An Interrupted Vacation
by Carl Van Marcus 


FOREWORD 

It is impossible for any informed American to be unaware of the tragic 
problem of kidnapping these days, for every week, it seems, new and 
spectacular headlines emblazon our daily newspapers or scream out at us from 
the television and radio news broadcasts. like the terrorist fad of 
hijacking airplanes which has plagued our society for the past few years, 
the crime of kidnapping with its somewhat romantically adventurous 
overtones, attracts opportunists, neurotics and the immature in addition to 
those who are passionately dedicated to some goal which requires financing. 

No matter what the motive behind the illegal act, however, kidnapping is an 
ugly, dangerous game which it behooves members of our society to give 
thoughtful consideration to, in view of the current acceleration of the act. 
That is why we, the publishers, are proud to present this timely and 
hard-hitting new novel by author Carl Van Marcus, a well-known freelance 
writer who has made his home, among other places, in the northern part of 
Spain. This exciting, action packed book is set in the land he knows like 
the back of his hand, and the particular political struggle described is a 
very real one. We warn our readers not to make the mistake of feeling that 
events such as Mr. Van Marcus describes in An Interrupted Vacation are 
improbable the author tells us that the idea of the novel arose from an 
actual kidnapping atrocity which took place only two years ago. 

Not only is An Interrupted Vacation an almost terrifyingly suspenseful and 
powerfully realistic novel, it is also, on a deeper level, an examination of 
the psychological repercussions of the kidnapped victims. And on a still 
more sensitive level, it is an exploration of the poverty of love in the 
modern American family. 

We urge you not only to read this book, but to pass it on to your friends. 
This is a subject which concerns all of us who knows which of us may be the 
next victim of a brutal kidnapping, which of us may see wife and children 
subjected to inhuman abuses? 

Due to the unrelenting realism with which author Carl Van Marcus has told 
his story, we cannot recommend this new novel to the immature reader. We do 
reiterate, however, that all thinking Americans should not miss this 
important literary achievement. 

-The Publishers 

 CHAPTER ONE 

A week after Daisy and Randy Muller graduated from Schenectady Junior High, 
they found themselves boarding a gleaming TWA 747 at J. F. Kennedy Airport 
in New York. Their father's business obligations required that he attend a 
short conference in Munich, Germany, and since the twins had done so well in 
school Randy had been president of the ninth grade class while Daisy had 
been Class Colors Chairman and therefore had had the honor of presenting the 
class gift at the graduation ceremony their parents had decided that they 
would combine business with pleasure and take a two week motoring trip 
through Europe. 

Munich was marvelous! Since the company was footing the bill, the family 
installed themselves in the elegant old-fashioned Continental Hotel. Helene 
Muller, the twins' mother who passion for antiques was exceeded only by her 
enthusiasm for cuisine, was delighted with the Gothic relics in the 
corridors, the suite with its sumptuously etched mirror panels and sixteenth 
century paintings and especially the bathroom with its gold taps. Despite 
the fact that her husband, Elwood, spent the better part of the time living 
it up in the beer halls with his fellow conventioneers or searching for best 
possible "Pop-top" Volkswagen bus camper deals, she wasn't at all bored. 
Perfectly happy to be alone, she explored the art museums, sampled local 
culinary delights of white veal sausage, fresh river trout and Wiener 
Schnitzel and wandered in and out of every dusty antique shop in the older 
quarters of the city. 

As for the kids, they were thrilled when their parents handed them a fistful 
of Deutsche Marks and told them they could sightsee on their own. After 
visiting the beer museum they explored the student section and felt very 
mature and independent. 

But when they piled into the brand new shiny white Pop-top and set off in 
the direction of Switzerland, the trip really seemed to have begun. No 
longer jet-lagging or suffering from culture shock, they ooohed and aaahed 
at the magnificence of the Alps, the quaintness of the villages, the 
deliciousness of the cafe au lait and cheese fondue. Elwood admired the 
well-built highways while his wife pored over Europe on Five Dollars a Day 
and the twins shot four rolls of film with their graduation present 
Instamatics. 

Although Switzerland was utterly charming, the Mullers sped through the 
country without pausing for longer than necessary to eat and take snapshots. 
They passed even more quickly through France which really only pleased 
Helene who'd switched to the English edition of the Michelin Guide now. 
Elwood complained about the price of gas and the surliness of the bereted 
garage attendants despite the fact that his yearly salary as Vice-President 
in Charge of Packaging at a corporation (which produced, among dozens of 
other popular products, America's number one detergent) was sufficient to 
feed, clothe and fill the gas tanks of several local French families and he 
was filled with equal annoyance by the supercilious attitude of the waiters 
who seemed to resent his very existence, though not his thick wad of 
traveler's checks. 

Fifteen year old Daisy's pride was piqued by the blank stares her attempts 
to flaunt her first year French received, and she grew bitter with envy as 
in every one-gas-station hamlet they passed through, the local mademoiselles 
were far more elegantly dressed and made-up than she. Why, she thought 
morosely as she stared unseeingly out the window at the Provencal 
countryside, won't Mom let me wear lipstick and mascara? It isn't fair! It 
just isn't fair at all! 

As for young Randolph Muller, his only thoughts were of Spain. For years 
now, he'd dreamed of watching a real bullfight, and now they were headed for 
the place where his dearest desire could finally be realized. Mother and 
Father kept going on about how cheap and colorful Spain would be, and his 
silly sister wanted a suntan and a sombrero, but he thought only of the 
shouting crowds at Pamplona. 

Finally, to everyone's satisfaction even Mrs. Muller's, for she hated 
hearing her family bicker the high peaks of the Pyrenees loomed misty and 
purple before them. Napoleon may have asserted that Europe ended at the 
start of this mountain range, but for the American family in their "Pop-top" 
camper, their vacation-of-a-lifetime was just beginning. 

If any of them had had even the slightest knowledge of the events which 
would befall, they would have turned around at once. As it was, however, 
they all wore happy smiles as they approached the barrack-like customs shed 
and pulled their brand-new passports from their neat plastic document 
holders, courtesy of the Schnenectady Travel Bureau. 

"Outtasight!" grinned Randy. "Now the real fun starts!" 

 CHAPTER TWO 

"Bilbao!" Helene declared firmly, shaking her thick honey-blonde hair away 
from her face as she spoke. "That's where you find the best cooking in 
Spain. It says so in the Holiday Magazine Guide. And on the way we can stop 
in a lot of splendid old monasteries and castles and " 

"Pamplona!" her fifteen year old son interrupted, loudly and rather rudely. 
"I wanna go to the bullfights!" 

"Who wants to see a dumb old bloody bullfight?" his twin sister demanded, 
scornfully tossing her carefully coiffed chestnut curls. "I wanna see some 
neat old villages and then go to San Sebastian. Mom's book says that's the 
most fashionable resort in Spain!" 

"You know who's dumb?" her brother sneered. "You are, that's who! You just 
wanna show off your new bikini on the beach. C'mon Dad! If you're in Spain 
you gotta see bullfights." 

"The Basque country," their mother repeated, plaintively, patiently, "is 
renowned for its cooking and quaint old customs." 

"Pamplona!" 

"Well, make up your minds, can't you?" Elwood broke in irritably. 

There were times, and this was one of them, when Elwood Muller sincerely 
regretted ever suggesting that his family accompany him on his business trip 
to Europe. He didn't give a damn about castles, gastronomical delights, 
shopping or bullfights. How much easier everything would have been if he'd 
simply gone alone to Munich, amused himself with some of those cute little 
girls in the clubs and rathskellers and remained comfortably ensconced in 
the Continental Hotel without a thought of such mundane frustrations as 
camping, gas, road maps and customs officials. 

Customs officials! They in fact, were the main reason for his bad mood, 
coupled with the stifling heat which sent trickles of sweat dribbling down 
his broad chest and made his muscular thighs stick to the fake leather 
driver's seat. How had they dared to treat him, a respectable American 
businessman whose sole act of bad citizenship consisted of a few minor 
parking tickets as though he were some sort of weird hippie freak or 
something? Maybe it was because of his son's almost shoulder length hair he 
ought to have insisted that Randolph cut it off long ago. But shit, the 
pressures at the office were bad enough without having to deal with problems 
like that when he got home. Surely that was Helene's job, not his! 

Helene...Elwood glanced at his wife's delicately etched profile and felt a 
fresh surge of irritation. Quickly looking away, he spied a rather grubby 
cafe a few yards on and pulled into the dirt parking lot. They were still in 
the border town of Les, a dusty little hamlet situated in the midst of the 
highest of the Pyrenees mountains with unusually scenic views but none of 
the creature comforts which the young businessman appreciated. Still a nice 
cold beer, quaffed in peace and quiet away from his quibbling family, was 
just what he needed after that humiliating ordeal at the border. 

The beer was lukewarm. And the fly-infested, almost empty bar was even 
hotter than the air outside. 

Nevertheless, Elwood Muller seated himself in a rickety metal chair and 
downed the watery-tasting beer. Hell, he mused, his thoughts diverting his 
attention from the gloomy shabbiness of the bar, I like my kids, but shit, 
why haven't they got any manners? Why doesn't Helene do something about the 
weird clothes they wear and that awful music they listen to all the time? 
Christ, if little Daisy doesn't start wearing a brassiere pretty soon, God 
knows what's gonna happen... 

Glancing out the dusty grease-stained window, he caught a glimpse of his 
teenage daughter's pretty face peering through the window of the Pop-top 
camper. Her girlishly high-set breasts, already nearly as full and round as 
her mother's, strained against the translucent fabric of her thin cotton 
halter top in a way that both annoyed and unconsciously excited him. 

How pretty she is, he mused, ignoring his subconscious sexual stimulation. 
Wow! Sure makes a guy feel old when he sees his kid looking like her Mom did 
when he married her... 

Daisy at fifteen did look quite as mature as her mother had at twenty. Even 
without the aid of the makeup she so ardently craved, there was something 
about the way she carried her ripe young body a certain awareness of her own 
sensuality which made her seem older than her years. She knew instinctively, 
as her mother never had, which clothes would best flatter her curvaceous 
figure, and some inborn feminine intelligence told her how to attract men 
without being cheap. 

No, it was no accident that Daisy Muller had been Class Colors Chairman of 
the ninth grade class! Although her grades had not been as high as her 
father would have liked, she was clever enough to make all the boys fall a 
little bit in love with her while managing to avoid having the other girls 
resent her. 

Elwood pulled his eyes away from his attractive offspring and signaled to 
the bartender for another lukewarm beer. A faraway look appeared in his 
clear gray eyes as he recalled the last time the family had taken a vacation 
three years ago. They'd rented a cottage on Cape Cod, and he remembered what 
a little tomboy Daisy had been then, always fishing or sailing with her twin 
brother. She'd refused to wear anything but a ragged pair of dungarees and a 
faded and shrunken tank top which pulled tightly over the almost invisible 
mounds of her budding breasts. 

And now! Sexy bikinis and perfume and even a going-steady ring on her 
finger! Christ! The time flew by so fast a guy didn't have time to catch his 
breath! 

There was an uneasy feeling in the successful executive's stomach as he paid 
the bartender and walked through the blazing afternoon sun toward the 
camper. 

Three years from now, he reflected moodily, little Daisy would be 
eighteen...the same age her mother had been when she let him make love to 
her that long-ago spring night in the university rose garden... 

* * * 

Inevitably, even after deciding on a route which led first to Pamplona and 
then on to the coastal cities of Bilbao and San Sebastian, the Mullers got 
lost. Their three maps were of little help as each was a slightly different 
version of roads which in any case were only planned, not yet constructed. 
This irritated Elwood, who prided himself on his organization and 
efficiency, and in each of the isolated villages where they stopped to ask 
directions, he felt the need to fortify himself with another of the 
consistently tepid beers. 

The twins and their mother didn't much care where they were or how 
skillfully they negotiated the network of ill-paved mountain roads, for they 
found themselves caught up in the spell of the ruggedly towering mountains 
and fertile green valleys with their miniscule villages. Never having seen 
peaks higher than the Appalachians, Randy and Daisy were so awed that they 
ceased their incessant quarreling. 

"It's like another world!" Daisy exclaimed as she and her twin brother 
explored the third little settlement they stopped in. "And these funny old 
men in their hats and the ladies in long dresses look at us like we came 
from another planet!" 

"Yeah, it's sure freaky," Randy replied, for once agreeing with his sister. 
"And they talk so weird. It's nothin' like what we learned in school." 

While the twins wandered up and down the narrow village streets exclaiming 
over the donkeys, long strings of red peppers hanging from unpaned windows 
and un-Spanish looking fair-haired natives, their parents sat in the local 
bar sipping, respectively, beer and a rather odd-tasting sherry. Helene knew 
that her husband resented it if she insisted on fruit juice or cola while he 
was drinking alcohol, and besides, although she normally never drank much, 
she felt so excited about having reached Spain at last and seeing such 
marvelous scenery that a celebration seemed in order. 

"Christ! I sure wish we could find the road we're supposed to be on," the 
young businessman grumbled into his beer. "We'll never make it to that State 
approved camping site by dark if this keeps on and I'm already dead on my 
feet!" 

"Oh well, we can just camp by the roadside, like gypsies," Helene laughed. 
Unused to drink as she was, the strong sherry was going straight to her 
head. "It might be fun...." 

Although Elwood glowered at the whimsical suggestion, it was exactly what 
they ended up doing. By sunset, he was so worn out from the heat, beer and 
frustrations of the day that he pulled the Pop-top camper off the road into 
the first-likely looking grove of trees, turned off the motor and yawned. 

"Okay kids, that's all for today," he said. "Randy, you set up the top while 
the gals scare up some food. Let's get a good night's sleep and start out 
early in the morning." 

There was something out of order with the Pop-top's handy Kamper-Kooker 
unit, but none of the Mullers really cared. All during their meal of bread, 
cheese and cold beer and Coke from the still-functioning fridge, the twins 
kept casting eager glances toward the winding path leading up the mountain 
slope beyond the parked camper. At the top, standing out, black and 
intriguing against the red-gold splendor of the sunset, was what appeared to 
be the towers of an ancient castle. Helene, poring through her guidebooks as 
she nibbled on a hunk of cheese, informed them that it was in fact a 
deserted monastery, and that it took about 45 minutes to climb to the 
summit. 

"Can't we hike up there, Dad, please?" Randy begged. "It's a good path, and 
we'll take the big flashlights." 

"Well.. . " Elwood hesitated, giving the mountain a dubious inspection as he 
opened his third can of ice-cold beer. There wasn't really any good reason 
why they shouldn't take a walk to the ruin the path was a good one, its 
steeper portions banked with cement steps and in a way all this family 
togetherness was growing a little oppressive. 

He turned away from the open window to stare across the small candlelit 
table at his golden-haired wife and rather to his surprise felt a wave of 
tenderness at the sight of her graceful white neck and flyaway yellow curls 
bent over her book. Come to think of it, he thought a little drunkenly, they 
hadn't made love in a helluva long time. Of course, there wasn't much 
opportunity in either a hotel suite or a crowded camper, not with two 
teenage kids around, and somehow he'd been too involved with the convention 
to give connubial relations more than a passing thought. Suddenly though, he 
felt his penis thickening and pressing against his denim jeans as he 
recalled the satin softness of his wife's tender flesh and the yielding 
pliancy of her rather small but perfectly rounded breasts. 

"Sure go ahead," he turned back to his dark-haired son. "But take good care 
of your Sis, huh?" 

"Oh Daddy!" Daisy exclaimed. The pretty young girl who'd put on a soft 
sea-blue angora pullover which exactly matched her eyes and managed to 
enhance rather than hide the gentle swells of her girlish breasts, jumped 
from her chair and gave her father an affectionate hug. "I can take care of 
myself, I promise! We'll both be real careful." 

There were several moments silence after the kids, armed with hiking boots, 
flashlights and lightweight jackets, clattered out of the camper and headed 
up the slope. Helene stared pensively out the window, watching her 
children's figures grow smaller and smaller until they finally disappeared 
around a curve banked by pine brush. 

"Are you sure they'll be okay?" she asked, her smooth forehead wrinkling in 
a troubled frown. "I mean it's getting dark, and-" 

"Aw, they'll be fine," Elwood declared, his hardened cock thudding against 
his restraining pants in a more eager way than it had for months. "They're 
not really kids anymore, you know. And besides, Randy took that survival 
course at the YMCA he can take care of himself better than we could, I bet!" 

"You're right," agreed Helene. She stood up and began gathering up the 
plates and silverware, her slender figure vividly outlined in the gentle 
light of the candles. "I'm just being an old silly...." 

The thirty-three year old wife's voice faltered a little as she moved toward 
the built-in sink with her load of dishes, for she had noted the amorous 
light in her husband's gray eyes, a light which hadn't been there for a long 
while. Maybe, she thought hopefully as she filled the sink and mechanically 
washed the plates, maybe he really is relaxing enough to want to make love 
again! 

Helene wanted to say something, do something, that would indicate her 
willingness to respond to any overture Elwood might make, but she was unable 
to do so. Over and above her natural shyness about all things of a sexual 
nature, she was not unnaturally a little reluctant to make the first gesture 
after these weeks of being ignored. Weeks?! goodness, when she thought about 
it, it had been several years since her husband really displayed any 
eagerness for bedtime activity. Ever since he'd been appointed 
Vice-President in Charge of Packaging, in fact, she'd had the definite 
feeling that business was far more important to him than his wife. 

Although Helene who despite her seeming vagueness and dreamy preoccupation 
with food, flowers and dusty and worthless artifacts from bygone days, was 
actually a rather unusually sensitive and perceptive individual realized 
that much of her husband's seeming coldness derived from the pressures of 
his position at the company, it was difficult not to feel hurt by his 
indifference. The few times they had made love lately had been so 
unsatisfactory (with Elwood ejaculating within minutes while she was still 
just beginning to sense the first waves of her own orgasm) that she knew he 
too must feel inadequate and ashamed. If she'd known what to say to make him 
feel better, she'd certainly have done so...but, well. . . oh, it was so 
hard to know what to do, what words to use that would uplift rather than 
degrade... 

With a silent sigh, the young blonde housewife dried the last of the yellow 
plastic plates and cast a surreptitious glance in her handsome husband's 
direction. He was opening a fourth can of beer, and his head was buried in 
the two day old edition of the International Herald Tribune they'd picked up 
on the French side of the border early that afternoon. 

Oh well, she thought with a second imperceptible sigh, it was stupid of me 
to think he meant anything by sending the kids up the mountain. Not knowing 
quite what to do with herself, she moved toward the tiny pink-tiled shower 
stall. 

Before turning on the hot water, Helene took a moment to stare thoughtfully 
at her reflection in the full-length mirror affixed to the door. Despite the 
twinge of guilt she felt at looking at her naked body, she couldn't help 
feeling rather proud of how firm and youthful her figure was after two 
children and thirty-three years. Actually, she looked better than she had 
when, sixteen years ago, Elwood had bumped into her in the library where she 
was working to pay for her college education, had knocked her pile of 
decaying periodicals onto the floor and asked her for a date. And then had 
come the incident in the rose garden, the pregnancy, the "shotgun" wedding 
in the college chapel, the twins... 

It was no good reminiscing about the past, Helene reminded herself firmly. 
One had to let bygones be bygones and live in the present. Despite her 
lingering regrets about her uncompleted education she'd dreamed of being an 
anthropologist and going off to exotic lands to study primitive cultures 
with their fascinating myths and customs she knew that her current problem 
of Elwood's diminishing interest in her as a woman was the most urgent 
consideration. 

"And I do still look pretty!" she murmured to herself, confident that her 
husband could not hear her over the sound of the gurgling water heater and 
splashing shower. Stepping under the stream of hot water, she gingerly 
cupped her high-set breasts in both hands. They felt firm and smooth, and a 
tingle ran up her spine as she remembered how in the old days, her husband 
had loved caressing and kissing them. 

The ironic thing was, she reflected as she carefully soaped her golden-brown 
pubic "vee" and well-rounded thighs, was that at first, when Elwood was so 
ardently attentive, she'd felt no real physical desire for him. Only in the 
past few years since her late twenties, had she achieved the miraculous 
satisfaction of an orgasm. Her own time of sexual awakening had, most 
unfortunately, coincided with his promotion and consequent diminution of 
amorous interest. 

Helene trailed the herb-scented soap over her shapely legs then up over her 
gently rounded ivory-white belly and on up toward her involuntarily 
throbbing breasts. God! What was the matter with her anyway? Just thinking 
of the way Elwood used to practically attack her in the old days was sending 
shooting spears of sinful sensation skimming through her bloodstream. Each 
day that passed seemed to heighten her unexplained carnal yearnings...why, 
this morning, much to her shame, she'd actually felt the crotch band of her 
white nylon panties dampen when that crass border official had undressed her 
with his intense Latin eyes! 

After sliding the bar of soap quickly and nervously over her sensitive 
vaginal area, Helene Muller stepped out of the shower, dried her slender 
body with a large fluffy towel and donned an ankle-length pink velveteen 
robe which ideally suited her pale complexion and natural honey-gold hair. 
Some uncharacteristic impulse led her to spray her voluptuous figure with 
her daughter Daisy's "Royal Romance" toilet water and brush "blush-on" on 
her cheeks. 

Maybe Elwood will really look at me for a change, she thought rather 
forlornly as she tied her fine fair hair into a sort of ponytail with a pink 
velvet ribbon. This was the way she'd worn her hair as a college freshman 
when her future husband had first been attracted to her, and perhaps it 
would make him feel young and amorous again tonight. 

Feeling a little daring and strangely excited, Helene emerged from the 
shower stall to the main room of the big camper. Much to her disappointment, 
her husband was no longer inside the camper but was standing outside smoking 
a cigarette and finishing his can of beer as he gazed at the glorious 
sunset. The sun, a huge red-orange ball, was just sinking behind the black 
mountains, and the sky along the horizon was streaked with fiery wisps of 
magenta and gold, but Helene was too distracted to appreciate the beauty of 
the scene. 

"Hi hon," the thirty-seven year old executive casually greeted his wife as 
she came to the doorway. Although he gave no sign of his appreciation, he 
was indeed very much aware of her fragrance, her girlish hairdo and her 
modest but curve-clinging robe. "Nice sunset, huh?" 

"Yes," Helene's voice was thin and strained as she choked back an 
involuntary rush of tears. "Yes, fantastic." 

"Spain sure is swell," the vacationing businessman enthused. "Hell, back 
home I'd still be on the freeway driving home this time of day, and there'd 
bee too much smog to even see the sunset. This is the life, all right!" 

"Yes...yes...lovely...." the blonde wife agreed. 

