Screaming Bitches - A Tale Of Islamic Terror By Llabmik Chapter 1 - Lovely Yehuda is Sucked Hard Achmed loved being a terrorist. He idly watched as the Israeli minister worked her way to the toilets at the back of the plane. He surreptitiously studied the ruby light on his remote control as she shut the door. When it went on, it would mean that her bare thighs and naked bottom had established a perfect seal on the undersized toilet seat. Inside the small washroom cubicle, Yehuda was fastidiously spraying antiseptic on the steel toilet. She wiped it clean. They made these seats so small! Yehuda unbuckled her belt, unzipped and pulled down her pants. As the sharply creased pants of her pantsuit settled around her shapely ankles, she inserted her fingers inside the elastic band of her pantyhose and slipped it down her thighs to just below her knees. She peeled her naughty Victoria's Secret panties down her thighs. As the crimson panties settled on top of her pantyhose, she parked her delectable heinie on the seat. She wiggled it thoughtfully to try and get as comfortable as possible. In his passenger seat, Achmed saw the small ruby light wink on. With the destructive glee of a small child, he pressed the button. The tiny, almost impossible to detect, charge blew out a small section of pipe in the toilet apparatus, so that Yehuda's toilet was now connected directly to the rarefied outside atmosphere of the highflying jet, producing an unbelievably high suction. In her tiny cubicle, Yehuda's big brown eyes opened wide and she began to scream long, high and hard as her womb was sucked out one orifice and her intestines and stomach were sucked out the other. Her inhuman shrieks filled the passenger cabin. Some of the female passengers helpfully joined in and screamed right along. As per plan, Achmed thoughtfully tucked the remote control into the pocket of one of the stewardesses, Jelena, who was standing transfixed in the aisle. Her eyes, and everyone else's eyes, were riveted on the steel bathroom door. Behind it, Yehuda continued to shriek madly as her viscera ripped loose and drained out her nether orifices. The Sky Marshals worked hard breaking down the door, but by then it was way too late for lovely Yehuda. She had been sucked dry. They couldn't even pry her quivering corpse off the seat. Brought up in a strongly religious environment where he was taught to respect his elders, not to steal, to praise God repeatedly and at length, to blindly accept religious teachings (indeed, using your brain and questioning them at all was blasphemy, an invitation to savage punishment), no music, no dancing, to be courteous to deeply veiled women. It was all mind-numbing boredom. As a terrorist supporter of all this righteous boredom, Achmed was allowed to adopt infidel ways in order to blend in. Meeting Osama and his richboy shit-disturbers had been a real eye-opener. They thought big and had the money to make it happen. Their loosey-goosey interpretation of the Koran had been immensely liberating. From these richboy shit-disturbers he had learned one of life's great truths: bad boys have all the fun! A bad boy could fuck all the women he wanted, he could blow stuff up, he could play with cool weapons and shoot people dead, he traveled, he saw the world. By comparison, the righteous citizens did squat for excitement. As a pious terrorist engaged in a holy war, Achmed could rob a bank, go to Vegas, gamble with some of his ill-gotten gains, drink himself silly, hire an expensive, immensely knowledgeable racehorse of a whore for the night and screw his brains out. Then he could get down to business and teach a bitch to really scream. Allah be praised! The Al Qaeda methods were expensive, complicated and took a lot of preparation, but it was sooooo satisfying when a bad boy plan really came together. The plane landed in Israel without further incident. The powerful suction gradually diminished as the plane landed. It vanished completely as the plane halted on the runway. Security guards flooded into the plane. Yehuda's body, a mere husk now, wedged firmly and obscenely in place on the toilet seat, was popped off courtesy of some determined prying. The Israelis searched all the passengers and crew. Achmed, wearing a yarmulke, his breath reeking of alcohol, with an "I Luv Las Vegas" button pinned to his shirt, blended in nicely with the other tourists (Welcome to the Holy Land!). His easily faked Canadian passport passed muster. Achmed watched in satisfaction as the protesting stewardess was carted off by the Mossad, hooded and handcuffed. Like Achmed, they too knew how to make a bitch scream. Shortly afterwards, the passengers were released. It looked like they had found out the connection between the stewardess and Yehuda. Probably lovely Jelena had ignorantly confessed it. Achmed grinned. The stewardess bitch knew nothing. Of course, they'd have to sweat her extra hard just to be sure.
