp his arm. 

Ready to swing, he pivoted around ready to land a punch in the face of an 
Iraqi soldier. His hand fell to his side as he stared into the sloe-eyed 
loveliness of a belly dancer returning from the marketplace. 

A tight layer of diaphanous fabric sheathed her belly and hips, and a silver 
cupped brassiere with strands of silver dripping about her neck, shimmered 
over a deep cleavage. She might have been naked. Chet gulped. 

"You American?" she whispered, her cloying perfume stinging his nostrils. 
She nudged him by the elbow and pointed to a winding staircase leading to a 
modest mud-walled house above. "Come with me.. . " she said in Arabic. 

Chet did, gratefully. The sounds of pursuit were one stairway away, but the 
bullets had stopped singing in his ears. Hopefully they'd found the 
discarded beggars' robe and assumed he'd run the opposite direction. 

At the top of the stairs, the seductive dancer opened a hinged door and 
nudged the American inside. She bolted it and leaning against it, stared 
longingly at the handsome blond American. 

The room was tiny, furnished sparsely with cushions and rugs on the floor. 
Chet had the distinct impression the girl made her living by moving more 
than her hips. 

And she was lovely. Voluptuously curved, her breasts heavy on her chest, her 
soft belly rippling under the green transparent shift. Her sloe eyes were 
wide and her lips full and ripe. 

"I saw you in the marketplace," she said in Arabic, smatterings of which 
Chet understood from prior assignments in the Middle East. She cocked her 
head in the direction of the steps. "The military is after you, that I 
know." 

She came toward him in a cloud of perfume. "You stay with Pasha and I take 
care of you." Whisking up the diaphanous skirt, she thrust her pelvis 
outward and smiled seductively. Beneath the skirt, the ragged lips of her 
cunt pouted invitingly. 

Chet backed away. "I cannot stay, I must leave," he chirped in a tight voice 
in broken Arabic. 

"Do you not desire me?" she contested. 

Chet gulped. Suddenly she was pressing her lushness against him, her hands 
groping for his genitals, her fingers caressing, crawling over his flesh, 
groping for his testicles. In spite of himself, Chet felt his cock stiffen 
and lurch under his denim Levi's. "See, you are ready for Pasha." 

Chet groped in his pocket, hauled out a handful of change and clasped it 
into her warm palm as he pried it off his crotch. "I don't have time for 
that right now, but you can help me with one thing . Tell me where I find 
Faisal's palace." 

Her tiny hand flew to her mouth. "Ah," she sucked in her breath. "That is a 
forbidden place, for an American especially." 

"You're telling me," he mumbled in English. 

"Better you stay with Pasha," the girl said. 

Chet grinned, leaned over to kiss her on the lips. The brief encounter relit 
the girl's desires and she was devouring him with kisses, her lush body 
pressed against his, her hand snaking around his neck to bend his head 
towards hers. 

He unlaced her arms from around his neck. Footsteps scrambling up the stone 
steps made him panic. His eyes shot toward the arched window. 

"You must go quickly! They will search for you here and if they find you.. . 
" She ran a finger under her throat symbolically. 

"Faisal's pace?" he whispered, hearing the footsteps and loud Arabic voices 
making threats against the beggar. 

She gave him directions. They banged on Pasha's door just as Chet made the 
ten foot leap onto the alleyway. Pressing his panting body to the mud-walled 
building, he looked right and left, listening for Iraqi soldiers. Satisfied 
by the silence, he took off for Faisal's palace. 

The outside of Faisal's palace was nothing stupendous, but once Chet had 
stolen his way through the arched courtyard, strewn with costly rugs and 
cushions, the meaning of Arabic petrodollars struck home. 

Hugging a mosaic column, he peeked through the archways, hearing servants on 
the far side of the courtyard muttering in Arabic. Chet scurried through a 
deserted anteroom decorated in rich carpets and perfumed with clove-smelling 
incense, and followed a twisting corridor which led onto a second courtyard 
where a large fountain spurted prismatic crystals into the air. 