For a few minutes longer she lingered on the steps of the Pop-top, praying 
without much hope that her handsome husband would turn and take her in his 
arms. If there had ever been the perfect moment for a truly romantic kiss, 
this surely was it, but Elwood remained totally oblivious. 

"Hey, hand me another of those beers, would you, hon?" he said and then 
patted her slim white hand in a platonic way when she did so. 

"How about a little walk before turning in?" 

Helene was grateful for the gathering dusk which hid the tears brimming up 
in large blue eyes. "N-no, I think I'll go r-right to sleep. The sun...the 
sherry...." 

Her voice trailed off into a pathetic little sigh which Elwood did not 
appear to notice. With head banging and shoulders slumped dejectedly, she 
made her way to the built-in bunks of the camper, crawled under her 
down-filled quilt and switched off the light. In the lonely privacy of the 
darkness, she allowed her hot tears to fall onto her pillow before drifting 
into a restless sleep. 

Just as Helene was dreaming of running naked down a mountain path quite in 
the manner of the college "streakers" of whom she had read in the Herald 
Tribune that morning with a handsome equally unclothed male galloping behind 
her, Elwood crawled into the bunk. Normally when the kids were sleeping in 
the Pop-top too, he slept on the narrow bed on the opposite side of the 
room; actually he was grateful to have a good excuse not to face his fears 
of impotence. But tonight, buoyed up by the numerous beers he'd quaffed 
during the course of the day and stimulated, too, by the sense of being very 
far away from the usual grueling pressures of his job, he found himself 
gently stroking his wife's satin-smooth body and murmuring to her in a 
whisper. 

"Helene?" he hissed under his breath, although since the twins hadn't yet 
returned from their evening hike there was actually no need for stealth. 
"Are you awake?" 

Helene, still half asleep and half convinced that the voice whispering in 
her ears was part of her erotic dream, automatically snuggled against the 
warm body easing beneath the covers beside her. She began to come fully 
awake as firm masculine hands began gliding over her bare thighs and up 
under her filmy summer nightie, but still she kept her eyes tightly shut as 
though she were afraid that to open them would make her husband vanish. It 
had been so long since he'd come into her bed that she was half afraid it 
must be a product of her imagination. 

Back home in Schenectady her husband had gotten into the habit of sitting up 
late in his wood-paneled den and as often as not, falling asleep on the 
narrow couch there. Even when he did come upstairs at night, it was always 
long after his lonely wife had gone to bed, but though he tiptoed toward the 
twin bed next to her unmoving form, she always woke up the moment the door 
eased open. 

"Hope I didn't bother you last night, coming up late like that," he'd remark 
with studied casualness the next morning at breakfast. 

"No dear, not at all," she'd reply brightly. It was so obvious that he was 
trying to excuse and rationalize to himself the fact that he was so consumed 
with worries about business, debts and the rapidly approaching expense of 
college education for the twins that he lost the energetic virility which 
had characterized him as a younger man. No, Helene was too empathetic and 
kind-hearted to increase her husband's gnawing pangs of inadequacy by 
letting him know what frustration she suffered. Even on the infrequent 
occasions such as birthdays and their wedding anniversary when they did make 
love and Elwood invariably failed to satisfy the fiery needs of her youthful 
flesh, she did not allow herself to criticize him in any way. 

Tonight, however, she sensed from his touch and the pace of his breathing 
that he was more excited than he'd been in a very long while. She answered 
his question by wriggling up against him in what she hoped was a suggestive 
manner, pressing her nylon-covered ass-cheeks up against the hardness of his 
muscular chest. Elwood had an amazingly youthful body for a man of his age, 
she thought as she pressed against him. Despite his sedentary office job, he 
mar ;ed to play tennis and golf every weekend and was in almost as good 
condition as when he'd been a college tennis champion. Un-like the majority 
of his colleagues, he'd not developed a flabby pot belly nor lost his almost 
boyish enthusiasm for open-air sports. 

"Uuiiummm...." she murmured happily as his strong arms clasped her around 
her slender waist and drew her tingling buttocks closer against him. 
"Oooohhh...." 

"You feel so good, honey!" Elwood mumbled into her soft faintly perfumed 
hair. "So soft and smooth...." 

Arrows of excited anticipation shot along Helene's spine as she sensed the 
insistent bulge of her husband's erect penis prodding between the sensitive 
mounds of her well-rounded ass-cheeks. Instinctively, she pressed her 
fire-filled buttocks tightly around the pulsing thickness as though she 
wanted to trap the heated flesh pole between her nylon-lace covered 
half-moons. She was acting with perhaps unbecoming boldness, she realized 
dizzily, but it was so wonderful to feel her husband's firm masculine loins 
again that she just couldn't act prim and virginal toward him. 

Even as she sighed in rapture at the sensations which flowed through her 
bloodstream at the feel of Elwood's hands on her sensuously throbbing 
breasts, Helene still kept her eyes tightly shut. One small but persistent 
voice in the back of her brain was still insisting that this must be a 
dream, that when she raised her eyelids, she would find herself curled in 
lonely misery on her narrow cot with her pajama-clad husband snoring on the 
other bed across the room. 

He's worn pajamas to bed for the last three years, but tonight he's naked! 
she rejoiced silently. Please God, make this be real! Don't let me wake up 
and find I'm having another of those sinful dreams. . . 

"Christ, I love you baby," whispered Elwood as his eager hands massaged the 
firm pliancy of his wife's girlish breasts. "Your body...your beautiful 
body...." 

Tears of joy sprang up in Helene's sapphire eyes at this endearment, and she 
felt so jubilant at finally hearing the words she'd ached to hear for so 
long that she brazenly wriggled out of her pink lace nightie and rolled over 
so that her now-throbbing breasts were pressing nakedly against her 
husband's muscular chest. The sparse bristly hairs on his firm masculine 
flesh sent delicious tingles spiraling out from her nipples to every 
nerve-ending in her hungering body, and when their lips met in a long, 
tongue-twining kiss, she felt happier than she had in months. 

"Darling, darling," she crooned, still keeping her eyes shut as she ran her 
own hands over his warm loins. She longed to trace her fingertips toward the 
throbbing virility which pulsed so urgently against her trembling thighs, 
but that seemed just a little bit too bold. Instead, she contented herself 
with stroking his athletically muscled chest and thighs. 

My man, she thought hazily as the whole length of her husband's fully erect 
cock pulsed between her tensed and quivering thighs, is the best man in the 
world! 

Elwood gasped under his breath as his wife's firm-fleshed thighs clamped 
around his painfully swollen virility. The blood-bloated head pushed forward 
eagerly as though with a mind of its own until it touched the satin fabric 
of Helene's panty-protected vagina. With his old ravenous passion he tore 
the flimsy bikini panties from her slightly parted legs and rubbed his 
impatient hardness up against the damp warmth of her cuntal crevice. 

"Aaaahhh!" Helene moaned, half out of her mind with blissful relief. 
Everything was going to be all right now! Elwood's disinterested attitude 
had been, as she'd fervently hoped, a mere manifestation of his 
high-pressure position at work. 

Initially, the thirty-seven year old husband had been a little reticent 
about approaching his youthfully pretty blonde wife, but when she encouraged 
him with her impassioned wrigglings and throaty whimpers, he began to feel 
like the masterful male he had been in his early twenties. 

What the hell! he exalted as with a slow sensuous movement of his athletic 
hips, he rubbed his cock's distended tip over her quivering clitoral bud and 
delighted in the flames of erotic anticipation that flamed all along his 
rigid shaft and through his cum-tightened testicles. I'm just as much a man 
as I was back in the good old days when I screwed both the secretaries in 
the company's old offices right there in the photocopy room! The little 
woman's begging for it! 

Indeed, as the bulbous head of her hoarsely panting husband's huge penis 
spread apart the moistening lips of her vagina, Helene began uttering a 
pleading chorus of whimpers and lusting groans. In the good old days, she'd 
felt that there was something depraved and whore-like about making any sound 
while she fulfilled her marital obligations, but now that her sexual 
appetite had increased in direct proportion to the lessening of her 
husband's amorous inclinations, she made no attempt to curb her very real 
longing for the mammoth rod of flesh which could satisfy her aching need. 

"Now, baby?" Elwood hissed hoarsely as the head of his long-neglected penis 
sluiced between the well-lubricated lips of his wife's waiting pussy. 

Helene too ecstatic for words, could only manage to choke out an animalistic 
mewl. A shudder wracked her naked figure from the tip of her involuntarily 
curling white toes to her baby-fine golden hair as his rock-hard cock sank 
an inch into her love-starved vagina. 

"Oooohh yeeeaahh!" she wailed, shocked but simultaneously stimulated by the 
lewd sound of her own shrill cry. "Yyyyeeeaahh, ddarrrlinngg!" 

Inspired by his wife's soulful moan, the young businessman flicked his 
athletic hips forward so that his hungrily pulsating penis lunged several 
more satisfying inches into her wetly clasping vaginal channel. Snapping his 
torso forward a second time, he drove his virile shaft all the way to the 
hilt between her legs until his blood-swollen cock-head rammed up against 
his children's' mother's cushiony cervix deep inside. She let out a frenzied 
wail, arched up her slim pelvis and involuntarily clamped her cuntal muscles 
hard around the impaling flesh shaft. 

"Yeah! Yeah!" he gasped out as he withdrew for a brief instant and then 
slammed back inside the slender blonde's eagerly quivering pussy passage. 
"Gonna fuck you good! Fuck you so good you don't know what hit you!" 

A thrill of masochistic pleasure surged through Helene's cock-impaled loins 
at the sound of her husband's aggressive tone. The sense of being totally 
subjugated to her man's will, of being the slave to his unrelenting passion, 
served to increase the physical pleasure she was receiving from his plunging 
penis, and the stabs of pain she felt from the ramrodding shaft of male 
flesh also excited her. 

If only he would treat me like this more often, Helene thought, and then all 
clear conception was blotted from her brain as Elwood's lust-thickened 
manhood bore deeply into her belly again and again in the wild and wonderful 
age-old rhythm of fucking. Each pounding thrust seemed to prod deeper into 
her eagerly clasping cuntal channel until electrifying waves of ecstasy 
welled up in every part of her nakedly writhing figure. Her desire-hardened 
nipples ached with delicious arousal as Elwood's desperate ravishment 
continued, and deep inside her belly she felt the first hints of a 
stupendous climax developing. 

By now, her own love-juices had lubricated her hungrily clutching vagina so 
that her husband's heavy penis slithered smoothly in and out with a lewd wet 
sucking sound. With each pummeling thrust, delicate ridges of pink cuntal 
flesh were pulled out then rammed back inward with his punishing downstroke. 

A rainbow kaleidoscope of vivid colors swam before Helene's tight-shut eyes 
as she twisted and thrashed in an agony of intense passion on the camper 
bunk, and she could sense her belly growing hotter and hotter with her 
husband's every skewering stroke. Unwilled, almost inhuman cries broke from 
her parched lips, shocking her but at the same time exciting her with their 
unfamiliar obscenity. 

"Christ, it's so good! Soooo gooodd!" she heard her voice shrill out into 
the small camper. "Don't stop, don't ever stop! Ooohh, fuck me forever and 
ever and ever.. . " 

The fierce, almost painfully forceful thrusts rammed into her with 
ever-increasing speed. It felt, the young blonde wife thought wildly, as 
though Elwood was pounding in up to her very womb! She couldn't remember 
their lovemaking ever having been so wildly impassioned...now if only he 
would keep on like this until the violent orgasm she felt teasing at her 
pleasure-wracked loins exploded in an unworldly firework display of pure 
release... 

"Don't stop! Don't stop!" she cried again. "Fuck me hard! Harder! Make me 
cccummm toooo!" 

But Elwood, who'd been feeling too inadequate to make any overtures toward 
his curvaceous blonde wife for the past several weeks, now found himself 
aroused beyond all possibility of control. The dozen or so beers swimming 
through his system were no help, either, and Helene's unprecedented wanton 
response was the final tantalizing blow. 

"Aaarrgghh!" he shouted, the guttural cry echoing across the silent valley 
outside the Pop-top van. "Here it comes, baby! NNnnooww!" 

His blood-engorged cock-head rammed to the hilt in the frantically mewling 
female's desire-drenched vagina, burrowing so deeply that his aching 
testicles danced against the smoothness of her ripely rounded ass-cheeks. 
Slamming his perspiration-soaked pelvis against her satin-textured loins, he 
grabbed her undulating hips with both hands for support and groaned again as 
the first seething spurts of long pent-up semen shot into her cock-stuffed 
pussy. 

"Oh no! Not yet! Please, not yet!" Helene pleaded in a horror-stricken 
half-whisper. Her previously flaming arousal froze to ice in her veins, and 
she lay woodenly and unresponsively as the premature flood of heated cum 
flowed into her unsatisfied vagina and oozed out into her s t i ll q u i v e 
r i n g thighs. "Noooo...noooo...." 

Elwood never even heard his wife's mournful whimpers. Never since he was a 
teenager had he experienced such an overpowering release; it felt as though 
his entire body were disintegrating, floating off onto some magical world 
among the clouds where there was nothing but utter bliss...a universe where 
the rivers were filled with life-giving sperm and the colors were brighter 
even than the sunset he'd witnessed an hour before...a land where prosaic 
concerns such as the company's profit margin and his children's college 
education did not figure...a place where no one talked seriously, only 
babbled and moaned as shuddering surges of pleasure cascaded over their 
nakedly writhing bodies... 

At last the exhausted but happy executive's furiously ejaculating penis 
began to soften and deflate inside his unsatisfied wife's still-hungry 
vagina. Sighing in contentment, he rolled off her rigidly held body and 
lurched across the room in the direction of his own bunk. Sleep arrived 
almost as he collapsed, satiated, on the built-in bed, and within minutes 
his loud snores drowned out the plaintive sound of Helene's irrepressible 
sobs. 

What's wrong with me? she asked herself in silent anguish as she clenched 
her sperm-streaked thighs together and tried her best to stifle the gnawing 
tingle inside her unfulfilled pussy. It's only dirty, nasty sex...there must 
be something really sick about me that makes me need it so badly! I just 
don't understand. . . I never used to feel this way... 

Helen's pillow was damp with tears for the second time that night as she 
recalled with horrified shame the lewd whorish way she'd responded to her 
husband. What in God's name would he think of her tomorrow morning? After 
all, she was the mother of two growing children who needed all the moral 
guidance and example they could get in today's troubled world! What if 
sweet, innocent little Daisy and her impressionable brother Randy had heard 
their own mother wailing out her abnormal lust like some sort of perverted 
tramp? She would have to, simply have to get a hold on herself and repress 
these depraved appetites! 

Yet no matter what Helene Muller told herself, the flames of unabated desire 
flickered through her traitorous loins. There was only one thing which could 
stem the abnormal fires which blazed inside her young body the delirious 
rapture of a stone-hard male thickness pounding into her over and over 
again. 

Both the happily snoring Elwood and his self-preoccupied young wife were too 
absorbed in themselves to think it was an awfully long time since the twins 
had started up the mountain. Nor did they notice that the bright moon and 
clear canopy of twinkling stars had been obliterated by ominous clouds...nor 
that the mountains surrounding the valley in which they had camped were 
blanketed in a fog so thick that the slopes had become completely invisible 
from the ground below. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

The fifteen year-old twins, who were no more than a third of the way down 
the steep slope when the dense mist suddenly obscured their vision and began 
to soak into their thinly-clad bodies, were of course acutely aware of the 
change in weather conditions. From the seductive softness of a Spanish 
evening, they had suddenly been jolted into a rather terrifying nightmare of 
darkness and biting cold. The intermittent flashes of lightning hazily 
etched against the foggy sky and the accompanying crashes of thunder did 
nothing to improve the young American's rapidly sagging spirits. 

"Ohhhh, Randy!" Daisy squealed as a particularly close clap of thunder 
reverberated through the mountains. "I'm sc-scard!" 

Her twin brother, although not a little bit perturbed himself, put on a show 
of confidence for her benefit. After all, his pretty sister was a mere girl, 
and suburban born and bred at that. She'd never so much as attended girl 
scout camp, whereas he had taken that survival course up in the Allegheny 
Mountains last summer and was even the proud possessor of a framed 
certificate stating that Randolph E. Muller was a tried and tested 
"Wilderness Warrior". In spite of their constant wrangling, the brother and 
sister were deeply fond of one another, and there was nothing Randy wouldn't 
do to help his twin out of a bad situation. Heck, hadn't he beaten up the 
Lee brothers single handed when they'd teased her about her braces back in 
sixth grade? And just that year, he'd smashed that creep Roy Runions in the 
nose when he'd started shooting off his big mouth about how Daisy Muller 
went all the way with her steady, Bobby Buford. It had all been a pack of 
lies, of that Randy was certain, but even if his sister had been screwing 
her boyfriend, it was no one's business but her own. 

"Don't worry, Sis," he said now in a tone of false confidence. "It's just a 
summer storm it's bound to pass over soon. And anyhow " 

The rest of his encouraging statement was lost as a ear-splitting boom of 
thunder exploded a few yards away. Instants later, a crazily snaking bolt of 
lightning slashed a fiery path directly toward them, and as Randy tugged his 
fear-paralyzed sister down the hill after him, the glowing fork of fire 
singed the top of a tall, summer-arid pine which instantly burst into 
flames. 

The crackling pine boughs exuded sufficient light for the frightened fifteen 
year-olds to escape through the dense underbrush. At least fifteen minutes 
ago-it was hard to judge time in the unfamiliar blackness of the Pyrennes 
Mountains they had managed to wander off the faint path leading from the 
ancient monastery to the valley and now they found themselves crawling 
through brambles and prickly berry thickets in a desperate attempt to escape 
from the red-hot flames. 

Luckily for the two American teenagers, their haphazard downward route led 
them to one of the few mountain streams which had not yet run dry in the dry 
summer season. Randy vaguely recalled from his survival course which 
unfortunately had been little more than a trumped-up luxury summer camp that 
fire could not usually pass over water, and so he dragged his whimpering 
twin sister through the ice-cold brook. In the light from the blazing tree, 
he spied a small shepherd's hut several yards away. 

"Look, Sis!" he gasped. "There's a little house!" 

Under ordinary circumstances the upper middle-class youngsters would never 
have dreamed of entering a strange dwelling, but at the moment, freezing 
cold as they were from the penetrating fog and chilling stream, they didn't 
give it a second thought. Eagerly, gratefully, they let themselves in 
through the unlatched wooden door and stood shivering weakly in the 
threshold. 

"Oh, wow!" Daisy moaned breathlessly, her voice almost inaudible as she 
struggled to fill her lungs with oxygen. Up until now, a fast round of 
tennis had been the most physically exhausting activity she'd ever 
attempted. "I wish we'd never even thought of climbing up this darn old 
mountain!" Not really realizing what she was doing, she fell against him and 
clung to him as she might have to her father when she was younger and less 
affected. "I wish we were back h-home in Schenectady, safe and w-w-warm and 
" 

"Don't worry, Daisy!" Randy murmured. His voice was a little shaky as he 
smelled the fragrance of her silky chestnut hair and felt the soft warmth of 
her skin. "Everything's gonna be okay. I'll take care of you!" 

"B-but it's so c-cold...it's so dark...." Daisy whimpered, grasping her 
brother's athletic figure more tightly than ever as she thought back to the 
days when she was Class Colors Chairman in Schenectady Junior High and had 
opened the graduation dance with her steady boyfriend. Billy Buford. 
Disregarding the unaesthetic details of her present situation, she recalled 
her pink tulle prom gown, the bouquet of orchids which Billy had given her, 
and the grown-up way Mom had allowed her to wear her shoulder-length dark 
hair. And then the walk home through the elm-lined suburban streets, with 
moonlight filtering through the leaves and Billy's hands... 

A deep shiver rippled through the rain-soaked teenager's slim body, but her 
reaction was not engendered by the cold, as her brother naturally assumed. 
This was a ludicrous time to be thinking about what had happened two weeks 
ago in a lilac-fragrant vacant lot halfway between the junior high school 
and the Mullers' large, colonial-style brick house, but something perhaps 
the hard male feel of her brother's clasping arms was bringing back an 
uncontrolled, agonizingly vivid rush of memories. 

Don't be silly! Daisy chided herself. Why on earth should Randy make me 
think of Billy? He's just my brother! 

Nevertheless, she was somewhat relieved when her twin moved away from her 
and began fishing in his jacket pockets for his flashlight. To his dismay, 
it had banged against something during their pell-mell flight through the 
forest, and no longer worked. Daisy's identical flashlight had been dropped 
and not retrieved when the tree was hit by lightning. 

"We gotta make a fire, Sis," he said, trying not to let it be apparent that 
his teeth were chattering. "If we just had a light, maybe I could find some 
matches on the floor. 

As luck would have it, Daisy happened to have a tiny package of matches in 
her pocket. The small, gilt box, a souvenir from the Graduation Dance, was 
of sentimental value and was never far from her person. 

By the light of the matchsticks, the shivering twins dropped to their knees 
and felt around on the floor for some sort of firewood. It was really very 
difficult to see anything: the driving rain had extinguished the flaming 
tree, and no light at all entered through the small, high window of the goat 
shed; and Daisy's souvenir matches, pretty though they were with their 
gilded tips, were no longer than a thumbnail and gave only the tiniest 
pinprick of flickering light. The fifteen year-old girl, who normally would 
have objected to the filth and animal odor of the shed, was luckily infused 
with enough of her former tomboy spirit to keep from complaining even when 
something which sounded suspiciously like a mouse scuttled by inches away 
from her searching fingers. 

Randy, meanwhile, was racking his brain for a solution to their problem. 
Outside the goat shed, the storm was raging harder than ever; it would be 
sheer folly to venture down the mountain. No, they would have to spend the 
night here, unless he could locate the fireplace and some sticks, they would 
be most cold and uncomfortable. For himself it didn't matter so much he was 
certainly no sissy! but poor Daisy was shaking like a leaf and unused to 
such deprivation. 

"Ouch!" Daisy yelped as the two groping youngsters banged into each other in 
the pitch-black darkness. 

All thoughts fled from Randy's mind as he suddenly found his face again 
pressed against the perfumed fragrance of his sister's silky hair and his 
hands touching the pliant mounds of her girlish breasts through the fabric 
of her rain-sodden cotton jacket and light T-shirt. Despite the protective 
garments, he could feel her nipples poking against his fingers, hard and 
round as two little bullets. 

The young boy was so unnerved by the sudden surge of illicit, electric 
excitement which shot through his loins and made his virile adolescent cock 
jump to attention that he lurched clumsily away from his sister and fell 
toward the wall. Some smooth, sharp object grazed his ankle, but for a 
moment he was so overcome with shame that he failed to wonder at what such a 
metallic-feeling object was doing in a goat shed. 