Chapter 2 - Sweating Stewardess
Yehuda's brother had dumped Jelena on Yehuda's advice. His older sister
assured him that he could do much better than a lowly stewardess ('where's the
future in that?' Yehuda had enquired scornfully) and he had. Her brother, a
charming rogue, was now shacked up with a wealthy airhead fashion model. In
addition to getting the fucks of a lifetime, the brother was having an excellent
time spending the airhead's money. Poor jilted Jelena had freely confided all
this to her questioners in the original interview. This gave her absolutely
nothing more to confess now that the questioning had grown much more serious.
Deep in the bowels of an anonymous concrete bunker, Jelena's hood and
handcuffs had been removed. She stared, wide-eyed, at the matron. The matron
impatiently repeated herself.
"I said, strip!"
"But this is all a mistake! Someone must have planted that device on me,
whatever it was!"
The matron exhaled heavily.
"Do you want me to call the men in to assist?"
Jelena licked her ruby lips nervously.
"Uh, no!"
She began to unbutton at a snail's pace.
"If you are not naked in twenty seconds, I'll summon some muscular male
assistance! I'm sure that they would be happy to pound you shitless and rip a
traitor's clothes from her body."
The heavyset matron smirked smugly as Jelena's slim fingers suddenly
flew. She stepped out of her high heels, unbuttoned her blouse, unzipped her
skirt, unhooked her bra and peeled off her panties and pantyhose. She stood,
delectably naked, her yummy stewardess body everything a man (and some women)
could wish for. Her carefully trimmed pubic triangle proclaimed her a natural
blond. The matron patted the metal restraining table. The metal was covered in
rubber, which Jelena thought curious.
"Get up and lie on your back. Put your knees over the U-shaped metal
pipes on either side. I need your legs spread nice and wide so that everything's
available and on display for the strip search."
Her heart hammering like a maniac trapped in her rib cage, lovely Jelena
climbed up on the table and hooked her knees over the two wide-spread U-shaped
pipes, also rubber coated. The matron strapped her legs in place. Jelena's slim
wrists were trapped in waist-level leather cuffs on either side of the table.
The matron snapped on the latex gloves to begin a leisurely examination
of the goodies. She parted Jelena's pretty little toes and ran her fingers
between them. Jelena gasped as the matron thoughtfully scraped a fingernail over
the soles of Jelena's perfectly shaped feet. She ran her hands up Jelena's slim,
muscular legs, giving her calves a squeeze, kneading her parted thighs and tight
buns carefully.
"Having a good time?"
Although popular in adventure stories, smart mouthing her captor is a
poor idea for a helpless victim. Inspired by her insolence, the matron moved to
work on Jelena's pretty face. She pinched Jelena's nipples hard with her sharp
fingernails. When her victim obligingly parted her lips to squeal out a protest,
the matron popped a strong V-shaped spring into Jelena's mouth, held shut by a
quick-release clamp. She released the clamp and the powerful spring snapped
open, forcing Jelena's jaws achingly wide, silencing any further wise-ass
remarks. The matron picked up a sharp dental pick. Taking her time, she
carefully scraped each tooth, jabbing the surrounding gums vigorously.
"I just want to make sure that you don't have any poison hidden in a
hollow tooth. I wouldn't want you biting down and escaping before we've squeezed
you dry."
Squirming and moaning, Jelena felt like someone had ripped out her heart
and stomped on it.
As the matron scraped and jabbed with the sharp pick, performing a
painstakingly thorough oral inspection, Jelena emitted small squeals of
distress, her tits aquiver, her hips writhing sinuously. At last, when Jelena
was whimpering and sobbing nicely, teardrops glistening in her big blue eyes,
her cheeks wet, the matron put down the pick. She ran her fingers through
Jelena's golden locks, peered into her ear holes and up her nostrils with an
otoscope (a doctor's lighted probe), using a thin speculum on the end so that
she could dig deep and tilt the intrusive instrument painfully inside sensitive
orifices.