Sucking in his breath and patting the holster boring into his hip bone, Chet 
tiptoed toward the back of the house. It would only make sense that the 
harem would be at the back. Rather like Blacks in the back of the bus, 
thought Chet miserably. Being a new member of Faisal's private society, no 
doubt they'd locked Karen in a separate room, considering her obstinence. 

A narrow stone stairway twisted upwards beyond the anteroom. Heavy wooden 
doors locked with heavy iron bolts lead off the corridor. Chet stopped, put 
his ear to the first door and listened. The sounds of sobbing filtered 
through the wooden plank. No, that wouldn't be Karen . . . the weeping was 
far too hysterical. 

Cautiously, on tiptoes now, he unbolted the second door and peeked inside. A 
fleshy bodied naked woman was asleep on her back. The third room he found 
empty. Biting his lip and losing hope, he unbolted the fourth. A naked woman 
with enormous breasts crowned with raspberry nipples glared druggedly at her 
from a divan piled high with cushions. 

Chet drew in his breath, squared his shoulders and dashed rabbit-like around 
the corner . . . and stood still in his tracks. 

A dozing guard sat outside a bolted door, a sword hooked in his belt. 
Cautiously, silent as a cat, gun drawn from his holster, Chet slunk towards 
the door. Hurling himself at the guard, he clubbed him viciously over the 
head with the revolver butt as his other arm squeezed around his throat. 

The guard was well trained in combat and the thundering blows only stymied 
him for a moment. They crashed to the floor together and the sword fell from 
the guard's belt. As the strong body writhed and threshed beneath him, Chet 
levered his knees between the man's shoulder blades, put his arm around the 
guard's throat and pulled up with all his strength against the pressure of 
his knees. 

The muscles of the guard's neck corded, the veins in his swarthy forehead 
popped as he fought against the well trained ex-Marine's strength to break 
the neck cracking lock around his throat. 

Sweat poured from Chet's brow and rivered down his cheeks; the muscles of 
his arms spasmed . . . until the gasping breaths of a choking man bubbled 
and died. The head flopped lifelessly on the marble floor. 

Chet stiffened. The screech of air-raid sirens sang in the air. "Holy shit!" 
muttered the American, hearing the screams of terror echo down the hallways 
from trapped women. Shuffling of feet scuffed up the stairs and down the 
hallway. 

Knowing the dead guard wasn't the only servant stationed to maintain the 
harem, Chet shot back the bolt on the door and flung it open. Karen, 
trembling with alarm, her red hair tumbling about her naked shoulders, 
stared at him from a pile of cushions. 

It was tempting, but first things first. Jamming his gun back into the 
holster, he darted to the hallway and dragged the guard by the feet and 
dumped him in Karen's chamber. Outside the sirens wailed. Seconds later the 
hellish thunder of Iranian aircraft sang in the air. 

The world exploded into a deafening blast of dropping bombs exploding over 
the skies of Karbala. The walls of Karen's chamber trembled, the plaster 
chipping from the walls. 

"I never thought I'd love the sound of bombs, but by God, I'd rather take my 
chances in war than getting caught in Faisal's palace!" He grabbed Karen by 
the arm. She didn't budge. "You okay?" 

She stared at him incredulously while plaster shivered off the walls and a 
detonated missile crackled blocks away. She had never expected to see him 
again . . . and here he was in flesh and blood. She flung herself 
hysterically into his arms sobbing wildly while the bombs sang and exploded. 
"I thought I'd never see you." 

"Later for that," he said urgently. "Cry later. Right now we've got to get 
ourselves out of this place alive. I have a feeling it ain't gonna be easy." 

"But, I'm naked!" she protested, as if suddenly realizing her immodest 
state. 