"Oh, Randy! Are you okay?" Daisy cried in a loud whisper. For some reason, 
perhaps because of the eerie horror-story atmosphere of the deserted hut and 
raging storm, the twins had quite unconsciously been speaking in hushed 
undertones ever since entering. 

"Sure, I'm okay," Randy answered in a voice he hoped sounded more unruffled 
and nonchalant than he felt. 

He would just die if his sister knew what a sex-fiend he was! Jesus, being 
so horny all the time was really getting to be a drag, what with wet dreams 
every night and aching hard-ons in the most embarrassing situations. The 
worst of it was that he just didn't seem to have any control over his body 
at all; no matter how sternly he commanded himself to stop looking at the 
nudes in PLAYBOY and PENTHOUSE, or peeping through the "spy-hole" between 
the boy's and girls' locker rooms at school, he just couldn't stop himself. 
And every time he did something like that, he had to jerk off. Lately, after 
chancing to see his sister's well-developed naked figure through the 
"spy-hole", he'd been having flashes of weird, unwanted emotions. Most of 
the time they just argued and kidded around like in the old days, of course, 
but when she put on that little bikini of hers-WOW! 

"Something feels real weird down here," he remarked, forcing his thoughts 
away from the sexual subjects which so obsessed him. "Some kind of metal.. . 
" 

"What? Lemme see!" Daisy hissed, kneeling down on the cold floor beside her 
brother. 

Randy's curious fingers ran exploratory over the object, and as he 
identified it his blood froze in his veins. Guns! Stacks and stacks of guns! 
He was so shocked that, for once, he failed to be unwantedly stimulated by 
the close proximity of his sister's body. These weapons weren't rusty relics 
from the Spanish Civil War they felt brand new! 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

The first crashes of thunder were drowned out by the loud snores of the 
three men sequestered in the hay loft beside Vasilisa Carrero's improvised 
bed. Within minutes, however, the twenty-seven year old woman's dreams were 
invaded by the sounds of the raging storm, and she rolled over restlessly as 
her sleep-fogged eyes focused on the torrential rains pouring down outside 
the small window on the loft of the goat shed. 

Oh no! she wailed in silent despair. NO! Now all the plans are ruined, and 
I'll be stuck here with these dreadful student revolutionaries for God knows 
how long! 

Vasilisa shifted her voluptuous body in irritation, pulling the woolen 
blanket tight across her full breasts and well-rounded hips. The three 
long-haired student rebels-Antonio, Carlos and Jose Angel had still been 
smoking hashish and gulping red wine in the corner of the loft when she'd 
bedded down in the fragrant-smelling straw, so the modest Spanish girl had 
left on her jeans and hand-embroidered blouse. Now, as she twisted and 
turned, the tight-fitting trousers pulled uncomfortably against the 
sensitive crevice between her long, shapely legs, while the shirt strained 
against her unbrassiered breasts. After a quick glance at her companions to 
ascertain that they were sound asleep, Vasilisa slipped her hand beneath the 
blanket and unfastened her jeans and blouse. 

Loosening her clothing made the fair-haired young woman's voluptuous body 
feel more relaxed, but her mood remained as black as ever. Since she'd spent 
her entire life, save for two years at the University of Bilbao, in the 
remote mountains of Spain's Basque country, she knew perfectly well that 
this turbulent storm would turn even the paved roads into an impassible 
confusion of fallen boulders, landslides of mud, and rushing waterfalls. How 
could her husband, Pedro, possibly hope to navigate his heavy "cattle truck" 
up the narrow dirt back roads to pick up the weapons they'd collected? 

Spending one day and one night on the company of these wretched students had 
been one thing, but the thought of sharing this tiny goat hut with them for 
much longer was appalling. The unwashed, drug-addicted youths not only 
displayed little or no dedication or understanding of the Movement, they 
also resented the fact that a woman even if she was the Movement's leader's 
wife was in charge of their weapons mission and was supposed to instruct 
them in proper methods and procedures. Consequently, they were next to 
useless in any practical sense, save from carrying the guns in which they 
were so fascinated. 

like little brats playing war, Vasilisa thought contemptuously, glancing 
toward the three sleeping students again. By the light of the overhead 
lantern, she could make out their straggly beards and unkempt, 
shoulder-length hair. All they want to do is get stoned they don't give a 
serious thought to forming a Basque Republic. Guns are toys to them, and the 
Revolution is just like an American cowboy and Indian movie. Yet they still 
have the nerve to spout off rhetoric about the United States being a 
Capitalist enemy. They can't even try to understand the difference between 
Marxism and independence all they care about is having a chance to make 
bombs and throw stones at policemen. How could Pedro be so blind as to think 
I could possibly teach idiots like this anything at all about the Movement? 

Vasilisa sighed, causing her large breasts to heave up against her 
rough-textured hand-woven blanket and sending her naked nipples into 
automatic tingling erection. Much as she adored her handsome husband, she 
had to admit that he, like most men, was a bit deficient when it came down 
to intuitive appraisal of character. The moment she'd met these three 
characters, she'd felt sure they were superficial dilettantes, immature 
amateurs who were not to be trusted despite their supposed status as 
university leaders. She'd tried to tell Pedro this, but as usual he'd 
resented anyone trying to give him advice. 

Another sigh wracked the young Spanish woman's lushly ripened figure as her 
eyes focused again on the sleeping trio. Although she'd warned them of the 
dangers of smoking in the hay-filled loft, they'd blatantly ignored her and 
lit up their stinking hashish cigarettes. The combination of the powerful 
Turkish narcotic and strong country red wine had soon rocketed them into 
unconsciousness, and they now lay sprawled on top of the hay in their 
American Army Surplus jackets and overpriced genuine Stateside faded jeans. 

Wouldn 't you just know they'd dress like that? Vasilisa scoffed to herself. 
And I bet some rich Papa in Barcelona or Madrid paid for those ridiculous 
clothes! 

The fact that Pedro had been prepared to accept Movement members who weren't 
even true Basques had surprised his young blonde wife. Five years ago he'd 
never have done such a thing! Lately, though, he'd gotten so cynical and 
embittered that he cared more about quantity than quality, and was eager for 
violence-hungry members regardless of their motives. At first she'd tried to 
reason with him, reminding him of the high ideals they'd always shared, but 
her intervention seemed to do more harm than good and finally she'd learned 
to worry and pray in silence. After all, no matter what Pedro did or 
believed, he was her husband and she loved him more than anyone else on the 
earth. 

Just thinking of her absent husband made Vasilisa's healthy young body 
tingle with desire for his passionate caresses. Despite her undone clothing, 
her melon-shaped breasts were tingling again, and an undeniable moisture was 
seeping onto the crotch band of her panties. Forcefully containing her 
impulse to slip her hand down between her quivering thighs and relieve the 
aching tension which was steadily building in her very sensual body, the 
fair-haired Spanish wife clenched her fingers together and held herself 
tense and rigid. 

I'll be seeing Pedro in three days, she told herself. I'll do good work for 
him-put up with these lazy sham revolutionaries and try to teach them the 
Basque language and the customs of the loyal peasants. And I'll pray for the 
strength to resist weak self-indulgence... 

Fingering her rosary between her lust-throbbing breasts, the voluptuous 
Spanish revolutionary fighter fell into a restless sleep. 

* * * 

Due to the howling wind and hard-pounding rain, Vasilisa hadn't heard the 
Muller twins' whispers and stumbling groping for firewood in the goat shed 
below the loft. Even the cry which Daisy let out just as the Spanish 
Movement fighter was dozing off went unheard. 

"Oooohhhhh Randy!" the pretty brunette wailed. "It's a g-g-gun! What're we 
gonna do? Maybe it's a Mafia hideout and they're-" 

"Don't be silly," Randy scoffed, but his voice lacked conviction. "That's in 
Italy, not Spain. This is probably old stuff, or something.. . " 

"It doesn't feel old!" Daisy protested. "Randy, I'm really scared now! Let's 
get outta here!" 

Her brother turned toward the window, took careful note of the flickering 
lightning and booming thunder, and ascertained that it would be virtual 
suicide to venture out into such tempest. Not only were they thinly clad and 
without flashlights, they were also hopelessly lost. 

"No, Sis," he said firmly. "We're better off here. Whoever put this stuff 
here sure isn't gonna come looking for it on a night like this, so we're 
lots better off where it's at least dry. C'mon, let's look for a place to 
build a fire again." 

Swallowing her tears, Daisy did as Randolph had told her. For what seemed an 
eternity of horror, they investigated every nook and cranny of the small, 
very filthy hut, discovering several more piles of weapons in other 
locations. Every second the fearful brunette expected a band of villainous 
murderers to burst in through the door, and all the violent scenes she'd 
ever seen at the movies re-played in vivid detail in her mind. 

Then, just as Randy had given up searching for a fireplace and was 
constructing a boy-scout fire in the middle of the shed, a high-pitched 
scream rose above the roar of the thunderstorm like a slashing sword. Daisy 
grabbed for her brother, her pointed fingernails digging like nails into his 
arm, and for a brief instant they stood frozen in terror. 

In a moment, however, Randy regained his courage. "C'mon, let's see what 
that was," he whispered. "It sounds like some animal hurt in the storm." 

"No, Randy, no!" his sister hissed, half hysterical with fear. "Let's get 
outta here! Pleeezzze!" 

"We can't, Daisy," her twin said, sounding suddenly far more mature than his 
fifteen years. "Maybe it's a hurt animal.. . " 

"Okay, R-Randy," she agreed. "You're right." 

The scream rang out again, but though the young girl shuddered in fear, she 
followed her brother toward the ladder they'd discovered in search for 
firewood. Luckily their eyes were now well enough accustomed to the dark to 
enable them to climb without stumbling, and within minutes Randy was very 
cautiously pushing open the trap door at the top of the ladder. 

Wide-eyed, paralyzed with shock, the innocent American teenagers stared at 
the incredible tableau which was clearly revealed in the lantern-lit loft. 
Neither of the naive youngsters had ever seen anything so lewd in their 
fifteen years, but both knew at once that they were witnessing the most 
forbidden of all unnatural acts RAPE! 

" AAaiieeeee!" a half-naked young woman with a rather beautiful face and a 
flowing mane of honey-gold curls was shrieking. "Get your dirty hands off 
me, you pigs! Don't you dare touch me!" 

"Listen to the bitch giving us orders again," the dark-haired youth with the 
fullest beard and thickest muscles sneered. "I think it's about time we 
taught this phony old-fashioned liberal a lesson, whaddya say, fellows?" 

Naturally, the twins didn't understand a word of this conversation in 
colloquial Spanish, but no translator was necessary to comprehend the men's 
evil intentions as they began ripping away the woman's half-undone clothing. 
The most burly of the males pinned her down with one arm, his broad hand 
pressing against her naked, honey-colored breasts so hard that red welts 
appeared on the sensually full mounds. Daisy, standing just behind her 
brother and gripping his shoulder to keep from falling off the rather shaky 
ladder, felt her own young breasts tingle in involuntary sympathy for the 
desperately writhing blonde. 

"Reeet on! Fucky! Fucky!" the smallest, darkest-complected of the men called 
out in English. His beady dark eyes glinted with an almost maniac light, and 
beads of perspiration stood out on his pimply forehead. 

"Pedro will kill you! KILL YOU!" the brutally pinioned woman cried out as 

Antonio, the heavy-set one, yanked her unbuttoned embroidered blouse from 
her arms and tossed it onto the straw beside them. 

Randolph, who'd studied Spanish for two years in Junior High, understood the 
woman's anguished scream, but he was too obsessed by his own physical 
reaction to the salacious scene to wonder about who "Pedro" might be. To his 
intense self-hatred, his virile young penis was beating an undeniable tattoo 
against his jeans at the sight of the woman's magnificent breasts jouncing 
mere yards from his astonished eyes, and although his better half told him 
he ought to feel sympathy for this abused female, there was another deviate 
emotion blocking the way. Some wicked segment of his character was gloating 
because he knew he was about to witness the mysterious and fascinating act 
of FUCKING. 

"And who gives a damn about Pedro?" slurred the third youth, Jose Angel, who 
was distinguishable from his fellow students by his lighter hair and green 
eyes. "He ain't here, and we are! And like Antonio says, we're gonna show 
you we don't like being bossed around by a goddamn woman!" 

Daisy stifled a gasp of horror as Carlos, the acne-scarred youth, started 
tugging down the struggling blonde's jeans. Though she kicked frantically, 
he managed to pull the trousers away from her, leaving painful-looking red 
scratch marks on her fair-skinned thighs. 

"Fucky! Fucky! Fucky!" the dark-skinned rapist babbled as his lust-frenzied 
hands with their hashish-blackened fingernails tore at the futilely 
resisting female's soft white panties. 

"NO! NO! NO!" screamed Vasilisa as the treasured panties were roughly torn 
from her full-fleshed buttocks. She'd worn these favorite panties tonight 
because she'd expected that Pedro would show up in the early hours of the 
morning and that they would make love on the hillside in the first light of 
dawn. They had been his gift to her last year, on the sixth anniversary of 
their marriage, and were one of her most treasured possessions. To have them 
ripped to shreds by these drug-and-wine-demented animals was simply 
unbearable! 

The three lust-crazed males paid no heed to their victim's frantic cries. 
For several weeks now, ever since they'd fallen in with Pedro at a 
demonstration in Barcelona, they'd dreamed of ravishing the fair-skinned 
Basque beauty whose attitude of conceited superiority was so insufferably 
irksome. Now, after waking from their drug-induced slumber and smoking 
another joint or two, they had no intention of relinquishing the most 
desirable female any of them had ever had a chance to touch. 

"Pigs! Traitors!" Vasilisa wailed, her voice desperate as she realized her 
helplessness. "You'll be sorry! You'll pay for this!" 

"Ya think so, baby?" the acne-blemished Carlos, who was panting with 
excitement as he yanked off the lovely Basque patriot's flimsy nylon-lace 
panties, yelled out. "What's the matter. Ya think you're too good for us?" 

"Yeah!" the stout Antonio echoed, his large hands gripping Vasilisa's full 
breasts so fiercely that the helpless young wife winced in pain. "She thinks 
she's too good for anyone but that damn Pedro. Hell, we'll show her. We 
believe in free love, don't we, guys? And so will this damn bitch, once 
we're done with her!" 

In fact, the three students were much more deeply affiliated with the 
so-called "Playboy Philosophy" than they were with any idea of Basque 
Independence. .Although they'd only seen two battered issued of the 
government-banned magazine, they were firmly convinced that the ideal 
existence was one where one had enough money for all the intoxicatingly 
attractive products advertised on PLAYBOY'S pages, plus enough gorgeous 
females to feed their omnivorous male egos. In their drugged brains, they 
managed to feel that they were being Hefner heros in their present 
uncivilized activity. 

Now the sobbing, honey-blonde rebel was completely naked, her Junoesque body 
glowing like burnished bronze in the dim light of the overhead lamp. Even 
though she was held down squirming and struggling like a madwoman, the 
astonished twins were actuely aware of her rare beauty, her ultra-feminine 
sensuality. 

like the majority of her Basque race, Vasilisa looked more Scandinavian than 
Spanish. Her figure was tall and proud as that of a Valkyrie maiden with 
magnificent breasts rising above the graceful indentation of her waist. 
Though there was not an ounce of superfluous flesh on her richly curving 
hips and milk-white ass-cheeks, they were as seductive as any pinup girl 
young Randolph Muller had ever seen, and her long, shapely legs were also 
the ultimate in female provocativeness. Best of all, as far as the 
inexperienced youth was concerned, was the golden "vee" of her pubic curls, 
beneath which he could catch tantalizing glimpses of pinkly glistening 
cuntal flesh as she kicked and thrashed out against her attackers. 

Hiking in the steep mountains and conscientious adherence to a regime of 
daily exercises, simple food, and no alcohol had left the twenty-seven year 
old Spanish girl is top-notch physical condition, but even with this 
advantage over her drug-and-alcohol disoriented assailants, she was no match 
for their combined brute strength. Nevertheless, even when it was obvious 
that she was resisting in vain, the proud young married woman never ceased 
calling out insults and making every possible effort to squirm away from the 
three sets of hands which pawed at her naked figure as though picking at 
fruit in a market stall. 

"Hold her feet, Carlos!" the heaviest of the males barked to his dark-haired 
companion, and the sadistic youth obeyed with obvious pleasure. "And you, 
Jose, grab the bitch's hands before she scratches my eyes out! Now I'll 
teach Pedro's precious wife what fucking's all about! Before I'm done with 
her, she'll be begging for more!" 

"NEVER!" Vasilisa screamed out. 

"That so, bitch?" sneered Antonio, and then his large, filthy-nailed hand 
shot out and struck her across the face so hard that she gasped in pain. 

Daisy Muller winced as she saw the poor woman's cheek turn crimson, and then 
shivered in horror as the cruel male took hold of both her soft pink nipples 
and pinched them with all his might between his thumb and forefinger. 
Grinning like a devil, he shouted over his shoulder to Carlos, "Spread her 
legs, will ya! As wide as ya can!" 

Oh no! Daisy thought in a daze of disbelief. No! They're not. . . Oh God, 
hell split her in two! 

Then, as she watched the despicable Antonio yank down his jeans and kneel 
between the whimpering blonde's wide-splayed thighs with his massive penis 
brandished in one hand, she clutched her brother's arm so tightly that her 
fingernails dug like needles into his skin. She'd never seen a man's penis 
before now, and when she'd felt her boyfriend Billy's erection through his 
trousers, it hadn't seemed anywhere near as large as this man's mammoth, 
purple-red cudgel. He couldn't really intend to insert that thickly 
throbbing thing in the blonde's tiny vagina it would kill her for sure! 

Even Randy was astonished at the size of the dark-skinned rapist's cock. He 
felt his sister's fingers gripping his arm and knew he ought to take her 
back down the ladder, for certainly this lewd sight was nothing for an 
innocent young girl to watch. Somehow, though, his traitorous feet simply 
refused to respond to the command of his conscience. He remained rooted to 
the spot, his eyes glued to the salacious spectacle taking place yards away 
in the hay loft. 

Vasilisa was still murmuring, "no...no...no...." in a hopeless voice that 
trembled with despair, but she had given up her futile struggles against the 
drugged youths. Tears of shame and humiliation welled up in her large green 
eyes as she fought to hold back sobs of fear. She didn't want to give these 
cruel beasts the satisfaction of knowing how much they were hurting her, and 
she realized instinctively that they were sadistic enough to torture her 
even more if they knew what anguish she was experiencing. Clenching her eyes 
shut, she shuddered in disgust as she felt the burly Antonio's throbbing 
virility graze ominously against her helpless feminine flesh. 

I hate them! she thought fiercely. They can use me in whatever horrible way 
they choose, but they'll never have the satisfaction of seeing me excited 
from their filthy cocks! And when I tell Pedro about this, they'll be sorry 
they ever dared violate a Basque Woman! He'll kill them for it! 

Resolutely ignoring the shameful dampness welling up inside her 
automatically responsive cuntal channel, the prideful young revolutionist 
gritted her teeth and held her body as rigid as an iron rod. Her nostrils 
quivered in disgust at the disagreeable odor of the slovenly student rebel's 
skin, but then that minor irritant was erased from her mind as, with the 
triumphant cry of a conquering caveman, Antonio rammed his blood-swollen 
thickness halfway up into her tensed and cringing vagina. 

"Aaannmnhhhhhhhh!" the impaled Spanish girl shrieked, forgetting in the 
agony of the moment that she'd vowed not to display her anguish. "Noooooooo! 
Plleeezzzeeee noooooo!" 

She'd thought Pedro was large, though of course, as a good Catholic, she'd 
never been with another man and therefore had no standard of comparison. But 
this mercilessly burgeoning male weapon would surely split her in two! 
Never, even when she'd been kicked and beaten by the police during a 
demonstration in Barcelona, had she felt such excruciating pain! 

Daisy was shuddering like a leaf in a gale by now as she gaped in 
open-mouthed horror at the inhuman plundering of the shrieking woman's 
lovely body. Oh God, what if it were she lying there under the brutal 
monster? It was too dreadful even to think about! 

"Tightest little cunt I ever felt!" grunted out the sex-crazed Spanish 
youth. "Wait till you feel this, fellas!" 

The other two young men grinned with lascivious envy as they watched their 
friend's oversized cock-shaft grinding slowly but surely all the way to the 
hilt inside the wailing woman's gold-fringed cunt. After all the times she'd 
treated them with contempt while flaunting her seductive curves as though 
they weren't even men. revenge was sweet. As soon as Antonio finished with 
her, they knew it would be their turn to vent their pent-up passion on her 
hapless body, and they gripped her ankles and wrists with vise-like force in 
hungry anticipation. 

For a seemingly endless minute the burly Spaniard's turgid penis remained 
buried in the pain-wracked girl's tight-walled cuntal passage, his unwashed 
figure hunched over her like a mongrel over a bitch in heat. Then, ignoring 
her whimpers of unendurable anguish, he slowly and torturously withdrew the 
gleaming, thick-veined shaft and teased it against the puckering brown 
orifice of her virginal anus. 

"Which hole, bitch?" he taunted, squeezing her full breasts so fiercely that 
red welts rose on their ivory-white flesh. "In the ass or the cunt? Anyway 
ya like it, I'm willing to oblige!" 

Vasilisa's huge green eyes grew glassy with fear. "You pig!" she hissed 
through chattering teeth. "You perverted, filthy swine! Y-you " 

Before the horrified blonde could finish spitting out her heartfelt 
invective, the two males holding down her arms and legs had exchanged a 
glance, removed one hand from their pinioned victim's limbs, and yanked down 
their zippers. Jose Angel's phallic weapon, shorter than Antonio's but 
thicker and throbbing in crazed carnal lust, swung menacingly above the 
wild-eyed woman's fear-contorted face. Simultaneously, the thin, 
acne-scarred Carlos leapt forward with his slender but obscenely elongated 
rod of purplish flesh thrusting from his loins like the trunk of a young 
sapling. 

The fair-haired revolutionary let out a strangled gasp of terror at the 
sight of the two additional cocks, but her frantic cry went unheard as the 
panting Carlos wheezed out in a passion-distorted tone: "No fair, Antonio! 
You can't have everything for yourself! You ain't no better then us, and 
we're not lettin' you get away with that shit!" 

The thickset Antonio paused with his inhumanly-sized penis all set to ram 
back down into Vasilisa's delightfully tight vagina, glanced from one of his 
companions to the other, then shrugged. A slack-lipped smirk distorted his 
coarse-featured face to a mask of uncivilized lust as he flipped Vasilisa's 
naked body over on top of him with such brute strength that the wind was 
knocked from her lungs and she could not even voice her protests. 