Jelena groaned as the matron sank her fingers into Jelena's big breasts
like an eagle's talons gripping its hapless prey. She squeezed hard and twisted
her victim's big boobs like she was trying to rip them from Jelena's panting
torso. The smirking matron explained to a squealing Jelena.
"I have to check that no contraband has been surgically implanted."
Then, with a grin, saving the best for last, she prepared to work
between Jelena's widespread legs. She sprinkled talc over her gloves.
Jelena grunted as the matron's fuck finger wormed painfully into her
asshole. She began breathing hard as she felt the matron's fingers questing
inside her vaginal passage, wondering if these were the same unclean fingers
that had just been up her shit chute. Without further ado, the matron plunged
her fist in forearm deep.
Jelena's naked body arched up. She screamed high and hard as she felt
the fist twisting brutally, deep inside her, sharp delving fingernails pinching
with fiendish cruelty.
At length, satisfied that Jelena didn't have an AK47 stuffed up her
cunt, the matron withdrew her intimately questing fingers. She clamped and
removed the spring propping open Jelena's aching jaws. Poor panting Jelena
worked her aching jaw muscles, trying to get her mouth to close properly and to
stop drooling. The matron opened the door and spoke briefly to Captain Menehem
Zukerman's men waiting outside.
"She's ready."
The matron smirked smugly as the hard-faced men trundled in the cart of
equipment, looking with interest at the nude, sweating stewardess spread
delectably, ready for business.
"Now we get serious!"
Chapter 3 - Suicide Bombers Achmed and his men were piously recruiting a few suicide bombers for the cause. Disguised as Israeli soldiers, he and his fellow zealots urged the pretty Arab girl into the back alley. His face masked by a black scarf, Achmed briskly explained the drill to her. "We want you to remove your clothes. Show us what you have to offer some hard-working Israeli soldiers. If you cry out for help, your fellow Arabs will witness your shame and degradation. Depending on how many show up to view your sexual skills in action, we may kill have a few to keep it all manageable. Those who survive will be able to attest that you are spoiled goods that no self-respecting man will touch. Your own relatives may well behead you to save their honour." The Arab girl's dark eyes were huge. "Israeli scum! I would rather die than submit!" Achmed smirked evilly. Carving the snottiness out of a haughty beauty was a pleasure as well as a sacred duty. "We won't kill you! We will simply rip off your clothes and have our way with you. Afterwards, we will take the tattered remains of your clothing with us and you will get the challenge of trying to make your way through the city stark naked. If you co-operate and remove your clothes yourself, we will leave them with you and they will be in good shape to put on afterwards. You can pretend like nothing happened! A win-win situation! No hassle afterwards for us or no beheading for you!" Jasmine looked at them sullenly. "You Jews think you are so smart." "Smart enough to fuck you and get away with it! Do you want me to call out so that you can have an audience for your degradation?" He cupped his hand beside his mouth to trumpet out a call. Jasmine's pretty face twitched nervously. "No! No! I'll do it!" Achmed was confident that a woman was unlikely to forget being gang-banged and raped over thoroughly. Combine rape trauma with a fear of being unmarried and pregnant in a fiercely repressive society and you had a suicidal female, a tender rose ripe for the plucking, ready to sacrifice herself honourably for the cause. He and the boys righteously chose the more independent females, picked them off when they were alone, as no properly God-fearing woman should be, and then taught them the error of their ways. Achmed loved his job. The fun never stopped. He scanned her ID for the follow-up call by the suicide salesman. Her name was Jasmine. He noted her address. The masked men watched with interest as young Jasmine nervously removed her robes. A raven-haired beauty with large dark eyes, full breasts capped by big brown nipples, a carefully shaved pubic area, slim legs, a smooth taut belly - young Jasmine was the perfect rape toy. They blindfolded her. There was no way that she would mistake the sight of an uncircumcised Arab cock for a Jewish baldhead. "It's important to remain silent, you Arab cunt. If you attract attention now, you can