"Better to be naked than dead." He ripped off his shirt and held it out for 
her slender arms to slip through. "Come on, we've got to get out of here." 

Outside in the corridor all hell broke loose. Women, trapped behind bolted 
doors, screamed as rockets shook the walls of their prisons. Karen balked. 
"We've got to let them out, please, Chet!" 

"We'll take care of them later.. . right now we have to save our own necks!" 

The courtyard below was swarming with guards and servants hovering in 
confusion as pillars cracked and crumbled around them, explosions biting 
into the mud-walled building of Karbala. 

They picked their way down the steps and dashed for the alleyway. Stones bit 
into Karen's bare feet; the flaps of Chet's shirt winged up to show off the 
lush nudity beneath. Shards of rock and bits of stucco whistled through the 
air. Donkeys and camels, torn from their master's reins, thundered down the 
alleys braying wild-eyed. 

The Americans plastered themselves to the alley wall as a wounded donkey 
screamed in the last throes of death before collapsing in the clogged narrow 
street. 

Minutes later they dashed up the confusion of stairways and pounded on 
Pasha's door. CHAPTER ELEVEN 

The air attacks on Karbala lasted one day. Iraqi war missies whistled 
retaliatorily over Iranian skies. 

Chet, Karen and Abdullah, Minister of Information, were sitting discussing 
the odious Jibsen and his Iranian terrorists. The Americans had checked into 
the Hussein Hotel and after a good night's rest their strength had been 
restored. 

"I'm trying to get all this straight in my head," said Chet, holding an ice 
bag to his eye. 'The attack in my Beirut hotel room, the airplane blowing 
up, the train tracks being bombed, and Karen's experience at the harem were 
all tied together?" 

Abdullah nodded. "That's right. We've had spies planted in Faisal's palace 
and it appears the diffa was a sore failure since Jibsen was unable to 
deliver the goods." 

"Which was? I still can't figure out what Jibsen was looking for from me? 
Jewels? Dope? What?" 

Abdullah smiled patiently. "As I told you, Faisal is much concerned about 
weaponry. It is reports by our spies that he will soon have the secret to 
the bomb. That will make him an independent power within Iraq, a most 
dangerous situation for the harmony of our country." 

"I'd say," snickered Chet. 

"Speaking of our luggage, isn't something missing?" Karen wanted to know. 
She slung one slender leg over the other and cocked her head seductively. 
"Wasn't there a present I was supposed to have been given?" 

Chet snapped his fingers. "Sorry, babe . . . forgot about that. My satchel's 
locked up downstairs. Why don't you two entertain yourselves while I go find 
my satchel." 

Convincing the hotel desk clerk his battered face was the same as the 
handsome one on his clearance papers and passport, he was granted entrance 
to the luggage storage room filled with American luggage belonging to soon 
to be deported news reporters and war correspondents. 

Keeping in mind that every occurrence with his luggage seemed to conjure up 
trouble, Chet slipped the key in the luggage storage door silently and 
twisted the latch. A beam of sunlight stole fugitively through the barred 
window. The afternoon shadows angled over the line up of oddly shaped 
luggage. Finding his satchel would be no easy task. 

He'd stepped a few feet into the room when his sixth sense alerted him to 
another presence. Whirling around he tumbled to the floor with Jibsen's full 
weight hurling through space to pin him to the floor, knocking the wind out 
of him. 

Gasping for air, Chet struggled to twist onto his back; but Jibsen had 
seized his arm and screwed it up between his shoulder blades. 

The struggling filmmaker beat uselessly at the floor with his free hand. 
Jibsen's weight crushed him, and although Jibsen was flabby in the stomach, 
he was strong. Chet had to break the grip to keep his arm from being broken. 
His mind reeled with pain.. . Jibsen had gone for his left eye socket. With 
a grunt, Chet lunged his head forward and his teeth sunk savagely into the 
flesh of Jibsen's hand. 