"Sure, man," he nodded toward Carlos. "What the hell let's fuck her in both 
holes at the same time! That'll show her! and you, Jose why don'tcha ram 
your prick down her throat? That'll make her shut up, all right!" 

The other two lost no time in complying with Antonio's obscene suggestion. 
Without even bothering to pull off their dirt-stained jeans, the two sex-mad 
student rebels lurched into position, Jose pressing his blood-bloated 
cock-head against the cringing circle of Vasilisa's never-before-violated 
rectum, while the sadistic Carlos moved forward so that his pulsating male 
thickness was scant inches away from her horror-contorted face. It was an 
impossibly lurid scene, and the watching Muller twins nearly fell off the 
ladder in their intense reaction to it. 

Daisy, who'd never even suspected that such hideous practices existed, felt 
as though she were going to faint. She clutched harder than ever to her twin 
brother, unwittingly increasing his discomfort as she pressed her 
warm-fleshed young body against his side. Yet, regardless of her very real 
disgust and sympathy, the naive teenaged brunette could not escape the 
gnawing realization that an unwanted emotion was teasing at her sensitive 
young body. Much as she tried to ignore the damning evidence of the 
dampening stickiness down between her trembling legs, she was unable to do 
so. 

Randy, beside her, was suffering from perhaps even stronger pangs of guilt 
and arousal. As he watched the three glistening male cocks fucking into the 
limply unresisting female, he felt his own uncontrollable adolescent penis 
jerk into an unbidden erection. It pulsated alarmingly against last-year's 
too-tight blue jeans, and he was very worried that his innocent twin would 
notice his sinful physical response. 

Completely oblivious to the two American tourists peering through the 
slightly open trap door, the three drug-driven Spanish hoodlums relished 
their triple-ravishment of the formerly proud and aloof young woman. Their 
eyes glowed with vindictive excitement as they gaped at each others' 
blood-distended flesh cudgels pounding into each and every enterable orifice 
of her voluptuous body, and in their brutal self-indulgence they never gave 
a thought to her physical anguish and mental despair. The moment her 
agonized whimpers began to assume a quite unconscious note of obscene 
encouragement, however, they pricked up their ears. 

"Noooo! Nooooo! Noooooo!" Vasilisa gurgled around one pummeling cock-shaft 
in a voice which carried absolutely no conviction. Even the innocent 
children spying on the scene could sense that she was being "turned on" by 
the inhuman three-man rape. "Noooooo...oooohhhhh...aaaahhhhhh...." 

"Getta look at that, guys!" gloated the brutish Antonio, accelerating the 
tempo of his rampaging strokes in order to meet the rhythm of Carlos's 
viciously ramming penis in the girl's violated virginal anus. "Pedro's 
goody-goody little wife's nothin' but a hot-ass whore after all!" 

Vasilisa's ears registered the lewd words, but they made no impression at 
all on her brain. Her mind, in an automatic attempt to protect her sanity, 
had turned completely blank save for the spasms of masochistic pleasure and 
pain issuing from her cock-stuffed mouth, burning anus, and cock-skewered 
vagina. 

Needless to say, none of the five other person's involved in the lascivious 
display could have cared less why Vasilisa was unexpectedly mewling in lewd, 
husky excitation and undulating her perspiration-streaked torso between the 
two sandwiching males like an out-of-control automated doll. As for the 
three rapists, they had no room for any other thought than that their 
overburdened testicles were about to explode in relief-giving eruptions of 
thick hot cum. Randolph and Daisy Muller, fascinated in spite of their 
better natures, were blind to anything save their own indecent arousals. 

The mindlessly impassioned Basque beauty was thrashing so wantonly now that 
her waist length golden mane was a sluttish tangle of matted, straw-studded 
waves. Her husband Pedro would never have recognized her face with its 
vacantly glazed eyes and cheeks bulging around the plunging cock of young 
Jose Angel, but by now Vasilisa's mind was cleared of all thoughts of 
marriage, of the Movement. All that mattered was the surging wave of 
oncoming orgasm that shuddered through her masochistically rejoicing loins, 
the forbidden ecstasy of being compelled to join in the most immoral acts 
possible perversions of which she'd subconsciously wondered, but had never, 
never expected to experience. 

"Oh Christ!" groaned Jose as the wildly aroused blonde sucked his thickly 
throbbing cock as far into her velvet-soft mouth as she was able. "I'm gonna 
cum!" 

The brown-haired Barcelona student had never performed oral sex before 
tonight, nice Spanish girls not being willing to indulge in such activities. 
He'd read about fellatio in his beloved PLAYBOY magazine and had been 
dreaming about it ever since, so it was no wonder that his orgasm arrived 
with lightning speed now that he found his most delirious daydreams being 
fulfilled. 

"Fucky! Fucky! Fucky!" grunted Carlos in his cold, cruel voice as he pounded 
into the mindlessly mewling female's butter-smooth anus. The drug-dazed 
youth could feel his lengthy hardness rubbing repeatedly against his friend 
Antonio's huge penis, with only a thin membrane of feminine flesh separating 
their invading cudgels, and he gloried in the debasement of the once-proud 
Basque woman, although he, too, sensed his pent-up cum boiling wildly in his 
bloated balls, he gritted his teeth and vowed to hold back his climax as 
long as possible in order to inflict as much punishment on Vasilisa as he 
could. Hell, who knew when he'd get another chance like this one? Probably 
never, because most girls wouldn't even so much as look at him on account of 
his pimply complexion and skinny build. 

"Ya goddamn bitch!" he growled, venting his fury against the bad hand the 
world had dealt him, on the helplessly inflamed female. "Fucky! Fucky! Ya 
dirty slut!" 

Suddenly, despite Carlos' ill-motivated efforts at self-control, he felt the 
first white-hot streams of semen surging from his blood-engorged balls up 
the long shaft of his rampaging penis. The fiery jets of fluid splashed deep 
down inside the sex-stunned young woman's unnaturally violated anal passage, 
searing her sensitive inner tissues with its viscous flow of heated male 
fluid, and for one unwelcome moment she came to her senses and recognized 
the debauched reality of her situation. 

"Noooooo! It can't be true!" her mind screamed in an agony of self-loathing. 
"Oh, God, nooooooooo!" 

Antonio, his own impatient penis ignited by the sensation of his companion's 
swiftly spurting sperm, let out a primitive shout as his own cum welled up 
in his lust-glutted testicles and spewed in an unrelenting stream of liquid 
fire all the way to the piteously sobbing woman's womb. 

"AARRRGGHHHHH!" he howled, and Randy Muller, mere yards away, was reminded 
of the movie about wild wolves which he'd seen in Survival Course. 
"UUUURRNNNNGGG!" 

As Vasilisa had regained her senses, she tried desperately to pull her 
wide-stretched lips away from the thick shaft of illicit male flesh plunging 
in and out of her ballooning cheeks. She felt the two shameful streams of 
life-giving seed gushing up into her ravaged cuntal and rectal passages, and 
panicked at the depraved thought that the cock ramming so ruthlessly into 
her bruised and aching mouth would explode its hot load of cum right down 
her virgin throat. 

"Oh no you don't!" Jose grunted angrily as the blonde attempted to jerk her 
face away from his lust-swollen penis. "Get back here, ya bitch, 'cause I'm 
just ready to shoot my cum down your gullet, an' I wanna see ya gulp it 
down!" 

Rough hands tangled in the helpless young revolutionary's golden curls, 
pushing her face so close to the hotly aroused student's groin that hairs 
tickled at her nostrils and his conquering cock plunged so deep into her 
mouth that she thought she would gag. Then, even as the twin jets of 
scalding sperm continued to splash into her violated anus and vagina, a 
third ejaculation of sticky, acrid-tasting cum gushed into the ravished 
young woman's mouth. 

Vasilisa gave up. Once again, she lapsed back into the semi-conscious state 
of mindless, animal reaction and let her highly sensuous body rocket her 
into an unwanted but uncontrollable orgasm. The triple stimulation, plus the 
masochistic thrill of behaving in the most depraved way possible, was too 
much for even the proud young revolutionary to resist, and soon her 
high-pitched wails of ecstatic release were mingling with the three males' 
groans and yelps of satisfaction to form an obscene chorus of sensual 
abandon. 

"AAAgggghhh," she gurgled around the turgid thickness impaled between her 
lips. "Yyeeeaaahhhhh! I'm cummmmiinnngg!" 

Daisy and Randy Muller, if they'd had their wits about them, ought to have 
backed quietly down the ladder while the wantonly entangled quartet in the 
loft still moaned and thrashed in the throes of their climatic euphoria. 
Both twins, however, were too caught up in the sinful display of wild, 
unfettered sensuality to think of anything save their own shamefully 
responding bodies. Mesmerized, they watched the salacious spectacle with 
their hearts thudding against their ribs and their eyes bugging from their 
sockets, never removing their gaze from the spasming blonde woman's triply 
impaled loins. 

At last, the four orgiasts fell away from each other, their spent and 
satiated bodies sprawling in the hay as they struggled to catch their 
breath. In the sudden silence, the eavesdropping teenagers' trance-like 
fascination was blotted out by fear, and they scarcely dared to breathe for 
fear they would be overheard. The evil spell of lascivious carnality faded, 
leaving them chastened and afraid as they peered at each other in the 
darkness. 

How could I ever have let myself watch such an evil thing? Daisy agonized in 
silent shame. Her wide brown eyes roved once more over the defiled blonde's 
curvaceous figure, and she shuddered in disgust at the sight of the thin 
tendrils of drying semen which had trickled onto her perfectly molded thighs 
and the trembling white half-moons of her buttocks. Even her lovely face and 
tawny mane of silky dark gold hair were streaked and smeared with the vile 
secretions of her loathsome attackers, and her melon-like breasts were 
scratched and bruised. 

A wave of nausea passed over the innocent fifteen year-old as for the first 
time in her sheltered life the cold wind of reality blew through her brain. 
Life was not, after all, an ordered and understandable affair with clear-cut 
rules which, if one adhered to them, would assure one's happiness and 
well-being. No...there were strange and incomprehensible forces at work in 
the universe...and there were amoral individuals such as these three 
dreadful Spaniards who made their own rules and imposed their bestial 
desires on innocent fellow humans... 

One last time, Daisy focused her blurring vision on the sloppily sprawled 
foursome. The men's horrible...things...had deflated to a quarter of their 
former dimensions, but nevertheless a second rush of sickness surged over 
the pretty adolescent. It suddenly occurred to her that Daddy's and brother 
Randy's...things...must look like that, and that even Billy 
Buford's...thing...which had swelled so mysteriously beneath her gingerly 
caressing fingers that night in the vacant lot, was a potential weapon 
capable of inflicting terror and pain. Until now, she'd thought of sex as 
something exciting, but rather unreal. She'd never let any of her boyfriends 
go too far, for she was shrewd enough to deduce that the sort of girls who 
did that never became Class Colors Chairman or were admitted to the College 
of Their Choice. Instead, they got married in a quick ceremony across the 
state border no sumptuous weddings with white lace gowns and receptions at 
the country club for them. 

How, however, the trembling Muller girl dimly realized that some strange and 
compelling force, far more powerful than the dictates of middle-class 
morality, existed in the human soul. She didn't understand the disconcerting 
emotions surging inside her didn't even think she wanted to understand them. 
All at once, she only wanted to get away from this scene of carnal 
brutality. 

Letting go of her brother's arm, she began to back carefully down the 
rickety ladder. Unfortunately, her legs felt as though her bones were made 
of foam rubber, and on the second rung down her knees gave out and she 
tumbled down to the dirt floor of the hut with a shrill cry of fear. 

Daisy's head struck the edge of a wooden orange crate filled with ammunition 
and the world went black before her eyes. She never saw her brother rush 
down the steps toward her inert figure, never saw the powerful flashlights 
focusing on them as the three Spanish men hurtled down the ladder with their 
pants still unzipped. Not until she regained consciousness twenty minutes or 
so later and found her hands bound behind her back with a leather belt and a 
shotgun aimed at her head did she realize what a serious predicament she and 
her twin brother had unwittingly gotten themselves into. 

"Sissy's wakin' up!" the thin, acne-scarred one called Carlos, smirked. "Now 
the fun begins!" 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Randolph's first reaction, on seeing his twin sister open her eyes at last, 
was one of relief that she was at last coming out of her trance. Then, as 
the sadistic Carlos's words echoed in his ears, an icy wave of fear once 
again flooded through his veins. 

"D-Daisy!" he cried, his voice trembling with intensity. "Are you okay?" 

The pretty teenager shook her chestnut curls dazedly, not sure whether or 
not she was still dreaming. Her half-open brown eyes flickered from the 
ominously glinting steel weapon to her brother's bruised and bloodied face, 
and she managed a very shaky smile. 

"I-I'm okay, I guess," she murmured. Then, as a sudden shooting pain raced 
from her ankle up through every nerve ending in her manacled body, she 
added, "B-but I think I hurt m-my ankle a little.... " 

"Shut up, kid!" barked Antonio, who stood holding a gun at the young boy. 
His English was deplorable to the point of being comical he had learned it 
from American films, mostly Westerns but neither of the twins felt like 
laughing as they fell silent and stared at each other in hopeless despair. 

"Now maybe Sissy here'll tell us the truth," hissed the beady-eyed Carlos. 
He spoke the best English of the three, having spent six months as an 
American Field Service exchange student in Phillipsburg, New Jersey, in the 
days when he'd been a dutiful son and conscientious student the days before 
he'd discovered marijuana and fallen in with a wild, revolutionary crowd. 
"Maybe she'll cooperate better than her brother, if she don't want a bloody 
nose like he got! Or worse...." 

"Don't you dare touch my sister!" Randy burst out, "Don't you d-" 

His impetuous outburst was quickly and effectively stilled by a rather 
vicious blow on the mouth from the burly Antonio. 

"Shut up, kid!" the ruthless rebel commanded, delighting in his sense of 
power. "Up against the wall!" 

Again, no one appreciated the humorous aspect of Antonio's English-speaking 
talents. Daisy was blinking back hot tears as she watched a thin trickle of 
blood thread its way from her twin brother's trembling mouth down over his 
chin, and Randy himself was wallowing in acute pangs of pain as he nudged 
his tongue against his aching front teeth. 

"C'mon, girlie!" sneered the sadistic Carlos, his snake-like black eyes 
glittering evilly as he swiped out one dirty hand to tweak the tiny 
protuberance of Daisy's left nipple through her clothes. "Tell us what 
you're doin' here! Who're ya workin' for, huh?" 

The tears began to fall in earnest from the Muller girl's large brown eyes 
as she felt the disrespectful pinch on her private, personal feminine flesh. 

"D-d-don't touch m-me th-there," she stuttered, trying desperately to regain 
control of her emotions. 

"Listen, girlie," Carlos threatened, twisting her other nipple harshly 
between his thumb and forefinger. "If ya don't tell us what your goddamn 
story is, I'll touch ya wherever I please...." 

A violent shudder of fear surged through the innocent American tourist's 
youthful loins at the cruel Spanish man's taunt, and she glanced at her twin 
in confusion. What should she do? What could she say? Apparently Randy, whom 
she considered as being far more clever than herself, although in fact their 
I.Q.'s were only three points apart, had thought it advisable to remain 
silent. But...but...oh, God, she was so afraid of what these inhuman 
monsters might do to her. 

What if they did the same things to me that we saw them do to that poor 
blonde lady up in the hayloft? Daisy asked herself in silent terror. I 
couldn't bear it! I'd die, I'm sure I would! And if Randy tried to stop 
them, they might shoot him or something! 

As though Carlos was reading his quivering hostage's thoughts, he remarked, 
"You see what we done to Vasilisa, yes? And to you maybe we do the same, if 
you no cooperate!" 

This can't be happening! Daisy's tortured mind wailed. What had happened to 
the tidy, cozy world of Schenectady with its graduation dances and 
going-steady rings and civilized, elm-lined streets? That was where she and 
Randy belonged, not here in this dirty, rank-smelling hut with three 
gun-wielding madmen. Guns! They were something one saw on the television! 
They didn't really exist! 

But, unfortunately for the Muller twins, guns and outlaws and tumultuous 
mountain storms were all too real. Even as the terrified brunette's thoughts 
turned back to her faraway hometown, she felt the chilling butt of a pistol 
pressing directly against the cleavage between her budding adolescent 
breasts. 

"Talk, bitch!" ordered Carlos, and his friends nodded in approval of his 
savage tactics. The underdeveloped, unattractive student was, they 
perceived, not at all incompetent despite his blemished skin and 
thin-muscled limbs. Satanic glints sparkled in the dark eyes of both Jose 
Angel and Antonio as they watched their companion run one dirt-encrusted 
finger down over the girl's tight-fitting T-shirt until it teased at the 
zipper of her denim jeans. 

'Talk, talk!" Carlos repeated, his ego swelling as he realized that his 
compatriots were admiring his vehemence. "Who is it you work for, girlie? 
You tell Carlos, or down come your pants!" 

By now, Daisy was shaking like a frail flower in a gale. Dizzily, she 
ascertained that Randy hadn't wanted to tell these loathsome men about their 
parents, so she tried to go along with his story. 

"W-w-we were j-just-" she stammered, her teeth chattering so much that she 
could barely speak, "J-just-" 

"Spit it out, girlie!" spat her cold-blooded captor, tickling the gun 
against sensitive flesh between her ripe-apple-sized breasts as he continued 
to finger the zipper fastening of her trousers. "We are in a hurry, yes!" 

"J-just v-visiting the m-monastery on top of the m-mountain," Daisy blurted 
out, her eyes narrowing in fear and her normally rosy complexion blanched 
the color of flour. "And it began to rain, so w-we came in here. We-we 
didn't s-see anything, really! Pl-please, pleeeezzzzeeee let us leave." 

"No, we won't say anything!" Randy chimed in, bravely ignoring the gun 
pointed at his throat. "We didn't see nothing, okay?" 

"Shut up, kid!" Antonio cried. 

Randy fell silent as the ice-cold pistol pressed against his Adam's apple, 
but his eyes sought his sister's and sent her silent encouragement. That 
horrible, greasy Spanish guy's hand still lingered over his innocent twin 
sister's pussy mound, but though he burned with unutterable fury, he was 
helpless to act with a gun pressed to his jugular vein. 

"You think we believe lies like that?" Carlos's thin lips curled up over his 
teeth as he spoke. "Babies like you, you are just hiking through the 
mountains, yes? All alone? Hah! Now you tell me, little bitch where are the 
others? Who sent you here?" 

The Muller girl's entire body froze in terror as the leering Spaniard's hand 
slid the zipper of her hip-hugger jeans down a couple of inches. 

"No one sent us here!" she wailed, half hysterical as she gazed at her 
undone trousers and remembered the brutal three-way rape she and her brother 
had just witnessed. "M-Mom's guidebook said there was a castle, and then it 
started r-raining-" 

"Mom, huh?" Carlos interrupted. "And Daddy, also, I guess, no?" He paused 
for a second, his viperous eyes glinting with a shrewd, speculative light. 
"And where are they, girlie? WHERE!? " His hand inched the helpless 
teenager's jeans down far enough so that he was gazing in hungry desire at 
her dainty pink-flowered panties. 

"D-down in the v-v-valley," stammered Daisy, her cheeks turning crimson as 
she realized that the three males were all staring with avid interest at her 
private undergarment. The hand sliding toward her never-before-touched pussy 
was, she noted distractedly, creased with dirt and topped with filthy, 
ragged fingernails. 

"Down in the valley!" Carlos repeated sarcastically. "What sort of answer do 
you give me? This is a mountain, no? And there are valleys on all sides. 
Where, you leetle bitch? Where?" 

Randy, crouching in tied-down impotence mere yards from his disrespectfully 
pawed twin sister, turned white as the skinny, evil-eyed Spaniard jerked his 
sister's bell-bottom denim pants down so far that they bunched around her 
thighs and the softly rounded plane of her rosebud-patterned panty crotch 
band. I have to do something to protect her! he told himself, ignoring the 
nagging voice that sang out from the back of his brain: "Maybe, just maybe, 
I'll see Daisy naked again tonight.. . " 

Over and above his sense of responsibility toward his twin sister, Randolph 
Muller was, despite the incongruity of his present dangerous surroundings, 
unable to stem the guilty memory of the first time he'd seen his fifteen 
year-old sister without any clothes on. In fact, she looked quite the same 
naked as in her just-barely-decent bikini; it was the things she was doing 
to her ripe young body that had affixed the memory in his brain for, he felt 
certain, the rest of his life. 

It had been the night of the Graduation Dance. Randy, whose date had refused 
to so much as kiss him good-night and had hurt his pride very badly by 
remarking, "Well, Muller, you're a cute guy, but you're awful prissy. I 
mean, I never make it with guys who ask me for a kiss I like them when they 
just go ahead and do it, y'know!? " 

Well, now, two weeks later, at another time and in another country, Randy 
wasn't giving much thought to his bottle-blonde ex-girl friend. He was, 
however, suffering from vivid recollections of how, as he'd lain smarting 
with indignation and sexual frustration in his bedroom, he'd seen the night 
light flick on in his sister's bedroom beyond the adjoining bathroom and had 
felt simultaneously angry and envious as he heard her singing the current 
Top-of-the-Pops song under her breath while she washed her face and changed 
into her nightie. 

Randy had sat up slowly, guiltily. Of course he wasn't spying...he hadn't 
left the bathroom door open intentionally...and who could blame him for 
being distracted by the ray of bright golden light which shimmered past the 
half-ajar door? Of course he could have shut the door, or closed his 
eyes...but, well, what the hell, he had looked and the sight he had seen had 
haunted him ever since. 

Daisy, after carefully removing her pink tulle evening gown, had stood in 
front of her floor-length mirror and stared at her youthfully voluptuous 
figure. Her slender white fingers, which had, mere hours before, presented 
the class gift at the graduation ceremonies, now brushed over her lace 
brassiere and then over her matching lace bikini panties. As Randy watched, 
his heart thudding in his throat, she'd lowered the tiny panties down over 
her gently swelling thighs and had eased a hesitant finger toward the 
moistly glistening pink flanges of her curl-fringed vaginal lips. 

He was ashamed to remember what he'd done next, but it had happened and 
there was no use denying it. Stealthily, silently, he'd crept toward the 
inch-wide crack in the bathroom door and had watched just as they had 
watched tonight the obscenely intimate sight of his twin sister fingering 
herself into a state of sexual near-climax. 

Just as he'd been sure she was about to explode inwardly, for she was bent 
over and moaning in an inhuman, unintelligible way, the telephone had rung. 
She'd jumped guiltily, as he had, and had rushed toward the pastel blue 
Princess phone on her bedside table. Then, after a hasty whispered 
conversation, she'd switched off the light so that her frustrated brother 
could hear her stirring restlessly beneath the bedclothes, but could not see 
what she was doing. 