kiss your future good-bye." Thoroughly cowed, Jasmine was quiet as the tomb as the first rapist pinned her against a lamppost. Her wrists were handcuffed together behind the lamppost. Achmed's two buddies, black eyes gleaming, helpfully spread her shapely legs, preparing her for their act of holy rape. Poor, frightened Jasmine emitted merely the smallest of gasps as Achmed rammed his way into her tight virginal cunt, drawing blood. Deeply shocked, she said nothing, moaning softly as he humped her hard and emptied his seed inside her. His two eager companions took their turns. Each rammed his way brutally in, pumping viciously, savagely slamming his hard body against her soft, yielding one. Hard cocks firehosed oyster juice into her bleeding fuckhole. They turned her around and handcuffed her facing the lamppost. Blood and thick scumwads of semen seeped down the inside of her trembling thighs. Carefully, Achmed wormed his greased fingers into her asshole, drawing sharply hissed vituperation from his squirming rapetoy. "Israeli bastard!" Each anal intruder drew a sharp, horrified gasp as he separated Jasmine's quivering, milky-white ass globes and helped himself to her reluctantly proffered rectal delights. Each grinned sadistically as he slipped his greased sausage into her hard-gripping shithole, pumped vigorously and emptied himself into her bowels. The Arab virgin was a real tightie. When they were done, poor Jasmine was sobbing quietly, near hysterical. Considerately, they rammed a tampon up her cunt to sop up the blood. Their work of holy terror needed only one last artistic touch. Achmed heated up the branding iron quickly with a blowtorch. Jasmine breathed in sharply as the small branding iron hissed against her bare buttock. Achmed laughed as he admired the Star of David burned indelibly onto her bright-red bare bun. If that didn't push her over the edge, nothing would. They pulled up their pants, uncuffed her and tossed Jasmine's clothing into her tear-stained face, taunting her cruelly. "Complain all you want to, you Arab cunt! You even have the evidence to show to any future husband." Her slender fingers trembled as she fumbled to put her robes back on. Jasmine's voice was raw with rage as she hissed her hatred. "Bastard, syphilitic sons of a Jewish camel-whore!"
Chapter 4 - Wired For Sound Deep in the bombproof concrete bunker that is the Mossad's interrogation centre, Captain Zukerman's men worked efficiently, completely ignoring Jelena's offers to co-operate fully. Captain Zukerman, knowing through sad experience that women were adept liars, liked his suspects to be on the verge of a full mental meltdown before he condescended to pay any attention to their desperate babblings. In his experience, frantic, hysterical females made poor prevaricators. The truth simply flowed out of them. His men dipped two long swaths of cotton in a bucket of salt water (Dead Sea water has wonderful conductivity) and wrapped one around each of her slim ankles. A copper shackle was clamped around each wet cotton swath. A thick wire from each metal cuff went to the electric shock machine. Why fool around with small stuff? Captain Zukerman turned the voltage and amperage high and snapped on the switch. The results were gratifying. Jelena's naked body arched upwards, shaking hard as her muscles spasmed violently. Her bare buttocks lifted from the table, dimpling prettily as they clenched tight. The acrid smell of a sweating cunt filled the room. The noise was deafening. The shock machine emitted an evil high voltage hum. The metal table rattled like thunder as Jelena's nude form strained against the straps, shaking uncontrollably. She opened her mouth and shrieked insanely, the spittle flying from her ruby lips. In the fullness of time, Captain Zukerman cut the power. With a loud bang, Jelena's bare bum slapped down hard on the table as her taut, straining muscles suddenly slackened. Jelena glistened with a thick, oily, fear sweat. Panting hard, she stared wide-eyed at the Captain, her hair a frazzled golden mess. "What do you want? I'll do anything you want! Anything!" Captain Zukerman ignored her completely. He dipped two more thin cotton swaths in the bucket of Dead Sea brine and wrapped each around the base of Jelena's breasts. He snugged wire nooses around the base of each of her breasts over the cotton swaths, cinching them brutally tight so that her tits bulged. The standard thing you see is an electrode attached to each nipple. This simply shocks the heart and