"You fuckin' sonofabitch!" roared Jibsen, releasing his grip on Chet's arm 
to grap for his hair and drag the cruelly biting teeth from his hand. 

The second the arm was free, Chet drew his knees up and with one supreme 
kick, threw Jibsen's heavy body to one side and scrambled to his feet to 
kick furiously at Jibsen's jowls. The tip of Chet's shoe caught Jibsen on 
the side of the chin and the sound of bone crunching filled the room. But 
Jibsen was a Marine and Marines fight to the death. He was up in a flash, 
his hands held away from his sides, an evil glint in his piggish eyes. 

'This is what I've been waiting for, Jibsen . . . I've got a bone to pick 
with you!" 

"Shuddup, chickenshit.. . " growled Jibsen, running his tongue over his 
teeth and finding a few missing. He spit them out just as Chet rushed 
forward again, swinging a powerful right to Jibsen's jaw. 

The big man blocked the punch with his palm and smashed a murderous hook to 
the side of Chet's head. Chet staggered back against the luggage rack. His 
cheek had been split, and blood trickled down his chin. Jibsen seemed to 
have a thing about battering the left side of his face. 

Jibsen was coming at him again, panting hoarsely as he hammered a flurry of 
blows to Chet's battered face and aching body. But Chet was tough too, and 
younger. Gasping and wincing as Jibsen's meaty fist raked across his chin, 
sank agonizingly into his abdomen and hammered into his rib cage, he stood 
up and returned punch for punch. His only hope was to stay on his feet and 
hope the older man tired first. 

Jibsen's chin got a leaden beating as Chet thudded glancing blows there 
before punching at the heart. One fist into the solar plexus wheezed the air 
from Jibsen's lungs . . . and Chet, ducking under Jibsen's fists, brought up 
his head to pound his fist squarely into the other man's face. 

Jibsen yelped out in pain as his broken nose gushed crimson; he swayed 
dazedly from the attack. 

Tigerishly, Chet leapt forward to land a searing left and a pile driving 
right across Jibsen's diaphragm. Jibsen grunted and fell back against the 
luggage rack behind him, while the filmmaker punched into his flabby gut. 

But Jibsen wasn't an ex-Marine for nothing. He drew a deep lungful of air 
and came at Chet, knocking him alongside the head, sending stars shooting in 
front of his eyes. Then, grabbing a suitcase, he swung it at the younger man 
to throw him off balance. Wind milling backwards, Jibsen took a flying leap 
at the fallen man. 

Chet jerked his knees back into his stomach, smashed his heels into Jibsen's 
groin and straightened his legs with all his strength. Jibsen hurtled 
backwards and landed on his back, his head banging into the luggage rack. 

Chet was on him in a flash. Blinded by blood streaming from a cut above his 
eye, Chet kicked him in the belly. The big man howled with pain and tried to 
scramble away on his knees. Chet grabbed him by the lapels and hauled him to 
his feet. A bent knee jabbed into Jibsen's groin, bringing him to his knees 
for good. 

As he lay moaning through cut and bloody lips, Chet jumped astride his 
panting body, jammed one foot into his armpit, seized his right wrist in 
both hands and hauled upward on the arm with all his might. 

"Let's have it, I want to hear the whole story.. . " 

"What the fuck you talking about?" groaned Jibsen. 

"About the Persian thugs attacking me . . . what have I got that's so damned 
important to you?" 

Jibsen yelped. "You're breaking my arm!" 

"I said talk!" Chet Bentley had two scores to settle . . . the attacks on 
his life and the abduction of his girl friend. He took neither lightly. 
Breathing heavily, Chet shifted his other leg so that his knee was jammed 
against the back of Jibsen's elbow. Still hauling the arm up against the 
pressure of his foot, he began bending it back over his knee. "Tell me, you 
shithead, or I'll break your arm off!" 

Jibsen screamed with agony and writhed on the floor, kicking his heels. 