But now, the fantasizing teenager's erotic reverie was interrupted by a loud 
burst of sobs from his twin sister. With her usually immaculate clothes 
stained and rumpled, her dark hair hanging in tangles around her shoulders, 
and her face red and vulnerable from weeping, Daisy no longer looked like 
the fine young lady she normally did. Rather, she looked like quite a little 
girl who felt ill at ease in her incongruously developed woman's body, and 
Randy felt more ashamed than ever for his perverted daydream. 

"Leave me alone! LEAVE ME ALONE!" Daisy wailed in a burst of hysteria. "We 
didn't do anything to you how come you're treating us like this?! And I 
DON'T KNOW where Mom and Daddy are. We're lost! LOST! Don't you understand 
that?! " 

Even the malevolent Carlos was a bit taken aback by the vehemence of the 
young girl's reaction. With a contemptuous flick of his dirt-encrusted 
fingers, he yanked her jeans back up to her waist, but he neither zipped 
them up nor removed the pistol butt from between the straining, heaving 
mounds of her ripe young breasts. She'd spoken so quickly and tearfully that 
he really hadn't understood any of her words besides "lost" and "leave me 
alone", but as he glowered at her childish face and listened to her shrill, 
little-girl voice, a ghost of a plan began to formulate inside his quick, 
devious brain. 

The kid must be a virgin! She was too young not to be, of that he felt 
certain. He, Carlos, had never been with a fresh, unused female the concept 
of pre-marital sex still being most unacceptable in Spain and here was the 
chance of his lifetime. But how was he going to get at her before his two 
bigger friends did? True, they were treating him with a new respect at the 
moment, but he was all too aware that it was an appreciation of his 
intellectual and verbal abilities which did not extend into the physical 
sphere. Especially Antonio would never sit by and watch another man crack 
the cherry of a wonderful prize like this shapely American teenager. 

"You shut the mouth or I shut it for you!" he threatened Daisy, who made an 
effort to stifle her sobs. Then Carlos' beady, snake-like eyes turned toward 
his compatriots. "I got an idea," he said in Spanish. "I think we can make 
ourselves some money here. We'll have another pipe of hashish and talk it 
over...." 

* * * 

The three not-very-dedicated "revolutionaries" sat talking and smoking far 
into the night, their speech growing progressively more slurred and 
perfunctory as they refilled the pipe again and again. At first, Randolph 
attempted to comprehend what they were saying, but soon the air in the 
unventilated hut grew so thick with sense-numbing smoke that his head began 
to swim and his eyelids to feel as heavy as though they had been weighted 
with lead. He didn't really recognize that he was stoned, for un-like many 
of the kids at school he'd never experimented with narcotics. The coach had 
given the team a stern lecture on the subject, and even though lots of guys 
made fun of him, he cared more about the prestige he gained from his 
swimming and basketball skills than he did about drugs. 

Kidnap! he thought hazily as his eyes drifted shut. They're gonna kidnap us. 
. . He was surprised to find that he felt no panic upon overhearing this 
shocking information, and that he could sleep at a moment of such intense 
danger, but even as the thought crossed his mind he was falling into a deep, 
drugged sleep. 

Daisy, who had smoked grass several times, realized that this substance was 
something quite different from the stuff she and her girlfriends had had. 
That grass had made them feel giggly, unreserved, and very hungry; but this 
acrid-smelling smoke was entirely different, and so powerful that even 
though she'd not inhaled it directly, she was nauseated and confused. 
Although it frightened her, she was simultaneously relieved to escape from 
the nightmarish hell in which she found herself, if only for a few hours. 

The children were still sleeping when the gray light of dawn crept in 
through the hut's single window, and the three drugged students continued to 
snore. In the loft above, however, Vasilisa awoke with the first rays of the 
sun, as usual. For a brief instant she felt pleasure at the sight of the 
orange ball of the sun rising up between two nearby mountains into a 
perfectly cloudless sky, but then the previous night's events returned in a 
horrifying rush. Shuddering, she ran one trembling hand down over her 
cum-matted pussy and sperm-stained thighs and recalled every hideous detail 
of her humiliating triple rape. Well, today, if the sun stayed bright and 
dried up the hills, Pedro would arrive with the truck and punish the 
dissolute sham Movement members. Revenge would be sweet. . . 

As she lay in the sweet-smelling hay of the loft watching the sun's 
ascension into the clear blue heavens, Vasilisa suddenly remembered what had 
taken place after her heinous assailants had finished with her helplessly 
violated body. There had been someone down in the bottom room of the goat 
hut! The three males had tumbled down the ladder, and though she now 
recognized with a pang of guilt that she should have accompanied them, her 
natural reaction had been to fasten the loft's trap door behind them so that 
they could not bother her again. Then, sobbing silently, she'd fallen into a 
deep, nightmare-wracked slumber. 

Who could have been down there? she asked herself as she stood up and 
plucked her discarded clothing from the hay. Some shepherd lost in the 
storm, maybe. . .I hope nothing worse. And I hope Pedro won't be angry with 
me for not going down those three louts can't handle anything without 
botching it up but I just couldn't. 

The hayloft had a separate exit leading onto the hillside behind the hut, so 
Vasilisa did not have to climb down and confront the others just yet. After 
washing her ravished loins carefully in a nearby stream, she cautiously 
stepped back toward the wooden shed and peered in the window at the bottom 
part of the building. 

The three unprincipled students lay sprawled on the dirt floor, the skinny 
sadist Carlos's hand still gripping his rifle even while he slumbered. 
Beside them, as she might have guessed lay their horrid pipe and little 
leather bag filled with illegal narcotics. But what she had certainly not 
anticipated, would never have guessed in a hundred years, was that two 
foreign children lay nearby with their hands and feet sloppily bound with 
ropes and frayed leather belts. 

"Oh, my God!" Vasilisa murmured in shocked astonishment, her white fingers 
automatically reaching to finger the rosary which always hung between her 
splendid breasts. "What can this mean?" 

The intelligent Basque revolutionary quickly but carefully scanned the 
scene: the children appeared to be Americans, judging by their clothing; the 
girl, whose left shoe was removed, sported a very swollen ankle which looked 
broken, or at least sprained. Both innocent-looking youngsters were fully 
clothed, so hopefully the wretched characters who'd tied them up had gotten 
too stoned to assault them sexually as they had herself earlier in the 
evening. 

"Oh, God!" the blonde woman whispered again. "What shall I do about this?" 

It was a difficult, delicate situation. However much she sympathized with 
the young people, who'd doubtless been harassed and brutalized by those 
horrible students, her first duty was to the Movement. These kids had seen 
the cache of weapons...they had heard God knows what from those drunken, 
drug-dulled morons...and if they were to tell anyone what they had seen and 
heard, it might spell the ruination of important plans and policies. Pedro 
would never forgive her for letting that happen... 

As Vasilisa stood in the still-weak warmth of the early morning sun and 
peered in through the dirty window, her gaze locked with that of the 
newly-awakened Carlos. He flashed her a leering wink, then ran his hand 
meaningfully over the growing bulge between his skinny legs. Shuddering, 
Vasilisa turned away and wished with all her soul that Pedro were here. But 
he wasn't, and wouldn't be for hours and hours, and in the meantime she had 
to do something about those children... 

Not wanting to face the three disgusting youths just yet, the voluptuous 
blonde busied herself with all the chores she could think of. First she 
washed all the sperm, hashish, and sweat fouled blankets and hung them on 
bushes to dry; then, wandering some distance from the hut, she collected a 
variety of wild herbs, berries, and birds' eggs, plus an armful of the deep 
pink flowers called Valerians. Her grandmother had taught her to make a 
strong, sleep-inducing infusion from the roots of this plant, and in the 
event that her boyfriend, Pedro, did not arrive by tonight, this might prove 
most useful. 

As she returned to the hut, she caught sight of Antonio and Jose Angel 
making their way down the path toward the valley below. Both were heavily 
armed with guns and knives, and the raucous sound of their laughter told her 
that either they were still high from the previous night, or had partaken of 
illegal narcotics in place of breakfast. 

It's a good thing I gathered this stuff, she told herself. None of those 
oaffish louts would be intelligent enough to think of feeding those poor 
kids, or dressing the girl's ankle. 

The door's rusty hinges creaked as Vasilisa pushed it open, and Carlos 
looked up from the wine bottle he was opening with an annoyingly swaggering 
grin. Obviously, he was already high; the inevitable hashish was scattered 
on the floor in front of him, and another wine bottle, this one empty, stood 
beside the narcotics. 

Her cheeks turning pink as she remembered that this despicable character had 
actually plunged his long cock up inside the still-aching passage of her 
rectum, Vasilisa averted her eyes from his leering face. Instead, she turned 
toward the two bound youngsters, who stared at the ground in embarrassment. 

Oh, no! the blushing Spanish woman thought in acute dismay. These innocent 
youngsters saw the horrible things that I did last night! 

Still without looking at the despised Carlos, she spoke to him in Spanish in 
the coldest, most hostile tone she could muster. 

"What's the meaning of this?" she demanded. "Are you great heroes capturing 
little children now? How useful for the 

Cause!" 

Carlos was feeling so euphoric from having rid himself of all competition 
for the virginal American girl not to mention the wine and dope that he 
didn't take offense at the older woman's sarcastic tone. He rose the bottle 
to his lips and took a long swallow before deeming it necessary to reply to 
her question, all the time feasting his greedy eyes on the timidly cowering 
teenager in the corner. 

"They are enemies spies!" he declared at last in what he'd intended to be a 
pompous, authoritative tone. He'd subjugated this conceited bitch to a 
sample of his brute male superiority last night, and he wasn't prepared to 
take any bullshit from her again. Unfortunately, the impressive effect of 
his words was marred by a loud hiccup. 

'These little kids? Spies?" scoffed Vasilisa, smiling at them despite her 
shame at knowing that they'd seen her in the most obscene, compromising 
position possible. 

"If I say they are spies, they're spies!" Carlos' voice grew aggressive. He 
hiccupped again, then took another long gulp of red wine to cure the 
condition. "I have told Jose and Antonio to find their parents and demand a 
ransom." 

"So they aren't really spies after all!" the fair-haired young woman 
accused. "You stupid fool! How dare you initiate a kidnapping without so 
much as consulting Pedro? You idiotic schoolboy!" 

"Shut up!" the skinny, acne-scarred youth shouted, waving the wine bottle 
angrily in the air. "This hasn't got a goddamn thing to do with any fucking 
"Movement", bitch! You can stuff your bullshit "Movement" up that fine ass 
of yours...just like I stuffed my big prick last night, remember?! " 

Flinching, Vasilisa shut her lush lips in a tightly compressed line of anger 
and moved with dignity toward the far corner of the hut, where there was a 
sort of primitive cooking stove. She began boiling water to cook the birds' 
eggs and make herbal tea, smiling at the youngsters in what she hoped was a 
reassuring way. Then, without speaking to them, she handed them the food and 
drink and began applying herbal ointment to the pretty young girl's badly 
swollen ankle. 

In fact, though the lovely Basque nationalist acted with calm 
self-assurance, she was feeling panic welling up inside her. Before now, 
she'd detested the three unwashed students because they were not only 
stupid, but were involved in revolution for "kicks" rather than for genuine 
moralistic motives. Now, she realized that they were nothing but petty 
criminals who, once their loyalty had totally evaporated as it appeared to 
have done, would stop at nothing to gain their own selfish, sinful means. 

I must keep cool-headed, she told herself firmly as she bandaged the wincing 
girl's foot with cane leaves. I must stay in control of the situation until 
Pedro arrives and not let these dogs do anything that'll hurt the Cause. 

Feminine instinct told her that keeping busy was the best way to remain 
brave and composed, so the intelligent young blonde began preparing an 
extra-strong infusion of the Valerian roots. Also, despite her intense 
hatred of the sadistic Carlos, she determined to pretend to be, if not 
friendly, at least compliant and submissive. 

"And where are these parents?" she asked as she strained the tea and added 
several handfuls of other powerful herbs. She quite correctly ascertained 
that the young rebel, who was opening a third bottle of wine, was paying 
absolutely no attention to her labors. 

"Huh? Oh, down there," the half-drunk student waved his hand vacantly. "Rich 
capitalist pigs!" he added in an alcohol-slurred voice. 

It was apparent to Vasilisa that the young American boy understood at least 
some Spanish, for his ears pricked up and his attractive countenance 
strained in an attentive effort as she spoke to Carlos. Accordingly, she 
tried to speak slowly and clearly so that she could gauge the level of his 
understanding by his subsequent reactions. 

"And you think all Americans are rich?" she queried, adding the final 
touches to the potent tea and leaving it to steep and grow still stronger. 
"Perhaps these are merely young hippies with no more money than anyone else 
maybe less." 

"Naw!" slurred the intoxicated Carlos. "All Americans are rich! I have been 
in their stinking country, and they all drive two cars and have swimming 
pools in their backyards. And they eat steak, not fish soup and rice like 
poor people." A loud burp interrupted his tirade, and the long-haired youth 
took a large gulp of wine before continuing. "And I," he stated proudly, 
sticking out his skinny chest like a bantam cock, "I shall fuck this little 
virgin, and then take her Daddy's money and buy ten kilos of hashish. I'll 
sell it to American tourists and get rich, and then I too can live good like 
the Capitalist pigs!" 

Vasilisa refrained from commenting on this plan, disgusted as she was. Out 
of the corner of her eye, she noted that the young boy had not understood 
any of Carlos' slurred, slangy speech, and also that he was trying to work 
the knotted leather bonds from his wrists. 

I'm not going to let him touch that little girl! the Spanish woman vowed. 
And I'm going to do everything I can to help those poor children. 

"More wine, Carlos?" She asked craftily as she opened another bottle of 
inexpensive but very potent liquid. As she'd expected, he grunted in assent. 

A lot of wine, and then some of the tea that'll put him to sleep, she 
thought. But, well, what ll I do even if the beast does pass out? The girl 
can't walk on that foot, so we'll have to wait till Pedro comes with the 
truck. And...and what if Pedro doesn't want to help them...? 

Never before in her twenty-seven years had Vasilisa seriously considered 
going against a man's will and striking out entirely on her own. Though she 
was better educated than the majority of her countrywomen, she nevertheless 
was a good Catholic who'd been raised in an ultra-conservative Basque 
household in a small, tradition-oriented village. The mere fact that she'd 
elected to attend the 

University of Bilbao had been rather suspect, and the idea of "women's 
liberation" still played no more part in her consciousness than it did in 
the minds of her old-fashioned parents and their neighbors. 

Suddenly, however, she found herself thinking in a way she'd never 
considered before. Even if Pedro won't help, she decided, knowing in her 
heart that he had grown so cynical and cold that he might not, I'm going to 
do something. I won't let this innocent child suffer the way I was forced to 
last night at the hands of these dogs. If I did a thing like that I'd be as 
evil as they are...and I don't care what Pedro thinks. I don't care! I have 
my own soul to consider above all else, don't I? 

"Would you like some more tea?" she asked the youngsters in careful, 
schoolroom English after pouring a brimming glass of wine for the disgusting 
Carlos. "It is made from the herbs of the mountains very good for the health 
and for the spirits." 

Their faces brightened at the sound of their own tongue, and they smiled 
timidly at the beautiful blonde as she refilled their rustic tin mugs with 
warm liquid. Without a word being spoken, a tacit complicity had somehow 
been established. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

As the kindhearted Spanish woman was pouring tea for the Muller twins, their 
mother, still blissfully unaware of the fact that her offspring had been 
kidnapped by unscrupulous nihilists, was wandering through the dew and 
rain-drenched meadows not very far from the goat shed, rhapsodizing over the 
wealth of wild flowers and strange and exotic herbs. 

By some odd coincidence, her thoughts were turned in much the same direction 
as the golden-haired Basque rebel's. 

"How marvelous it is here," she murmured to herself as she gathered 
purple-flowered rosemary, fragrant thyme, and a rainbow-hued bouquet of 
sweet-scented mountain blossoms. "Far away from the awful crowds...far away 
from dull old Schenectady..., " 

Helene, quite like Vasilisa whom she'd not yet met, had been raised in a 
very proper, puritanical home where one's behavioral patterns were strictly 
defined. Men could "sow their wild oats", but girls, although expected to be 
popular and flirtatious, were firmly instructed to preserve their precious 
virginity if they wanted to "make a good match". The females of her 
particular upper-middle-class background were, in addition, raised to regard 
their obligations to husband and family as all-important. 

Thus, Helene had discontinued her own college studies at the age of nineteen 
without a single rebellious whimper and had gone to work as a typist in the 
college admissions department to help hubby through school. And when the 
twins had made their rather untimely appearance, she'd accepted without 
complaint her role of diaperer, cook, dishwasher, and chambermaid. 

It wasn't so bad back in those days, Helene reflected rather moodily as she 
plucked a huge bunch of fragrant wild daisies. At least I had the feeling 
that I was working for something. I always thought Elwood was so much more 
clever than me, that he was headed for really wonderful things, so I didn't 
mind washing out his smelly socks and cooking up imaginative casseroles. 
But. . . but. . . now? Well, what's in it for me? 

The slender, youthful-looking thirty-three year-old wife straightened her 
back and glanced up at the glorious panorama of mountains and rosy-tinged 
sunrise. What now, indeed? she asked herself again, clutching her herbs and 
wild flowers to her girlishly high-set breasts as she gazed at the rising 
sun. The kids don't really need me anymore they're more a part of the suburb 
than they are of me, and they care a lot more about their friends and 
teachers than they do about their parents. And as for Elwood...well, he 
doesn't really love me anymore, and I'm sick to death of being a showcase 
wife who arrives at dreadful company parties in obviously expensive dresses 
and has to make small talk to dull, pot-bellied idiots who keep peering down 
the bodice of my "nice little black dresses". I hate cocktail parties, and I 
hate martinis, and I despise all Elwood's dreadful friends... 

And last, but definitely not least, were the lonely nights in her twin bed, 
or-worst, almost the sexual disappointments like the one last night. Helene 
was still a young woman, pretty and vivacious and filled with enthusiasm for 
life. What was the point of being married to a man who acted as though he 
were eighty years old and appeared to care about nothing save his damn stock 
market reports, his silly advertising campaigns for the "Company", and his 
before-dinner cocktails? 

So gloomily preoccupied was Mrs. Helene Muller in the meaninglessness of her 
sterile suburban existence that she failed to hear the sounds of footsteps 
and muffled foreign exclamations which a more observant person would have 
readily perceived. Totally oblivious of all danger, blithely unaware that 
she was walking straight into a trap, the slim young housewife in her thin 
pink cotton sundress wandered onward until she found herself standing before 
a small brook, swelled from the night's rain, which was splashing over the 
rocks in the most joyous fashion. 

"Oh, I wish I could stay here forever!" she murmured under her breath. Her 
low whisper was drowned out by the sound of rushing water, as were the 
sounds of the two intoxicated Spaniards' approach. "I just want to live 
where things are beautiful and peaceful is that too much to ask?" 

Then, shaking her flyaway blonde hair away from her face, she bent down and 
began to gather the fragrant flowers which banked the mountain stream. Don V 
be so moody! she scolded herself. Think of all the people in the world 
who're so much worse off than you can even imagine 

Straightening her shoulders, she moved along the creek in search of more 
herbs. Things weren't all bad, after all. It was nice that Elwood had 
decided, upon waking with what appeared to be a raging hangover, that they 
might as well stay in this pretty valley another day until the debris from 
the thunderstorm had been cleared from the roads. Helene had agreed happily, 
for to tell the truth she was not all that fond of traveling per se she 
preferred to stay in one place long enough to soak up the atmosphere and 
taste all the regional dishes. 

Determining to put a bright face on things, the unfulfilled housewife 
drifted nearer and nearer the unheard voices. And after Elwood's had a good 
rest, I'm sure he'll be his old self again, she was thinking as rough hands 
suddenly grabbed at her. slurred, coarse Spanish-speaking voices resounded 
in her ears. 

"AAAEEEIIIIHHHHH!" the terrified American woman shrieked. In her intense 
shock, her knees turned to water and she fell to the ground, her flowers and 
herbs scattering about her sprawled-out body like offerings on a grave. 

Harsh-toned voices were jabbering incomprehensibly at her in Spanish, but 
all she could do was sob. 

She clenched her eyes shut as vicious hands tore at her body through the 
thin fabric of her summer dress. A shudder of horror wracked her slender 
figure as the dread thought of rape occurred to her, but the two strangers 
merely dragged her to her feet and continued to bellow at her in their 
incomprehensible language. Sobbing, shaking like a leaf in a tempest, the 
stupefied wife and mother tried desperately to free herself, but to no 
avail. 

This can't be happening! her tortured mind wailed. This sort of thing 
happens on the streets of America's crime-ridden cities that's exactly why 
Elwood and I moved out to Schenectady. But it can't happen on a peaceful 
European mountainside! 

But it was happening! As grubby fingers clutched painfully at the tender 
flesh of her arms and waist, she had to accept that this was reality, 
despite the fact that she was in, as the tourist brochure had optimistically 
put it, "Sunny Spain, the Tourists' Paradise! Sun and Fun Beneath a Canopy 
of True-Blue Sky!" 

"No...no...noooooo!" the terrified young woman wailed as the two young men 
started dragging her back up the steep, slippery hillside. "NOOOOOOOO!" 

If Helene had had any conception of what she would find when they'd dragged 
her all the way up to the goat hut, her screams would have been even more 
hysterical. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Despite Vasilisa's vigilant efforts to ease the sadistic Carlos into a state 
of unconsciousness, he seemed to grow more wide awake with each successive 
bottle of wine. He rejected the proffered Valerian tea, proclaiming loudly 
that he didn't drink "none of that bullshit woman's crap"; and when the 
blonde Spanish girl tactfully suggested a little nap, he slapped her across 
the face and commanded her to stop annoying him. All the while, his 
snake-like eyes were darting over the trembling figure of youthful Daisy 
Muller. 

What in God's name am I going to do now? Vasilisa asked herself as she 
nursed her' bruised and aching cheek in the far corner of the hut. If only 
that brute would pass out, I'd untie the children and give them weapons to 
defend themselves while I hike over the mountain to the next valley and get 
Father or Uncle Juan to come with a wagon. I wish the girl could walk, 
because 

I hate to leave them here with Carlos I can tell from his eyes that he wants 
to rape her. But this is the only solution I can come up with... 

Without having made a conscious decision, the twenty-seven year-old Basque 
Nationalist had stopped counting on her husband Pedro's help. Intuitive 
feminine knowledge told her that she could not trust him to act humanly, for 
he cared more for the Movement than for Christian kindness these days. On 
the other hand, she knew she could always trust her family to act in 
accordance with the Golden Rule, even though they were mere uneducated 
peasants. 