kills the victim. If you want your victim to scream high and hard, you pass the electricity from an alligator clip on her nipple to a wire wrapped around the base of her breast. Jelena was panic-stricken as she felt the sharp teeth of the strong-jawed alligator clips bite into her teats. "No! Please! I'll tell you anything! I'll give you all blowjobs! I'll..." She screamed and her bare, sweating torso arched upwards as Captain Zukerman threw the switch. The shock machine droned its evil, crackling tune. Her bulging breasts burned bright red. It felt like her tits were being cooked from the inside. Her monster melons shook wildly. A perfectionist in his work, not quite satisfied with this charming display, Captain Zukerman threw the second switch supplying juice to the ankle cuffs. Jelena's bare buns lifted from the table, which, once more, rattled deafeningly as her naked body shook savagely. Her voice rose an octave as she screamed even higher than before. Thoughtfully, Captain Zukerman turned up the voltage a bit. Jelena's bare body bucked even more furiously as she screamed out impossibly high notes of raw pain. After an indecently long interval of hysterical shrieking, Captain Zukerman cut the power. Jelena collapsed like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Her naked buttocks slapped down hard on the table. Poor Jelena was desperate, her heaving torso slick with sweat, her voice hoarse. "I'll say anything you want! I'll confess to anything! Look, I give great head! I'll take it up the ass! Please just tell me what to do and I'll do it! Please! Please! Please!" Ignoring her, Captain Zukerman was still unsatisfied, feeling sure that he could tweak up lovely Jelena's performance. He picked up the speculum. Spreading her cunt wide, Jelena gasped as he delved deep with long nosed pliers and snapped an alligator clip onto her cervix. She was near hysterical as he withdrew the long nose pliers and removed the speculum. "Please! Please! Please! Speak to me! I'll do anything! I'll say anything! Tell me what you want!" Oblivious to her pleas, he continued to work between her legs. She squealed like a boiled pig as his strong fingers peeled back the flesh, exposing the most sensitive nubbin of flesh on her body and pinned an electrode to her clit. He screwed a small corkscrew electrode up her pisshole and a larger one up her rectum. He wired it all up and threw the switches. The electroshock machine hummed wickedly, harsh and cruel. Jelena's sweat-slick nude form arched up and vibrated in unbelievable agony. Her whole naked body, jerking and heaving furiously, flushed a deep, deep red. Her hips humped like a jackhammer. Underneath her, the metal table shook savagely, a nine on the Richter scale. She screamed until the snot ran. Her blood pressure skyrocketed. Mixing with her snot, her blood ran in twin rivulets, like two thick red worms, from her flared nostrils. Her tits shook. Her buttocks dimpled as her buns clenched to incredible tightness around the anal electrode. Captain Zukerman, an exacting craftsman, watched, at last satisfied. In the fullness of time, he cut the power and listened to her confession. It was as he thought. She knew nothing.
Chapter 5 - Snuffshow
Achmed watched through a peephole as the guards prepared the woman for
execution. In the interests of decency, female guards had been placed in charge.
Aware that they were weaker than the male guards, they liked prepping a prisoner
to ensure that there was no embarrassing struggle in front of the crowd that
always gathered to enjoy these educational spectacles.
Ignorant of the grinning men watching through the peepholes, the female
guards went through what they liked to think of as their secret little
pre-execution ritual. Their technique was simplicity itself.
While the silently peeping men nudged each other gleefully, the prisoner
was roughly stripped naked. Nice tits, nice ass, nice legs, long black hair,
flashing black eyes, a pretty face with high cheekbones, nice whip marks on her
back. Nahida, a murderer, had obviously had the first part of her sentence
executed. Her hands were bound behind her scarred back. Not knowing what was
about to happen, she looked around wildly as a rope was tied to each ankle. Two
teams of female guards each grabbed one of the ropes. At a sign from the female
Captain of the Guards, they jerked hard in an obscene tug of war, spreading
Nahida's legs brutally wide. Unable to keep her balance, Nahida belly flopped,
flat on her tits, winding herself.