More pressure . . . sweat beading Chet's forehead. 

"Aaagggghhhh!" wailed Jibsen. The sound of cracking bones reverberated in 
the room. Chet let go, and Jibsen's useless arm flopped to the floor. "You 
broke my arm, you fuck head!" 

"I'll break the other one if you don't start talking!" 

"Okay, okay, I'll talk. . . " conceded Jibsen weakly. 

Jibsen groaned through set teeth. "Those . . . were Iranian terrorists . . . 
following you . . . luggage . . . in Beirut you bought some lingerie in.. . 
a French boutique. . . " 

"Yeah, big shit!" mocked Chet. "Let's hear the rest." 

"The lace.. . has the secrets for the bomb woven.. . in Arabic.. . " 

"That's for Faisal, right?" Jibsen nodded. 

"For a goddamned piece of underwear your Uranian terrorists blew up a 
fucking airplane . . . killing innocent people?" grated Chet. For that 
heinous crime, Chet grabbed Jibsen's good arm and brought it back against 
his knee. 

"Aaiiiiie! Stop, goddamned you!" He struggled for breath. "It wasn't my 
idea!" 

"Then whose was it?" snarled Chet. 

"Faisal's . . . he's backing the anti-Khomeini groups in the States . . . 
giving 'em all money and papers to stay in the States . . . wants to take 
Iran . . . oil fields . . . Aneee!" 

"And Karen . . . why did you sell her to Faisal.. . ? " 

"She.. . she didn't have the Milady bag.. . it's your fault, you asshole," 
he sang through clenched teeth. "You shoulda given her the lingerie and none 
of this shit would have happened.. . " 

"Why the hell did I end up with the lingerie . . . tell me that!" Another 
inch forced back against Chet's knee made Jibsen's back arch off the floor. 

"Somebody else by your description . . . ouch . . . Christ, you're killing . 
. . me.. . Was supposed to pick it up.. . . " 

"Chet, I'm so glad to be going back to New York," chimed Karen hastily 
packing her suitcases in the Hussein hotel room. 

He swung her around by the shoulders, his face a mass of swollen purples and 
greens. "Before we go there's something I have to turn over to Abdullah.. 
Reaching into his satchel he hauled out the lace trimmed tap pants and 
camisoles and spread the lace over his palm. Karen's slender finger traced 
the inch-wide lace. 

"It looks terribly irregular . . . look at the stitches, they're going this 
way and that. . . " 

'That's the code for the H bomb, my dear. . . woven into the lace of your 
underwear! That's why Jibsen's Persian thugs were trying to kill me . . . I 
had the secret they needed to keep Faisal from disemboweling them.. . " 

Karen's forehead wrinkled. She shivered. "Sounds familiar," she murmured 
under her breath, rolling emerald eyes at the ceiling. 

"Abdullah reported that's exactly what happened to the conductor who tried 
to knife me and the two thugs who attached me in Beirut and the airport.. . 
all over a goddamned pair of underwear.. . makes you wonder what the world 
is coming to." 

"And the conductor . . . what happened to him?" 

"Hanged himself in prison. It's called Islamic honor. . . " 

A knock on the door and Abdullah appeared, ready to drive them to the 
airport. Shelling attacks had temporarily halted and special dispensation 
had been granted Americans anxious to return to the States." 

At the airport, the couple headed for the ticket counter, checked in their 
luggage and headed for the lounge for a quick drink before takeoff. Their 
flight was announced minutes later and scurrying toward the gate, Karen 
paused, a flush of excitation rouging her cheeks. 

"Hello, my friends," smiled the Lebanese stewardess through raspberry red 
lips. "Welcome aboard our flight to Baghdad." If you will sit in the seat 
near the back, I can make your flight a pleasant one.. . " 

Chet sucked in his breath and Karen's quickened. It was the French speaking 
Lebanese stewardess from the train. 


THE END