Pass out! Pass out! she silently willed the despised Carlos, every cell in 
her curvaceous body straining with the attempt to will him to sleep. But as 
the minutes slowly passed and the patch of dusty sunlight on the shed's 
floor inched from one end of the room to the other, she began to despair. 
The unprincipled student was only growing more rowdy, and he'd begun to bait 
the frightened teenager in his bad English. If he became even drunker, he 
might just lose all sense of reason and rape the poor child even with the 
boy and herself there in the hut. 

Though Vasilisa was essentially nonviolent, and had in fact only agreed to 
this particular weapons mission because she'd not wanted to go against her 
husband's command, she was beginning to contemplate grabbing up a gun and 
threatening the drunken Carlos. Before she could seriously weigh the 
prospect of this new plan, however, the heavy wooden shed doors were flung 
open with a crash and the two kidnappers entered, dragging a weeping, 
struggling blonde female behind them. 

It was immediately evident to Vasilisa that the captured woman was the 
mother of the two young prisoners. Even if the boy hadn't gasped out, 
"Mom!", in a horrified tone, she could have told from the strong family 
resemblance that the three unfortunate hostages were related. A shiver of 
sympathy ran along her spine as the astonished mother, her arms bruised by 
her brutal abductors and her sleeveless pink dress torn at the shoulder to 
partially reveal her left breast, gaped in disbelief at her two bound 
children. 

"Randy! Daisy! What how " she stammered, trying to move toward them. "Oh, 
God!" 

"Shut up!" shouted Carlos, rising rather steadily to his feet and lurching 
to the new arrivals. "Tie her up like the rest, you guys!" 

If he hadn't been so intoxicated, the physically immature but not 
unintelligent youth would have been furious with the others for having 
brought the woman here instead of delivering the ransom note as he'd 
instructed them to do. In his condition of mindless hedonism, however, logic 
was obscured by his ravenous sexual appetite. Now, he gloated, Antonio and 
Jose Angel could be kept occupied by fucking this older woman, while he had 
the supreme pleasure of deflowering the little virgin who was her daughter! 

"Good work, guys!" he slurred, passing them the wine bottle. "Another sexy 
captive! Let's finish off the hash while we figure out what we're gonna do 
with 'em." 

Seemingly interminable minutes passed as the three student criminals passed 
around the last of their hashish joints. Before Helene Muller's terrified 
eyes, the ugly, long-haired youths' mouths grew slack, their eyes inhuman 
and gleaming with bestial lust as they muttered together in incomprehensible 
Spanish. Shaking with fearful apprehension, she turned toward her children 
and gave them a quivering smile that she'd meant to be reassuring. In her 
distress, she never even noticed the lovely blonde Basque woman crouched in 
the darkest corner of the hut. 

"You guys still horny?" Carlos leered, paused for a long suck on the joint, 
then continued, "Was Vasilisa there enough for ya? Or d'ya wanna have some 
more fucky-fucky? " 

"Never too much fucky for me, man!" Jose Angel asserted, thrusting out his 
chest like a strutting bantam cock. 

"Fucky, fucky!" Antonio agreed drunkenly. He pronounced the English word as 
though it rhymed with cookie. 

Smacking his lips in a lewd gesture of carnal hunger, Carlos lurched to his 
feet and stepped toward the fettered twins. In his clumsy haste, he kicked 
over the wine bottle and sent a blood-red trickle of liquid seeping across 
the dirt floor to where the mother stood shivering in anguish. 

"I like this little one," he declared, reaching out one unwashed hand to 
tweak Daisy's ripely straining breasts. "Ain't she cute, fellas? Lookit at 
'em sweet little tits!" 

"Get your hands off my child!" shrieked Helene. "Don't you dare touch her! 
Don't you dare!" 

"Your daughter, huh?" Carlos sneered in 

English. 

Oh yeah, he thought dizzily, drunkenly. That had been the plan, hadn't it to 
find these kids' parents and extricate money from the rich capitalist pigs. 
Well, here was the mother, though it was hard to believe that this slender, 
fair-haired American woman was old enough to have such mature offspring, but 
where was the father? For a brief second this troubling thought preyed on 
his alcohol and dope-dulled brain, but then he pushed it away. Later, hell, 
later, he told himself as his thick penis jerked into impatient erection. 
Who cares about goddamn bread when there's free pussy sitting there waiting 
for you? 

"So here's Mama!" he continued, grinning loosely at his compatriots. "All 
the better!" 

Again, his hands grasped at the sumptuous mounds of the adolescent's budding 
breasts. They felt soft and pliant beneath his fingers, firmer than the 
large, melon-like mounds of Vasilisa the night before, and more 
intoxicating. By now, his breath was coming hard and fast and his blood was 
rushing at top speed through his lust-accelerated system. 

Helene screamed again, and this time she struggled with such hysterical 
violence against Antonio, who had lunged after her, that Carlos looked up in 
irritation. 

"Whattdya got to do with it, bitch?" he sneered. "Ya gotta do whatever we 
say, like it or not!" 

In the corner, ignored and forgotten, Vasilisa shivered in fearful 
expectation. She'd seen enough of the thin, excitable student rebel called 
Carlos to recognize what the ominous glint in the man's small eyes was. With 
the three of them all under the influence of their unlawful drugs and the 
potent country wine, she feared that they would act even worse than they had 
last night when they so brutally assaulted her up in the loft. 

The lovely Basque woman's worst fears were confirmed when she saw Carlos' 
grubby hand snatch out to tug the white-faced girl's jeans' zipper halfway 
down. By the defiant sneer he flashed at the struggling, wild-eyed mother, 
Vasilisa could tell that the woman's protests were doing more harm than 
good. Carlos had a really sadistic nature, in addition to being neurotically 
insecure about his underdeveloped body and unattractive countenance? nothing 
pleased him more than being in a position of power over others, particularly 
if they were weeping or otherwise helplessly resisting. 

How I hate him! she grimaced, gritting her teeth and knotting her hands 
together as she repressed a scream of rage. The ugly little rat! The 
psychotic traitor! How, oh, God, could Pedro have been blind enough to take 
such a despicable specimen into his confidence? 

Yet, didn't the fact that he had done so indicate how low her husband's 
standards had sunk? Back in the old days, he'd have spit in the face of an 
obviously sick opportunist like this Carlos. Pedro had been idealistic, 
totally devoted to the Movement, scornful of all those types who didn't 
really believe in the dream of a Free Basque Country. And now? Well, she 
didn't really know... 

Needless to say, the frantic Mrs. Muller and her two devastated children 
weren't contemplating the psychological peculiarities of their oppressors, 
nor were they at all interested in the Basque Nationalist Movement, of which 
in fact they were totally ignorant. Nor would the Muller's position have 
been in any way improved had they been thinking along more philosophical or 
political lines. Their predatory assailants couldn't have cared less about 
what was taking place in their minds, for their own drug-and-alcohol fogged 
brains were by now completely obsessed with sexuality. 

"NOOOOOOOO!" Helene wailed again, so harried that she scarcely felt the 
cruel blow which Antonio dealt her. "Don't touch my little girl! 
Plleeeeeezze! I'll do anything you want, but don't touch Daisy!" 

"Anything, huh?" Carlos turned toward her, his thin lips twisted into a 
calculating smirk. "Anything, lady? Yeah?" 

"Take my watch!" Helene cried desperately. "It's a valuable one, with 
diamonds! And my wedding ring it's worth a lot! And...and...." She paused, 
realizing that she'd gone out gathering flowers without any money or checks. 
"And, oh, my husband will give you lots of money. Just please leave Daisy 
alone! She's. . . she's never been with a man...." 

Carlos remained unmoved by the tearful woman's heartfelt pleas, and his two 
fellow students' knowledge of the foreign language was so scanty that they 
didn't understand a word of her hysterical exclamation. 

"She says," Carlos translated with a malicious grin, "that she'll do 
anything. So why not? Fucky! Fucky her just like you wanna! Both together! 
Yeah! Ya both fucky her together! C'mon!" 

Neither the drug-benumbed Jose Angel nor the oafish Antonio paused a moment 
before taking Carlos up on this stimulating suggestion. Their muscular arms 
grasped the protesting Helene Muller, and their heated, garlic-scented 
breath suffocated her. Despite her spirited struggles, they held the 
anguished blonde tightly and managed to work her partially undone dress off 
with no trouble. 

"Nooooooo!" the overpowered woman howled, but she might as well have 
conserved her energy, for all the impact she made on the sex-crazed student 
rebels. Her cotton dress was ripped away So that it hung limply around her 
slim hips, and though she clasped her arms around her shamefully revealed 
breasts, the inviting, lace-encased mounds were nevertheless humiliatingly 
revealed to her children and the three awful foreign men. 

Young Randy instinctively started toward his sobbing mother, but before he'd 
taken more than a step, he was stopped by the cold butt of a gun shoving 
against his chest. 

"Where the hell you goin', kid?" growled Carlos. 

Even as she tried in vain to fight off the two muscular Spaniards, the 
terror-stricken mother was aware of her children's plight. "Don't, Randy, 
don't!" she implored. "Don't do anything don't get hurt!" 

There wasn't much the youngster could do, what with a loaded pistol pressed 
against his chest and his hands tightly bound behind his back. Choking back 
an unmanly sob, he gritted his teeth so hard that his braces cut into his 
gums, then turned toward his sister. Daisy, who was weeping in earnest now, 
stared back at him with fear-widened eyes, and Randy cursed his impotence. 
More than anything else on earth he wanted to save his mother and sister 
from these monsters, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing at 
all...nothing but watch as his mother was dishonored before his very eyes! 

Although the fifteen year-old boy would have vehemently denied it, a strange 
sensation was fluttering in his belly an emotion born not of fear and 
despair, but of excitement at the sight of his mother's naked figure. Helene 
Muller was really gorgeous, with her firm, round breasts and sculpted legs 
rising to full-fleshed thighs and the tantalizing "vee" of her golden-brown 
cuntal curls. Until now, her son had never let himself think of her as a 
female, and since she didn't clothe herself in skimpy bikinis or revealing 
clothing, he'd never suspected that she was built as magnificently as a 
PLAYBOY model...or his sister! 

"Aaaagghhhhh!" Helene moaned as Jose's strong fingers pressed into the 
tender flesh of her breasts while Antonio twisted her arm so fiercely that 
she was sure it would break. "Ppplleeeezzzzze! Stooooopppp!" 

"You would rather we fuck the little girl, yes?" Carlos sneered, moving his 
gun from Randy to the inviting hollow between the weeping brunette's budding 
breasts. 

Helene's half-naked figure sagged in defeat, and she ceased her futile 
efforts to fight off her assailants. "No, no!" she cried. "Don't touch her! 
I'll, I'll do whatever you say, but please, please don't hurt Daisy!" 

Although the mother's stomach knotted and sickened at the mere thought of 
having sexual contact with these dreadful brutes, her voice never faltered. 
She would do everything in her power to save her innocent daughter from 
learning about sex in a gang-rape at gunpoint. An experience like that would 
surely scar her psychologically in the most dire way, and would probably 
prevent her from ever having a happy, healthy marriage. 

"Whatever we say, huh?" slurred Carlos in English, and then he repeated, in 
Spanish for the benefit of his friends, "Go on, guys! Give it to her! She'll 
do whatever you want, she says!" 

Antonio laughed, a crude, animalistic chortle that froze Helene's blood to 
ice in her veins. His oversized hands grasped at her dress, which still hung 
limply around her hips, and with a sickening rip of fabric he yanked it away 
from her and flung it onto the mud floor of the goat hut. Trembling in shame 
and fear, the American woman stared down at her brassiere and panty-clad 
body and prayed that they would get it over with quickly and without hurting 
her too badly. 

This last hope was destroyed as the two heavy-muscled Spaniards tugged down 
their pants and moved toward her, panting heavily. A suffocating smell of 
stale sweat and garlic emanated from their unwashed bodies, but Helene was 
so upset by the sight of the enormous male weapons dangling between their 
thighs that she never even noticed their nauseating odor. Oh God! she 
screamed in silent anguish. Not only was she to be shamefully humiliated in 
front of her own adolescent children to two total strangers, she was also 
going to be injured in the most despicable way as her most private feminine 
flesh was ripped to shreds by their evil flesh cudgels! 

As the two heavily-breathing males tore at her pink pastel underwear, Helene 
shut her eyes to avoid the sight of their lust-distorted faces and huge, 
menacing male thicknesses. One of them, the darker-haired man, was probably 
the biggest human she'd ever seen, with muscles as big as footballs and an 
angry-red penis swollen to the size of a tree trunk. Nor was the other man 
much better; his arms and legs were also knotted with sinewy, 
sweat-glistening tendons, and his throbbing phallus, though not quite so 
thick as the other men's, appeared to her fear-glazed eyes to be at least a 
foot long. 

I can't go through with this, she thought, suddenly feeling so dizzy she 
thought she would faint. But . . But I haven't any other choice. Forgive me, 
Elwood! Please understand! 

The Spaniards were guffawing to each other as they peeled off their helpless 
victim's pale pink nylon panties and lace brassiere, and thought Helene 
couldn't understand a word of their conversation, she could tell from their 
lewd tones and the way they poked at her vulnerable naked flesh that they 
were making filthy sexual jokes at her expense. She held her eyelids tightly 
shut, even when they pushed her down on the damp, chilly dirt floor so that 
she was kneeling like a slave girl beneath them. 

My children are watching this! she thought again, and an overwhelming wave 
of sickness swept through her fear-shivering figure. I can't bear it! It's 
too much for any human being to stand! Oh, God, what have I done to deserve 
this? I've never even been unfaithful to Elwood, not once in fifteen years! 

"Okay, now, Antonio, ya thing the bitch's ready for fucking?" Jose leered. 

"Ready as a dog in heat!" the other exclaimed, giving Helene's upraised 
ass-cheeks a harsh slap. 

"Ooowwhhhh!" the humiliated woman cried out in involuntary pain. Then, 
biting her lip, she fell silent, for the last thing she wanted to do was let 
her children realize how much she was suffering, or give these beasts the 
satisfaction of hearing her cry out. 

Unfortunately for the self-sacrificing mother, however, the slap had given 
the sadistic Carlos a wicked idea. "Hey, guys," he called out from his 
vantage point beside the trembling twins, "let's see what kind of stuff this 
American slut's made of! Here!" He peeled off his leather belt and tossed it 
to Jose Angel with a vicious chuckle of anticipation. "Make the capitalist 
bitch dance and shake 'er ass for ya!" 

Antonio's broad, swarthy face twisted into a drunken contortion of passion 
at the inspired suggestion. Grabbing the belt from the smaller Jose, he 
slapped it through the air so that it whistled menacingly, so frightening 
Helene that her eyes popped open at last. At the horrible sight of the 
ape-like rapist brandishing a whip, her knees turned to water and she 
collapsed facedown on the rank-smelling floor. 

"Up, bitch!" Carlos commanded in English, his voice rasping with excitement. 
"Up on your knees! Wriggle that nice white ass for Jose and Antonio!" 

The blonde wife wanted to scream, to beg for mercy, but her protests caught 
in her throat. What was the use of pleading for a scrap of humane decency 
from these animals? The only effect her cries would have would be to make 
them cruder and more ruthless than ever, further terrifying the innocent 
twins. 

"Can I give it to her, Carlos?" the stupid Antonio giggled sadistically. 
He'd been used to accepting orders all his life first from his strong-willed 
father, then from Pedro, the Movement leader and didn't even consider the 
possibility of acting under his own volition. 

"Yeah! Yeah!" urged the skinny, gun-wielding student. "Show her whose boss!" 

There was a sickening whoosh as the leather strap swished through the air, 
and then both Jose and Carlos grunted in satisfaction as the belt flicked 
down on the kneeling woman's left buttock. She gasped in anguish as a bright 
red welt appeared on the firm white flesh of her ass-cheek, and Daisy 
screamed aloud in sympathetic reaction to the sadistic punishment. 

"And you better shut up, little girl," Carlos threatened the teenager with 
his pistol. "The same thing'll happen to you and your nasty brother if you 
don't keep nice and quiet, understand?" 

The fifteen year-old twins understood. With a gulp, Daisy choked back her 
sobs, and Randy bit his lips to keep from calling the murderous brutes every 
bad name in his vocabulary. 

Helene, however, despite her vow to keep silent, was unable to keep from 
gasping and groaning as the leather belt whacked again and again on her 
burning backside. Hoping that they would stop if she did as the one called 
Carlos has instructed, she forced her buttocks into a lewd, undulating 
rhythm. This sluttish motion was so degrading that her shame pained her 
almost as much as the stinging strap, but there was nothing else for her to 
do. She was their helpless slave, to be used and abused in whatever depraved 
fashion struck their perverted fancies. 

Antonio was swinging the belt with frenzied force now, driven out of control 
by the stimulation of the American woman's jiggling ass-cheeks and piteous 
whimpers. His long purplish cock, which stood out from his dark-haired groin 
like the trunk of a tree, was pulsating with passion and the surety that 
whenever he felt ready he could ram his ready weapon into one or another of 
this cringing blonde's orifices. Maybe she'd be even tighter than Vasilisa 
had been last night! 

By now, the pain-blinded woman was moving her raw and tingling buttocks as 
fast as she could in a mindless effort to escape the lashing strokes of the 
whip. The agony grew more unbearable with each passing second, and she could 
tell that her flesh was cut and bleeding as thin trickles of warm blood 
seeped down over the rounded half-moons of her buttocks and over her 
quivering thighs. Finally, just as she was sure she was dying, the punishing 
strap struck her one last time and then was tossed down onto the floor. 

"About time!" panted Jose, his lust-bloated cock poised in his hand as he 
rubbed the frantically pulsing head in hungry impatience. "C'mon, let's fuck 
her! I can't wait much longer, man!" 

"How'll we give it to her, huh, Carlos?" the loutish Antonio queried, for by 
now both he and Jose had come to think of the wiry-bodied sadist as their 
"boss". "What do you think?" 

Carlos puffed up his underdeveloped chest with pride at the respect being 
shown him by his fellow student revolutionaries. "Well," he considered, 
taking his time in replying to heighten the other men's anticipation and the 
gasping female's dread. "Well, let's teach her some new tricks." Switching 
into English, he demanded to Helene, "You ever suck cock, lady? They do that 
over in America?" 

"Oh, no, no, noooooooooo!" the inexperienced mother gasped in shocked 
disgust. 

Of course she'd never done such a corrupt, unnatural thing! Once, long ago 
in the early days of their marriage, Elwood had tried to persuade her that 
fellatio really wasn't perverted, but she'd told him rather sharply that if 
he'd wanted a whore, he'd married the wrong woman. She was a decent, 
God-fearing girl and nothing on earth could induce her to indulge in such a 
nasty act! 

But now I'm going to do it after all! she thought, and if there was a tiny 
flutter of wanton curiosity stirring in the pit of her belly, she totally 
ignored it. My innocent children are going to be forced to see their own 
mother perform a dirty act that the poor things probably never even dreamed 
existed on this earth. Oh, God, why did we ever come to this horrible 
country?! Why did we ever leave Schenectady?! 

The well-meaning mother was, of course, mistaken about her children's 
innocence. Not only had the twins observed violent oral sex the night 
before, but dirty jokes on the subject had been one of the most popular 
topics of conversation in the junior high boys' locker room and at the 
girls' numerous pajama parties. Still, it was quite one thing to giggle 
whenever the number "69" appeared in arithmetic problems, and another to see 
your own parent subjected to such an act. Both fifteen year-olds turned 
white when Antonio, his massive flesh cudgel dangling between his sturdy 
thighs like an extra leg, crouched down before their naked mother's 
terrified face with a lascivious grin on his ugly face. 

"C'mon, lady," he hissed in almost incomprehensible English. "Suck ett! Suck 
eet!" 

The young man's hands were tugging at her tangled blonde hair, pressing her 
reluctant lips down toward the throbbing purplish-redness of his hotly 
throbbing phallus. Helene knew it was hopeless to try to resist, but 
nevertheless her mouth puckered up in repulsion at the very thought of 
actually touching his huge male thickness with her mouth. 

"Hurry up, woman!" Antonio threatened, picking up the discarded leather belt 
and swishing it through the air above her splayed-out body. "Do it! Eat his 
prick! Sit Silt" 

Helene hesitated an instant, sickened by the idea of her clean mouth being 
used as a receptacle for this moron's sticky male sperm, but the thought of 
the painful leather strap descending on her raw, bleeding buttocks was even 
more frightening. Tears flooded her eyes as she dizzily wondered whether she 
had enough strength to endure the pain of the whip again and save her pride, 
but she was saved from having to make a decision when the impatient Antonio 
suddenly bent over and grabbed two handfuls of her corn silk-golden hair. 

"Urrrghghhhh!" she moaned as she felt her head pulled by his torturous 
fingers in the direction of his turgid thickness. 

A second later, the blood-bloated head of the Spaniard's enormous cock slid 
swiftly up the full length of her tongue and lodged itself inside her 
gagging throat. The repulsed wife had no choice but to gulp and swallow in 
an effort not to choke to death, though she dimly realized that the 
movements of her cheeks and throat were pleasing to the horrible rapist. 
Tiny trickles of his disgusting lubricating liquids oozed from the tip of 
his ruthlessly prodding cockhead, filling the hollowing cavern of her cheeks 
and sickening her with its acrid, male-animal taste. 

"You like that, lady? Big enough for you?" grunted Antonio in Spanish as he 
began slowly sawing his achingly throbbing penis in and out of his victim's 
mouth with a lewd sucking sound that horrified her watching children. 
"C'mon, suck it good!" 

For the first few moments Helene felt sure she was going to strangle as the 
giant flesh cudgel lunged deep down into her cringing throat, withdrew, then 
shoved back between her painfully-stretched lips. After a short time, 
however, survival instinct told her how best to accept the punishing penis, 
and she again closed her eyes and vowed to endure this supreme humiliation 
for the sake of her innocent virgin daughter. It would be over soon, and 
though she would never be able to forget this foul oral rape, at least young 
Daisy would still be pure and unsullied. 

Jose, who'd moved close beside the captive American, was rubbing his thick 
foreskin back and forth over the glistening red head of his own cock and 
scowling as he reflected that he was always the last one to get a piece of 
the action. Antonio, a virtual mental retard, was getting a better deal than 
he, and that skinny Carlos who thought he was such a big deal all of a 
sudden was acting like he could tell everyone else what to do. Although the 
chestnut-haired Barcelona student normally was a retiring, rather 
unassertive individual who preferred to let others make his decisions for 
him, he was by now so affected by the false confidence of drugs, wine, and 
sexual stimulation that he suddenly let out a bellow of rage and fell to an 
obscene crouching position behind the slavishly kneeling mother. 