The captain of the guard went to work with her steel-toed combat boots,
kicking Nahida as hard as she could in the crotch, over and over. Nahida gave a
sobbing grunt with each savage kick. The object was to damage Nahida's groin
muscles so that she would be forced to shuffle like an old woman. The female
guards would look like heroes, solicitously helping a terrified woman, who was
so deeply in the grip of fear that she could hardly move, assisting her to
accept her just fate. The captain worked for a few minutes between Nahida's
legs, aiming with cruel precision, picking tender targets carefully for each
brutal kick. Nahida cried out and flopped on the floor like a landed fish with
each obscene kiss of the steel-toed boot.
When the captain was at last satisfied that she had, quite literally,
stomped out any possibility of resistance, Nahida was helped up from the floor
and carefully dressed. She was trotted off for her fifteen minutes of fame. Her
execution was to be a televised event. Arab countries are strong believers in
the deterrent power of a savage example.
As he made his way to the execution area, Achmed listened to the news
hawkers in the street howling out the headlines - something about the American
concern over not being able to find the bodies of some female journalists killed
by the Al Qaeda rebels in Afghanistan during the military action there. He shook
his head in wonder. Thousands of locals killed by the foolish Americans and not
a peep in their papers. A few stupid American journalists go poking in a violent
area of their own free will and get killed by the capitalist greed of their
employers. Their bodies go missing and, just because they're American, it's
front-page news to them, amazing tunnel vision.
He caught a ride to the designated execution area along with the camera
team that was capturing the event for the evening news. They set up their
cameras and Nahida was hustled out, hands bound behind her back. As anticipated,
the male onlookers were openly and loudly scornful.
"Look at how slowly she moves! The dumb cunt's scared stiff."
"The stupid cow should have thought of the consequences before she
killed her husband!"
There were strong murmurs of approval. The fact that her husband beat
and raped her regularly wasn't even a mitigating circumstance. The law was
clear. Murder was murder and a man couldn't possibly rape his own wife. The only
fair penalty was death, supplemented by a good preliminary whipping. A crystal
clear example was necessary for any other foolish women out there.
To add a little colour to the proceedings, the noose was to be pulled up
by a crane and the victim hoisted high for all to see as she strangled slowly.
Nahida was hustled up the stairs until she was standing atop a wooden
platform in the middle of a sea of upturned, condemning faces. A black hood was
fitted over Nahida's head by the female executioner and the noose was adjusted
around her throat. The executioner, anxious to do a perfect job while the news
cameras rolled, carefully adjusted the large knot so that it was positioned just
behind Nahida's left ear, to ensure a nice long strangle. Satisfied that
everything was right, she nodded to the crane operator.
The crane operator, also anxious to get things right in front of the
cameras, very slowly pulled up on the noose. He paused dramatically as Nahida
went up on tiptoe. The audience could see her, shaking badly, moaning with fear
and panting hard, a lesson to all on the consequences of evil. The cameras swept
her trembling body from every conceivable angle. When they had enough footage,
the director spoke briefly to the crane operator over a walkie-talkie.
Delicately, taking great care not to break her neck, he lifted her into
the air. Nahida's scrabbling toes left the ground and her body went rigid as she
was hoisted high over the breathless crowd. As her noosed form swayed overhead,
the silent audience could hear her long gasping croak as she tried frantically
to suck in air. At the end of the long-drawn-out hoarse gasp, she choked in a
fit of agonized coughing. Her body convulsed violently and the rope thrummed
briefly. She went rigid again and the audience could hear another slow, hideous,
rasping gasp. This was followed by another agonized convulsion. Everyone laughed
coarsely as a dark circle of urine stained her crotch.
Their helpful parents held up small children so that they could witness
the cycle of the slow hideous gasp followed by the frantic convulsive fit. It
was another twenty minutes before Nahida voided her bowels for the edification
of the crowd. Five minutes after that milestone, she stopped gasping entirely.
Her swaying body jerked strongly in a final, violent death spasm and then was
still. Her body pendulumed back and forth gently in the hot desert breeze.
They left her hanging for another few days, just to be sure and to feed
the vultures. The large birds went about their ghastly, gruesome task with
gusto, tearing Nahida's flesh with their beaks, ripping open her guts with their
talons.
They buried what remained of her desiccated body in an unmarked grave in
the burning desert sands.