"My turn, too!" he cried out, his voice echoing above Helene's distorted 
gurgles of protest and Antonio's bestial mutters of satisfaction. "How come 
I'm always last? I'm gonna fuck now! You hear me, NOW! FUCKY, FUCKY!" 

With this emphatic assertion of self-worth, the drug-dulled young student 
grasped hold of the captured woman's crimson, blood-streaked buttocks and 
lowered his impatiently pulsating flesh pole toward the tantalizing 
coral-pink crevice of her cuntal "vee". Despite his barbarian wail, she was 
almost unaware of his presence as she forced herself to endure the perverted 
protuberance pounding into her aching mouth. Aware that he was, as usual, 
being ignored, the youth vowed to abuse her in even more vicious ways. 

In the ass! he thought triumphantly. I'll fuck her down between those fine 
buttocks that danced so nice under the whip! She never got it that way 
before, I bet! 

Jose Angel was, indeed, quite correct in assuming that the inexperienced 
American wife had never been exposed to anal sex. As a matter-of-fact, she 
had never even realized that such a sordid practice existed until the moment 
when she felt the youth's moistly heated manhood shoving insistently against 
the never-before-touched orifice of her fearfully spasming rectum. 

"Aaaieehhh!" she coughed out, her voice an inhuman gurgle due to the 
gigantic male hardness ramming between her unwillingly ovaled lips. 
"Nnnaaaahhhhh!" 

Jose was only more excited by the woman's panic-stricken wail. With a 
triumphant glance toward the gun-wielding Carlos and two terrified children, 
he again shoved his heatedly pulsing penis against the resistant circle of 
pinkish-brown flesh. Last night, when they'd raped the wife of the Movement 
leader, he'd watched Antonio perform this act and had dreamed of doing so 
himself, one day, when he encountered a virgin ass-hole. And now, the very 
next day, his perverted desire was becoming a reality! 

Grinning in malicious lust, the long-haired student drug addict dug his 
jagged, dirt-encrusted fingernails into the whimpering mother's bruised and 
burning buttocks, relishing the satin-smooth resiliency of her involuntarily 
twitching ass-cheeks. He forced her dually ravished body back toward his 
blood-engorged cockhead, even as the over-excited Antonio yanked at the 
roots of her hair to drag her closer to his ready-to-explode penis. 

Carlos, standing in the corner with his gun pointed at the two devastated 
children, had unzipped his fly and taken his erected cock-shaft in his free 
hand. What a show! he jubilated as he massaged his aching hardness. And just 
wait till I get my hands on this little virgin! After seeing Momma turn on 
with two big heavy pricks inside her, she'll be hot as a firecracker! And 
I'm gonna be the one who sets her off! 

All of them had forgotten the presence of Vasilisa, who was still crouched 
in the shadowy corner beside the improvised cooking stove. Her brain swirled 
in confusion as she watched the two half-drunken students: though she was 
trying to decide whether to sneak out the door of the shed and seek help, or 
to stay here and think of some quicker alternative way to subdue the 
sex-crazed rebels, her thoughts refused to focus. All she could feel was an 
unwanted excitation, a vile remembrance of the way these same males' hateful 
cocks had defiled her the night before and he'd reduced her traitorous body 
to a state of oh, God, she wished it were not true! submission and then even 
sinful desire. Would this young blonde mother react in the same way? 

"Uuunngghhhh!" Helene croaked out again. The ugly, half-human sounds issuing 
from her own unnaturally impaled lips distressed her, but she was in such a 
state of panic by now that she had lost all control over her body. 

He can't put his penis inside me THERE! the disbelieving woman wailed in 
silent torture. Oh, God, no! NO! It's too corrupt to be true! 

But it was true! Without thought of the pain or injury he might be 
inflicting on the plundered prisoner, Jose stroked his enlarged cock-head 
against the crevice between her firm-fleshed ass-cheeks. His passion 
increased by leaps and bounds as he felt her flesh quivering beneath his 
virile prodding like a schoolgirl in the backseat of a car, just like he'd 
seen in the American movies and read about in PLAYBOY magazine. 

Christ! his lust-distorted mind sang out. No one can tell me where to get 
off after THIS! 

Antonio, the not-too-clever but well-built Spaniard whose oversized penis 
was plunging into the stunned female's open mouth, was excited more than 
ever by the sight of his friend's thickened member nudging at the forbidden 
nether entrance. Caramba! he thought, ramming his lust-frenzied phallus 
deeper than ever into the gagging American woman's unwillingly accepting 
throat. Already, he could feel his passion-flooded testicles churning with 
urgent need, and he thrust with all the force in his virile young body down 
into the soft, wet depths of Helene Muller's straining mouth. It would not 
be long now before he felt the exquisite sensation of his pent-up sperm 
shooting into the wantonly circling lips of the captured blonde, for as he 
watched Jose's ruthless effort to force his thick rod of flesh into the 
resisting anal orifice, the churning, burning sensation in his balls grew 
more and more urgent. 

Meanwhile, Jose was attempting to widen the woman's impossibly tight little 
rectal orifice with his crudely prodding middle finger. The puckered brown 
nether ring remained tensed and resistant until, in a moment of lewd 
inspiration, the impatient plunderer wormed his finger roughly into the 
nearby mouth of her vagina and moved it in and out, round and round, till he 
felt her involuntary female secretions moistening his impaling digit. 

"Now you're ready, you hot little slut!" he spat out as he jerked his hand 
from the blonde mother's cuntal depths and lunged his sticky middle finger 
back into the enticing brownish-pink anal orifice. 

This time, since she was taken by surprise, Helene Muller's virginal anal 
muscles had relaxed sufficiently to allow the unnaturally invading digit to 
slide into the unprepared passage. The humiliated mother jerked forward, 
stunned by the unexpected burning pain that seared through her rectum, and 
the unwanted wisps of incipient excitement which his vulgar vaginal caresses 
had begun to generate ceased instantly. To her dismay-but much to the 
delight of the brutish Antonio her involuntary movement served to push her 
face closer against the passion-demented man's heatedly plunging cock-shaft. 

"YYAAAAAHHHHH!" yowled Antonio as his body sped unchecked toward orgasm. 

Helene's concentration on her ravaged anus was temporarily averted as she 
felt a fierce tightening of the hands which crushed her head against the 
demanding hardness between her stretched-to-the-limit lips. Once again she 
nearly gagged, her breath wheezing from her choking lungs in a lewd, 
whore-like whistle which caused the stupefied young Daisy to suck in her 
breath in horrified disbelief and Randolph to grit his teeth in futile fury. 

Oh, dear God, no, no, no! Helene's mind screamed in helpless torment as one 
oppressor's spearing finger thrust between her helplessly shaking, twisting 
buttocks, while the other's enormous male weapon plundered the sensitive, 
wide-stretched cavern of her defiled mouth. He's going to cum right there in 
my throat! I can't bear it! I wish I were dead! 

Then, as an even louder shout broke from Antonio's thick lips as the first 
gushing jets of sperm began their pell-mell race from his blood-engorged 
testicles up the long pole of his relentlessly plunging penis, Helene's mind 
went completely blank. Her head was crushed up against Antonio's dark-haired 
loins by his steel-like hands, making it impossible for her to escape the 
heated streams of semen which he was spewing down her throat with brutal 
vengeance. Groaning inarticulately, Mrs. Muller swallowed and gulped in a 
rapid rhythm, trying to breathe through her nose even though it was mashed 
up against the man's sweat-slickened flesh. 

"Uunngghhh...uuurrggggg...." she gurgled as she tried her best not to gag on 
the viscous, acrid-tasting male fluid which flooded her mouth and ballooned 
out her cheeks. "Nnngghhhhh...." 

Randolph and his twin sister, Daisy, shook with horror as they watched their 
mother's flushed face bob frantically up and down over the brutish 
Spaniard's ejaculating thickness. Her Adam's apple was jiggling so 
desperately that they were certain she must be suffering terribly, and there 
was a trapped-animal look in her glassy eyes which made her look unfamiliar 
and somehow frightening. When sticky white rivulets of glistening male seed 
began trickling down over her mother's saliva-slickened chin, Daisy could 
not repress a loud gasp of dismay. 

"Oooooh, Mom!" she choked out, her own eyes strange and wild with fear. 
"Mom!" 

Instantly, the ice-cold butt of the gun was shoved against the sensitive 
mound of one of the adolescent's budding breasts. 

"I told you to shut up!" hissed Carlos, his eyes never leaving the arousing 
sight of the young American wife slavishly lapping up the last drops of 
seminal fluid from Antonio's angry-red thickness. 

The threatened teenaged girl fell into cowering silence for a minute. But 
then, when she saw the lighter-haired man behind her mother's wantonly 
uplifted buttocks pull his middle finger from her anal orifice and, without 
a moment's warning, shove his elongated male hardness into the forbidden 
opening, an involuntary shriek of alarm spurted from her throat. 

Helene's sperm-stained mouth jerked from Antonio's deflating cock-shaft as 
her wail of pain mingled with her daughter's cries. In her concentration on 
the enormous male weapon plundering her never-before-defiled mouth, she'd 
nearly forgotten that another vicious rapist was sawing his finger into the 
illicit orifice between her whip-scarred ass-cheeks. Impossible though it 
seemed, her anal muscles had actually adjusted to the presence of the 
invading digit. 

Now, however, as the long, slender cock plunged all the way to the hilt in 
her virginal rectum, a flash of the most horrendous pain she'd ever 
experienced seared through her body like liquid lightning. Her buttocks 
automatically clenched together in a futile attempt to expel the vicious 
instrument of torture, which only served to increase her excruciating agony, 
and she screamed again and again in mindless panic as the massive flesh 
cudgel throbbed several times deep inside her tortured anal passage. When it 
finally withdrew, the pain worsened, and she felt as though her entire 
backside was being consumed by white-hot flames. 

Her mother's anguished wails and the unbelievable sight of the horrible 
Spaniard's thickly throbbing thing shoving right between her naked buttocks 
were too much for young Daisy. Forgetting the gun aimed against her heaving 
breasts, she fell into a state of hysteria. As her shrill, girlish screams 
echoed throughout the goat hut, Carlos' ugly face brightened in sadistic 
glee. 

Now! he thought in lewd expectation. I'm gonna teach this little American 
bitch what a man's nice hard prick can do to her! And the more she screams, 
the better I like it! 

"C'mon!" he hissed, grabbing Daisy's arm with vise-like fingers and yanking 
her roughly toward him. When she shrieked louder than ever, he merely 
laughed and dragged her over to a corner of the shed where a pile of filthy 
blankets lay beside one of the stacks of rifles. "Antonio, you watch the 
little boy! I'm gonna screw his sister, and I don't want him making no 
trouble!" 

The large, lust-sated student rebel, who'd collapsed on the floor like a 
satisfied animal after Helene Muller had drained his rampant penis of every 
last drop of seminal fluid, rose clumsily to his feet and stumbled toward 
the white-faced young boy. Picking up a gun from a nearby stack of weapons, 
he shoved it up against the adolescent's youthful penis. 

"Keep quiet or I'll blow your prick to pieces!" he growled. Though he spoke 
in colloquial Spanish which Randy could not begin to understand, his meaning 
was obvious. The boy began trembling like a leaf at the primitive threat and 
didn't dare to move a muscle, not even when his weeping sister was thrown 
down on the heap of rags with as little ceremony as though her luscious 
young figure had been a sack of potatoes. 

Despite the unendurable humiliation which was being inflicted upon her, 
Helene Muller was dimly aware of the sounds of scuffling in the corner of 
the hut. Focusing her pain-blinded eyes in the direction of her children, 
she saw that the evil kidnappers had broken their word. She had martyred 
herself, allowed their filthy hands and vile male members to violate her in 
the most painful and despicable ways possible, solely to protect her virgin 
daughter from their corrupt carnality; but now her fifteen year-old Daisy 
was being held down at gunpoint and forced to take off her own clothing. 

"You pigs!" she shrieked. "You filthy lying pigs!" For a second, her own 
devastating agony was overcome by her maternal protective instinct. "You 
promised you wouldn't touch her! You're not even human! Bastards! BASTARDS!" 

No one paid any attention to Helene's desperate cries save Randy, whose eyes 
darted from his sister to his mother and back again, and Vasilisa, who was 
slowly and surely inching toward the shed door. The lovely blonde 
revolutionary had decided that the three degenerate males were all too 
involved in their lurid sexual activities to notice what she was doing, and 
besides, she could no longer bear to remain in the same room where these 
atrocities were being committed. 

"Noooo!" Helene wailed as Jose's pulsating penis sank to impossible depths 
in her ravished rectum. "Pleeeezzzee! Not this! Nooooooo!" 

Even her fears for her virginal daughter were overcome by the 
all-encompassing pain in her own body. The young, attractive mother groaned 
again and again, aware that no one could help her, but unable to hold back 
her strangled cries. Nothing existed for her now but the excruciating 
torture being rendered on her helpless figure, the cruel, iron-hard hands 
that held her pinned to the damp, dank dirt floor, the degradation of the 
depraved attack on her anal channel. It was uncivilized, cannibalistic! 
Nothing, absolutely nothing, could be more depraved than this! 

Vaguely, as if in a dream, her pain-deadened ears heard her young daughter's 
frantic wails of terrified protest, but nothing really registered on her 
brain save the impossible agony which lacerated her own helplessly twisting 
loins. As she sank deeper and deeper into the quicksand of pain and 
depravity, blackness swam before her eyes and her mind was devoid of all 
cogent reason. 

From the shadows near the doorway Vasilisa was watching the cruel double 
rape with intense, hate-filled eyes. She sympathized with the two ravished 
women, remembering all too well how rough and brutal these three young 
drug-addicts had been with her own still-bruised body the night before, but 
there was no way she could stop the debauchery. Her only hope was to sneak 
from the shed and get help from the outside, and at last she plucked up her 
courage enough to tiptoe cautiously through the slightly ajar door. 

Only young Randolph noticed the blonde Spanish woman slipping quietly from 
the goat hut, and he was too distressed by the dreadful fates which had 
befallen his mother and sister to give her exit a second thought. 
Contributing to his wretchedness was the humiliating fact that even in the 
midst of the crudest carnality possible, his traitorous young loins were 
responding to the sexual stimulus. Down between his sturdy legs, mere inches 
away from the gun, he felt his adolescent virility jumping to attention and 
straining against his denim pants. 

Oh Christ! he wailed in silent misery. What's the matter with me, anyway? 
Jeez, I hope no one notices I got a hard-on! 

Of course, no one was paying the slightest attention to the captive boy. 
Even the gun-wielding Antonio was gaping in lurid fascination at the 
salacious spectacle of the American mother's twisting, whip-scarred buttocks 
being plundered by his buddy Jose, while right across the room her pretty 
little daughter was being forced to strip by the sadistic Carlos. Already, 
his huge member was beginning to thicken and throb; hopefully, he'd have a 
chance at the little girl after the other guy got through with her! 

By now, Helene had stopped screaming out her anguish and was simply sobbing 
in hopeless subjugation. Although the initial severing arrows of flaming 
suffering had somewhat lessened as her rectal muscles automatically relaxed 
to make room for the ramrodding rigidity, she was scarcely even grateful for 
this small relief as her eyes once again focused with full awareness on the 
tormenting sight of her half-naked little girl. 

"Oh, Daisy, Daisy!" she cried out, her voice incoherent with unshed tears. 
"My darling baby! Can you ever forgive me for letting this happen to you?" 

The young girl was only dimly aware of her mother's cry, for at that very 
minute Carlos' hissing voice was demanding that she pull off her jeans. 
Already, he'd compelled her to take off her pale blue pullover, and she was 
blushing in shame as his beady eyes feasted on her wantonly exposed breasts. 
But taking down her pants that was far, far worse...it would make her 
totally vulnerable to attack. 

I can't do it! she shuddered to herself. I'd rather die! 

But, the survival instinct being the dominant impulse for most human beings, 
the pretty teenager found herself slowly unzipping her jeans even as her 
defiant thoughts echoed through her brain. As her shaking hands unfastened 
her last hope of protection, she noticed her going-steady ring with its blue 
angora thread wrapped around it to keep it on her slender finger. 

I should have let Billy Buford make love to me in that vacant lot after the 
graduation dance, she thought dizzily. Better to lose my virginity to him 
than this ugly monster! 

It was much too late now for "if only's". Even as Daisy's trembling fingers 
started to tug her hip-hugger jeans down over her rosebud-studded panties, 
the hungrily panting rapist was grasping for her virginal breasts and 
tormenting their tiny pink nipples between his filthy fingers. 

Although the inexperienced teenager knew quite well what was in store for 
her, she was actually not as afraid as she'd expected to be now that her own 
ordeal had finally begun. Waiting, wondering, imagining.. . that had been 
worse than the stark reality; and though tears still brimmed up in her 
innocent eyes, a peculiar curiosity was tempering her fears. For the past 
two years or so, she and her girl friends not to mention their steady 
boyfriends had thought of little else than the act of lovemaking. Now, it 
was about to happen to her! 

Though she had no way of knowing this, young Daisy Muller was about to 
discover that the gnawing excitement in the pit of her young belly, which 
she'd felt so intensely last night while watching the Spanish woman's 
ravishment, was about to become the prime influence of her life. 

As the conflict-crazed young girl slowly removed her blue jeans, she glanced 
once again at her twin brother. For some reason, Randy's expression 
frightened and excited her; it was as though, beneath his normal, everyday 
face, there hovered another mask which was horrifyingly similar to the 
lust-distorted features of these inhuman Spaniards. 

"Take it off, little girl!" Carlos gloated. "All of it!" 

Her peculiar thoughts about her brother forgotten in her nervous discomfort, 
Daisy eased her tight-fitting jeans down over her girlishly swelling hips 
and firm-fleshed thighs. The horrible man was licking his lips at the sight 
of her young body clad only in a skimpy pair of white bikini panties, and 
although she was trembling and blushing, there was a funny tingling 
sensation growing deep inside her churning belly and down between her 
thighs. 

The drug-crazed student rebel's passion-pulsing penis rammed against his 
pants as he noted the vague outline of the shivering teenager's pubic curls 
through the thin nylon fabric of her low-slung bikini panties. He lunged out 
to pull away the hand which she'd modestly placed over her exposed cuntal 
crevice, his breath coming in hoarse, shuddering gasps. 

"Everything!" he insisted. "EVERYTHING! Take off your panties, too!" 

Tears flooded Daisy's eyes so that she could scarcely see. She was dimly 
aware that part of her wanted this to happen, that she wanted to know what 
it felt like to feel a man's thing throbbing inside her shamefully damp 
vagina, but this self-knowledge was repressed by her moralistic upbringing 
and her genuine fears of the huge flesh weapon which Carlos had withdrawn 
from his trendy pre-bleached American jeans. 

"Oooohhhh, you bastards! YOU BASTARDS!" wailed Helene as she saw her 
innocent young child standing naked and vulnerable before the sadistic 
Spaniard. 

Suddenly a wave of pure fury washed over the victimized young mother. She 
couldn't stand for the indecent, despicable sodomizing to continue one 
second longer than necessary, and as she knelt before the drug-crazed young 
student in humiliating submission, she vowed to bring her depraved anal rape 
to a quick end. 

Even though it sickened her to do so, the American woman began wagging her 
tortured backside in wanton response to the lewd thrusts of Jose's rampaging 
penis. Despite the pain, she even clasped her burning anal muscles tightly 
around the impaling flesh weapon, trying with every ounce of her energy to 
bring on his indecent orgasm and end her humiliating torture. Then, she 
hoped against hope, she would be able to do something to help her endangered 
virgin daughter. 

The older woman's erotic undulations and the tight-sucking walls of her 
butter-smooth anal passage nearly drove 

Jose Angel out of his mind. As his lust-glazed eyes watched the rubbery 
flesh of her tiny pink orifice drawing back with his punishing flesh cudgel, 
then vanishing as he plunged to the hilt again, he knew that he couldn't 
hold back his climax very much longer. 

Hell! he thought in lewd triumph. She's loving it! Look at her twitch that 
ass for me! FOR ME! I've made her turn into a cock-hungry bitch! 

Helene's pretty face was streaked with tears and mud as she rolled her head 
from side to side on the dirt floor in her frenzied efforts to bring the man 
to a quick climax. Every fiber of her healthy young body strained toward 
this end as she bucked and writhed beneath him, and some hitherto undetected 
whorish instinct rose within her and led her to encourage and plead with the 
male behind her to fill her anal passage with his thick hot sperm. 

"Yeeessss!" she wailed. "Oooohhhhhh yeeesssss! Give it to meeeee! Gimmmmeeee 
your cum in my ass-hole! Yyaaahhhh!" 

The vulgarity of her shrill cry shocked the inexperienced mother very much, 
but in some inexplicable way it also drove her on to still more depraved 
demonstration. Jose had reacted to her sluttish writhing as she'd expected 
he would and was now skewering his long, white-hot cock-shaft into her 
throbbing backside with ever deeper, more vicious strokes, and his 
jagged-nailed fingers were biting into the tender flesh of her upper thighs 
as he clamped her down against the goat hut floor. The torture was almost 
unbearable, yet in some peculiar way Helene was virtually unaware of 
physical pain anymore. 

I'm acting as vile and bestial as they are! she thought in a daze of 
self-bewilderment. Then, as a spasm of strange masochistic pleasure shivered 
through her cock-impaled loins, her brain cried, I AM like them dirty, sick, 
nothing but a whore under the respectable suburban housewife skin I wear! 

The enormity of her realization so affected Helene Muller that all thoughts 
of her brutalized virgin daughter temporarily fled from her mind. For all 
the years of her marriage to Elwood, she'd never had a chance to express the 
hot-blooded sensuality that lurked within her curvaceous body. 

In fact, she'd only vaguely suspected that it existed; her erotic urges had 
been channeled into various interests with at least partial success when 
Elwood lost interest in her young body. Never had it occurred to her that 
her passionate love for foliage, food, and other sensory-satisfying 
pleasures had any connection with the frustration she felt night after night 
with her executive husband. 

Now, for the first time in thirty-three years, the American housewife was 
aware that she was; when one swept away all the roles and pretenses, nothing 
but a female with the same wanton needs and lusts as the streetwalkers she'd 
always regarded with pity and scorn. With the realization came a powerful 
rush of freedom, and her red-welt streaked buttocks undulated with an 
increased frenzy which was no longer false. 

All right! her tortured mind screamed. I'm nothing but a vulgar bitch! Okay! 
I deserve all the vile things they're doing to me, because I'm just a slut! 
And I don't even care how sick I am to like it. I'm going to fuck like the 
whore I am! 

"Fuck me, you bastard!" she shrieked. "Fuck my ass! Hard! Harder! Gimme your 
cuuuummmmmmm!" 

As the incoherent vulgarities sputtered from the mother's lips in a mindless 
stream of long pent-up sensual abandon, the delighted Spanish student shoved 
forward with a fierce thrust that almost tore through the very walls of her 
soft-fleshed belly. Waves of thick, searing cum flooded up into the 
tight-clasping depths of her ravished rectum as her buttocks continued to 
twitch in bestial lust, and even the obscene sensation of his thick semen 
trickling out of her spasming elastic rectum onto her burning ass-cheeks did 
not recall her to her senses. 

God, I wish he'd fuck my cunt! she thought wildly, burying her face in the 
cool mud of the shed's floor. I want to cum so bad I'm going to die! 

Then, suddenly, the sex-crazed young woman's lewd reverie was cut short as a 
shrill cry of anguish echoed from the corner where her naked daughter lay 
beneath another of their kidnappers. Jerking her head from the floor, Helene 
met her son Randy's horrified eyes, then shifted her gaze to where Daisy 
struggled beneath a thin-bodied youth. 

The man's lunging penis was prodding at her virgin daughter's tiny vaginal 
opening! 

A violent shudder of guilt raced through the cum-sullied woman's body as she 
realized that she'd actually forgotten about her children in the throes of 
indecent passion. She wasn't fit to be a mother! 

"NOOOOOOO!" she wailed in hysterical panic. "NNNOOOOO!" 

"Shut up!" Antonio commanded. "You liked it well enough when it happened to 
you!" 

The vicious, passion-maddened youth aimed a kick at the screaming mother, 
striking her full on the head. With a low gasp, she lapsed into a state of 
unconsciousness. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

Daisy was unaware of her mother's plight as she lay beneath Carlos's 
sweat-stained body and tried futilely to twist her cringing pussy away from 
his menacing rod of lust-hardened male flesh. It was so big! So red and 
swollen! It would tear her to pieces down there, maybe kill her! 

"Stttoppppppp!" she cried out again. "Noooo, pleeeeeze!" 

Her pleas were more detrimental than useful, for they sparked Carlos's 
sadistic tendencies rather than arousing any pity in his alcohol and 
drug-clouded mind. Without wasting the energy to reply to her beseeching 
sobs, he dug his iron-hard fingers into the yielding flesh of her girlish 
breasts and pinned her flat to the ground. Then, forcing her vainly kicking 
legs apart with his knees, he mashed his rampant rigidity up against the 
curl-fringed lips of her never-before-touched vagina. 

A croaking shudder passed from Daisy's fear-trembling lips, and then she 
fell silent as the hopelessness of her position dawned on her. There was 
nothing more she could do! Cruel fate had decreed that she was to lose her 
treasured virginity to a mad rapist on the floor of a goat hut in Spain! 

The blood-bloated cock-head jabbed viciously against the cringing flesh of 
the helplessly weeping virgin's petal-pink cunt, prodding at the tiny 
orifice until at last it found its mark and slipped an inch or so into the 
tightly resisting opening. Daisy felt her plunderer rock forward with brutal 
strength, forcing all the weight in his thin but hard-muscled young body 
behind the battering-ram attack of his lust-thickened penis. 

"Aaaaggghhhhhhh!" The shrill cry burst from the fifteen year old's lips as a 
bolt of the most intense pain she'd ever imagined shot through her slim 
young body. 

The swollen flesh pole of masculine dominance continued to bore deeper 
between the gasping teenager's wide-held legs, its hard, blunt head 
skewering brutally between the fearfully cringing walls of her 
never-before-abused pussy channel. Only when it reached the intrusive 
membrane of her maidenhead did the ravenous onslaught stop. 

"No!" Daisy panted in anguish. "Noooo! Stooopppp!" 

By now, the high school girl wasn't thinking of her purity or the moral 
consequences of the irreparable sundering of her tissue-thin seal of 
virginity. The only thing that mattered to her was to put an end to the 
unendurable pain that shivered from the top of her skull to her helplessly 
curling white toes, to stop this monster's brutal attack before he destroyed 
her fragile young body. A cloud of blackness swam before her eyes, and for 
an instant she thought that she was already dying. 

Carlos grinned, an evil, inhuman leer, and tightened his grip on the young 
girl's lushly pliant young breasts. Then, with the guttural grunt of a 
primitive caveman, he flicked his slim hips forward with all the force in 
his drug-demented body and felt his pulsating thickness slice through the 
thin skin of her hymen. 

"Aaiiieeee!! " screamed Daisy in sheer torment. 

I've done it! he cried in silent triumph. I've fucked a real virgin! What a 
man I am! 

His egoistic excitement, coupled with the rapturous constriction of the 
little girl's cuntal walls around his rampaging penis, so aroused the 
sadistic student's passions that he began fucking in and out of her taut 
vaginal sheath with the vigorous force of a speeding express train. Without 
thought of the pain and injury he was inflicting on the inexperienced 
adolescent, he rammed and bullied his out-of-control member all the way up 
into her spongy, ultra-sensitive cervix. Then, growling with bestial 
delight, he ripped his thick cock back up out of her ravished pussy, pulling 
little shreds of pink cuntal flesh along with his merciless flesh cudgel, 
and paused for a moment to catch his breath. 

For one optimistic moment, Daisy Muller thought her ordeal was over. Thank 
God! she breathed in relief. I'II never, never let another male touch me 
again! A tiny tremor of regret shot through her burning loins as she 
remembered how, until this terrible experience, she'd quite looked forward 
to the days when she would enjoy lovemaking. Of course, she'd planned to 
wait till she was married, or at least pinned, but her outlook toward sex 
had been one of happy anticipation rather than fearful dread. Well, now she 
knew the truth, and she would never, not for anything on this earth, allow 
her body to be abused by another brutish male. 

Daisy's pain-dazed reverie came to an abrupt halt as Carlos once again 
thrust his thick-veined flesh cudgel down into the girl's no-longer-virginal 
cuntal channel. Though she screamed again, in fact the pain was much less 
this time, for her formerly dry vagina was lubricated with droplets of blood 
from her severed maidenhead. And as he plunged again and again into her 
girlishly tight pussy, automatic female secretions of unacknowledged 
building excitement served to smooth its burgeoning path. 

The tortured teenager's cries roused her stunned mother from her face-down 
position on the dirt floor. As she slowly regained consciousness and opened 
her eyes, Helene Muller at first didn't realize where she was, who these 
dirty, menacing strangers were. Then, as she grew more aware of the rank 
stink of the goat shed and the taste of mud in her cock-bruised lips, and as 
the shrill female screams echoed through her ears, she knew in an icy moment 
of horror that she was not lying in her clean twin bed in Schenectady having 
one of her frequent nightmares. 

Oh, God. No. It can't be true. Her brain whirled dizzily as she tried to 
focus her blurred vision on the depraved scene taking place before her. I 
won't believe it. It's got to be a dream... 

But the horrified mother knew full well that her young child's ravishment at 
the hands of a cruel sadist was as real as the burning pain in her buttocks 
and in her plundered anal passage. Randy's eyes were gazing into her own, 
and the hurt and accusation in them stung her like a poisoned arrow. God, 
the boy thought it was her fault. But what could she do? What? 

Turning from her son with a shudder of guilty anguish, the naked mother 
watched in impotent misery as her only daughter lost her most precious 
treasure to a filthy foreign brute who must be hurting her terribly, from 
the look of it. The mere sight of her graceful, delicate young figure being 
rocked furiously against the floor as the male's huge instrument of torture 
plunged again and again into her innocent body made Helene's blood turn to 
ice in her veins. But then, as the tone of the child's cries changed 
imperceptibly, an even more dreadful thought flitted through her mind: was 
Daisy enjoying the vicious rape...just as she herself had fifteen minutes 
earlier? Oh, no, no... 

The watching mother was aware of her daughter's encroaching arousal even 
before the girl herself identified the strange sensations sweeping over her 
impaled body. Due to her own recent abandoned depravity, Helene could spot 
all the telltale signs: the twitching buttocks, responsively undulating in 
tempo with the pummeling male flesh, the weird glint of animal lust in the 
eyes; the heaving breath and whimpers that sounded increasingly more like 
murmurings of encouragement. 

Oh dear God! the guilt-tortured mother despaired. It's all my fault, I 
suppose. She saw how I acted, and she's imitating me! 

But the young girl wasn't thinking of her mother as she began to realize 
that her loins seemed to be inflamed with some sort of weird, indecent 
passion. Shameful as it was to admit, even to herself, a gnawing erotic 
hunger of exactly the same sort as she'd felt with her steady boyfriend was 
once again consuming her body. Fingers of fiery pain continued to dance 
through her brutally impaled figure, but the strange embers of excitement 
dulled the physical discomfort to an insignificant pressure. 

"Lookit the little bitch! She-likes it!" Carlos exulted. 

The sight of the fair-skinned little American girl bucking and moaning in 
unwilling ecstasy beneath his thickly skewering penis was too much for the 
desire-demented Spaniard. Before he knew what was happening, hot sperm was 
churning up in his testicles as they danced against the child-woman's 
satin-smooth ass-cheeks, and a second later hot streams of white cum were 
spewing deep into her no-longer-pure vaginal depths. Clutching her 
silken-fleshed breasts and grunting out his satisfaction, " the proud 
student abandoned himself to the supreme delight of a long-drawn-out, 
explosively powerful orgasm. 

As the seething jets of male semen shot deep into her vagina and splashed 
against her very womb, Daisy's undercurrent of arousal surfaced in a tidal 
wave of volcanic force. Her knees jerked wider apart to give the man's 
ejaculating penis better access to her fire-filled cuntal depths, and her 
firm young buttocks began grinding in frenzied excitement as a spasm of 
bittersweet pleasure swept through her body. Wave after wave of the purest 
ecstasy she'd ever known crashed over her half-unconscious body, soaring her 
into her very first orgasm and changing her forever from the innocent child 
she'd been a mere twenty-four hours before. 

And Randy, as his own rampant teenaged penis exploded from the tension of 
watching his young sister squirm and writhe beneath a mammoth male hardness, 
knew that he, too, would never be the same again. How could he bear the 
shame of remembering that he'd actually cum in his jeans while watching 
Daisy be brutally raped? How could he ever forget the way she was screaming 
out like a demented madwoman as thick rivulets of cream-white semen trickled 
down over her spasming thighs and chestnut-brown cuntal curls? 

"I'm cumming!" Daisy's wanton shrieks rang out again. "Can't help it! I'm 
cuuummminnnnngggg! And it's ssssoooooo gggoooooddddddd!" 

 CHAPTER NINE 

Down in the valley below, the sun was burning down with vengeful heat by 
midday. Elwood Muller, in blissful oblivion of the trials and tribulations 
the other members of his family were undergoing, had left the Pop-top's 
oven-like interior and headed for the cool shade of the tree-banked brook. 
In one hand, he clutched a six-pack of beer; in the other, a copy of 
Newsweek. Despite his still-throbbing headache, he felt relaxed and more 
peaceful than he could remember feeling for a very long time. 

Settling down in the quiet Pyrenees valley for a day or so had been an 
admirable idea, he congratulated himself as he settled down in a dry patch 
of grass and popped open a can of beer. Look how happy and active the kids 
were why, they'd been out in the fresh air before he even got up! Helene, 
too, seemed pleased at his decision, and he supposed, with a thrill of 
pride, that her good mood had something to do with his sexual advances of 
the previous evening. 

"Sure I can still get it up like a man half my age!" he muttered to the 
bubbling brook. "And why the hell shouldn't I? The little wife's still a 
mighty good-looking woman!" 

Ignoring the flickering doubts as to how much he had actually satisfied his 
lovely young wife, Elwood took a deep sip of the cold beer and sighed with 
contentment. This was his last six-pack of beer, and he intended to enjoy 
them to the utmost. Maybe then, he reflected lazily, he'd take up rum... 

The beer ran down his throat, cold and wet and utterly satisfying. Leaning 
back on his bare elbows, Elwood shook the magazine and plucked up the 
paperback book that fell from its pages. It was one of those "adult" books, 
something he'd picked up in the Munich airport while Helene and the kids 
were wandering around in the duty-free shop, and though he'd been a little 
ashamed of buying it, he told himself that the modern view of sexual 
literature was that it was perfectly normal and not in the least perverted. 
Hell, think of Denmark and Sweden; and even 

Germany was intending to legalize pornography. 

"Anyhow," the husband rationalized as he stared at the picture on the cover, 
"You can't call this stuff pornography. It's realistic, that's all. None of 
that beating-around-the-bush shit! The real thing!" 

The illustration on the cover showed a pretty woman, a young girl who 
appeared to be her daughter, and a vicious Arab clad in robe and turban. A 
quick glance at the introduction told him that the novel told the story of 
an American woman and her teenaged daughter who were kidnapped by brutal 
Arab terrorists while touring Morocco. 

Fucking awful Arabs, Elwood thought irritably, recalling the brand-new 
Cadillac he'd been forced to sell because he couldn't get enough gas to run 
the damn thing unless he spent half his waking hours waiting in line at the 
gas station. You can't trust the bastards, that's God's own truth. Thank 
goodness we're here in a nice, safe place without any of those mother 
fucking, immoral types. . . 

* * * 

Not more than an hour's walk from where Elwood Muller lay relaxing in the 
sun-dappled shade near his Pop-top camper, a "mother-fucking, immoral type", 
complete with long, Cuban-style mustache and gun, was cautiously driving a 
heavy cattle truck up a heavily rutted shepherd's path. Beside him sat 
another similar specimen, this one someone younger and sporting a Che 
Guevera mustache and army fatigue cap. 

"This road's no damn good, not after a-" the driver, Pedro, was muttering to 
his companion when suddenly a woman's figure appeared at the side of the 
road, waving her arms and crying out to them. 

"Well, I'll be damned!" Pedro ejaculated. "It's Vasilisa. Hope to hell 
nothing's gone wrong up at the cabin...." 

The tall, well-built revolutionary eased the large van to a halt and jumped 
out of the wagon, the good condition of his muscular body evident in the 
grace with which he moved. Hugging his wife, who came flying into his arms 
with hysterical sobs, he calmed her down and then listened to her story. 

"Hell, nothing to have a fit about!" he remarked after she'd tearfully 
stammered out that the three young rebels had captured three Americans and 
were forcing them into sinful activities. "They're just kids, and it's 
better that they play around with tourists than Spanish girls, after all." 

"You don't understand!" Vasilisa burst out, too overcome by the monstrous 
events of the last day to remember to address her husband with her customary 
deference. 

"I don't understand?" Pedro's face darkened. "It's you who understand 
nothing, woman! Sure, those kids aren't ideal Movement members but we've got 
to include them if we want the support of the Communist university-based 
organizations. It was your job to make them behave!" 

Hot tears blurred Vasilisa's vision, but she choked them back as she related 
all the vile details: her own triple rape, the youth's disloyalty, their 
hashish-smoking, their stupidity, sadism, and hypocrisy. As she blurted out 
her story, Pedro's handsome face darkened like a summer sky before a 
thunderstorm, and the blonde Spanish woman's voice trailed off into a 
plaintive whisper as she perceived that some of his wrath was directed 
against herself. 

"You let them fuck you, all three of them at once?" he demanded. 

It was not so much the anger in her husband's voice which frightened 
Vasilisa, but more the unmistakable glint of sexual arousal in his brown 
eyes. He had never looked at her like that in the old days, just as he'd 
certainly never lowered himself to compromising involvements with people 
like those three despicable students. As he flashed a glance of egoistical 
male confidence to his companion, she suddenly realized that his power 
hunger, his desire to be king of the mountain, was far more important than 
the love he'd once felt for his wife and his Basque countryside. Hadn't she 
suspected that he felt this way for a long time now facing the dread 
knowledge one moment, denying it the next? Wasn't that the reason he'd 
insisted that they have no children? 

Vasilisa gulped back her tears and looked from her husband to his friend. 
Although she wasn't personally acquainted with the handsome youth, she knew 
that he was one of the up-and-coming leaders of the Movement. Then, turning 
back to her husband, she felt a cold shiver of reality flicker through her 
voluptuous young body. Even if Pedro had changed, even though his love was 
not of the pure quality she had deluded herself it was, she could not find 
the strength to go against him. She was his woman, and as had been the 
custom down through the ages, she would do his bidding. 

Pedro demanded that she get into the truck, and she sat uncomfortably 
pressed between her husband and the other man, Miguel, while they drove as 
quickly as possible up to the isolated goat hut. Although a host of 
threatening premonitions teased at the corners of her mind, she spoke only 
when spoken to and forced back her tears. 

Only when Pedro and Miguel pulled the truck up beside the silent shed, leapt 
from the van with machine guns pulled, and bashed open the wooden door, did 
she react. 

"Oh, dear God!" the fair-haired Basque woman murmured, fingering her 
well-worn rosary. "Oh God, oh God! Is this the way life was meant to be?" 

From inside the hut came muffled shouts and the sound of scuffling, then a 
loud burst of gunfire. Vasilisa didn't stay to see what had happened. 
Suddenly something clicked inside her brain, and she made her decision. 
Turning, she once again hurried down the mountain trail, and though her 
heart ached with unshed tears, she never once turned back. 

By the time she'd reached the spot where the path forked and she changed 
direction to head for her parents' farm in the next valley, she'd made up 
her mind to emigrate to Canada where one of her uncles had a small fishing 
company. She would leave as soon as possible in order to avoid seeing Pedro 
ever again. 

* * * 

Neither Helene Muller nor her two young children would ever be able to 
forget the sickening cracks of bullets striking skulls as Antonio, Carlos, 
and Jose Angel's naked bodies crumpled to the ground before their eyes. And 
the blood! It was so red, and there was so much of it oozing from the three 
limp figures...soaking into the mud floor...spattering Randy's jeans and his 
mother's and sister's ivory-white nakedness... 

Even now, three years later, Helene still awoke from nightmares that left 
her shivering and crying. She could never sleep again after these dreams of 
blood and hatred, but would lie in her bed trembling in anguish as a parade 
of faces moved before her mind's eye. First, the features of the slaughtered 
young revolutionaries, blood-spattered, eyes staring at her in unblinking 
glassy death; then the ruthless masks of Pedro and Miguel with their 
steel-hard eyes, looking as real as they had that long-ago day when they'd 
tied her together with her children like slaves to be sold at the market and 
had pushed them into the back of the cattle truck. 

Randy's and Daisy's faces haunted her, too. Her son's expression was 
strange, wild, as though he were in a state of shock. As for Daisy, her 
guilt-ridden mother always thought of her pretty teenaged features distorted 
into a wanton mask of lust as she screamed out in the throes of orgasm. 

Most disturbing of all the faces in the imaginary procession, however, was 
the one of her ex-husband, Elwood. His eyes glinted with icy unforgiveness 
in her memory, just as they had when she and the twins had been forced by 
Pedro and Miguel to perform every manner of obscene, incestuous acts. The 
cruel revolutionaries had assumed, quite correctly, that being forced to 
watch his family degraded in this way would convince the American man to 
come up with the ransom money they demanded. 

"But why couldn't Elwood understand and forgive?" Helene would mutter into 
the darkness. "Surely he could have realized that our bodies couldn't help 
reacting...that we weren't going against him...." 

But Elwood had held no sympathy for his wife, nor had he seemed to want to 
look at his children. During the three awful days when they'd been kept in 
the cattle truck while Elwood and Pedro drove around arranging secretive 
ways to have the money delivered from the United States, he'd avoided their 
eyes and had withdrawn into himself. It had been even worse once they were 
on the Iberia plane back to New York, and Helene knew that his reaction had 
hurt the children as much as it had her. He'd not even come back to 
Schenectady with them, but had taken a hotel in the city and filed for a 
divorce at once. 

In the light of day, when Helene thought about the past, things didn't look 
as dismal as in the night. After all, she told herself, why would she want 
to be married to a man with so little human compassion? And wasn't she happy 
now, with her little house and antique shop in New England, her new friends, 
her lover James Heinrich? Certainly, she was happy! But. . . but. . . well, 
how could a mother truly be happy when her children seemed so miserable, so 
unable to cope with life? 

Often, as she worked in her little antique shop or tended the pretty garden 
of her colonial-style cottage in this small, peaceful town, the 
youthful-looking divorcee would pause as a faraway look flickered in her 
large eyes. Maybe I shouldn't have sent the kids off to boarding school that 
first year? she'd ponder, a worried, guilty frown wrinkling her smooth 
forehead. But what could I do? It was hard enough trying to make a new life, 
moving here and all... 

At first, when the children were visiting her on school vacations, she'd 
closed her eyes to the fact that something was definitely the matter. They'd 
all treated each other politely too politely, perhaps and she'd only begun 
to consciously worry when Daisy began to gain a reputation as being 
promiscuous. Even then, though, she'd been too embarrassed to speak to her 
daughter honestly. 

Then, after one abortion and a host of unsavory scandals, seventeen year old 
Daisy Muller had run away from school to live with a rock musician named 
Eugenio on some awful commune somewhere out west. Helene hadn't heard from 
her daughter in nine months now, but she'd read a letter she sent to a 
friend (stolen by the girl's mother and passed on to her) that told of the 
orgies and group sex, and also of a suicide attempt. 

Every time Helene thought about that letter, her eyes filled with tears. Yet 
much as she wished she could help her little girl, it was too late now to 
undo the damage that had been done. 

As for Randy well, on the surface he seemed in better shape than his sister. 
He'd done well in prep school, and in the autumn would be entering the 
college of his choice. Each Christmas he visited his mother, and the Easter 
holidays were spent with his father in New York, where Elwood, by dint of 
hard work and luck on the stock market, had made up for the money he'd lost 
to the Basque revolutionaries and was living in an elegant penthouse. During 
the summer months, Randolph took summer jobs at camps rather than staying 
with either of his parents. 

Everyone told her she should be proud of her good-looking son, and Helene 
supposed they were right. Yet no matter how often she tried to convince 
herself of this, a cold little wind blew through her soul. There was 
something which alarmed her about the boy a coldness in his eyes, a sense of 
repressed hatred and she feared the day when this subdued streak of violence 
would explode. 

Did Elwood and the children still wake up crying in the night, as she did? 
Why couldn't they all have treated each other with love and compassion, 
helped one another bear the scars of their horrifying adventure? Why had 
their family been destroyed by the encounter with brutality and violence? 

Lately, Helene had tried to stop thinking so much about these gloomy things. 
The only way to survive, she decided, was to tend one's own garden. Perhaps 
she would marry James Henrich and try to start a new family, a family with 
strong bonds of true love. 

In the daytime, this plan seemed feasible, even sensible. Only in the night, 
when the dreams returned, did Helene allow herself to doubt that love was 
possible in a cruel and uncaring world. 


THE END