Chapter 6 - The Meat Racks
Achmed returned to the prison to scoop his missing person on behalf of
Sheik Rashid. Maria was being kept for the sheik at the meat racks. A meat rack
was a simple tool, used to pacify troublemakers.
The meat racks were simply stainless steel rollout shelves, like the
drawers for the corpses in the morgue. Each held a naked woman strapped firmly
down, arms at her sides, immobilized on its cool steel surface. An adult diaper,
changed once a day, took care of the calls of nature. Blindfolded by duct tape
wrapped around her head, each troublesome female was kept in her small, dark
drawer in the prison, locked alone in a world of claustrophobic nightmare. Her
head was clamped firmly between two padded stainless steel plates. Her mouth was
wrapped around a big red ball gag with a large hole drilled through the centre
for ease of feeding. A filthy cloth was jammed into each hole between feedings
to discourage any attempts at conversation although each little hellhole was
fairly soundproof anyway.
The matron, dressed entirely in black robes, cackled gleefully. A coarse,
garrulous soul with a demented gap-toothed grin, she welcomed Achmed to her
domain.
"You've come for the Filipina?"
Achmed smiled agreeably as the withered crone opened one of the drawers,
removed the filthy gag from the mouth of a buxom blond and spat a thick phlegm
wad down the blonde's throat. She pinched the blonde's nostrils shut. They
watched with interest as the blond was forced to gulp down the spit and phlegm
in order to breath.
The matron smiled courteously at Achmed, her fingers still pinching the
blonde's nostrils shut.
"Care to contribute?"
Having no desire to insult his charming hostess, Achmed gargled up as
much phlegm as he could from the back of his throat. He rolled it around inside
his mouth, mixing it with as much saliva as he could summon up. He leaned over
and drooled a generous quantity of spit and snot straight into the blonde's
propped-open mouth. Her bare tits quivered and her throat worked convulsively as
she gagged briefly and then gulped it down.
The matron tugged delicately at the waistband to the blonde's adult
diaper and peered inside. She released it and fanned her nose.
"Whew! It's getting pretty ripe in there. That diaper rash must be pretty
painful."
Achmed laughed.
"What's she in here for?"
"Oh, she's one of those missing American reporters from Afghanistan. The
Americans think they're dead. They've been shipped here to encourage them to
re-think their position on Arab terrorism."
Achmed grinned.
"I guess there's no rush on that."
The matron grinned back.
"There's plenty of time! We wouldn't want them coming to any premature
conclusions!"
They giggled together as she slammed the drawer shut.
"Hey, you should see the tits on this one!"
She pulled open another drawer. A very well endowed reporter's tits
quivered liquidly as her drawer slid open. Her toes were taped down so that she
was forced to point them prettily for her captors. As a result, her calf muscles
were cramping painfully.
"Achmed, meet Nancy."
Nancy whimpered continuously into her ball-gag. Achmed grinned.
"I'll bet nobody looks her in the face much."
The matron grinned back.
"Especially as the shameless hussy was bra-less when captured!"
"I like a woman who's eager to exploit her assets."
"I think we can exploit her assets a bit ourselves!"
The hideous old crone winked salaciously at Achmed.
"Want to see her put on a real jiggleshow?"
"You have to ask?"
Sniggering coarsely, the matron addressed the whimpering American, her
voice dripping with mock sympathy.
"You poor dear! You must be awfully thirsty. You need a drink!"
Her poor victim's tits jiggled deliciously as Nancy began panting hard.
It looked like she had been through this charming little routine a few times
before. The matron gave Achmed her most charming, gap-toothed grin as she pulled
the filthy rag from the hole in the hard-breathing beauty's ballgag.
"Would you mind passing me that large funnel, Achmed?"
Obligingly, always interested in watching a fellow professional at work,
he handed her the funnel. The matron fitted it in the hole to the big-boobed
babe's ballgag.
"Kindly pour the contents of the bucket labelled 'camel piss' into
Nancy's funnel while I pinch her nostrils shut."
Anticipating an event is often as important as the event itself. The
American reporter's udders were shuddering and juddering delightfully as Achmed
took his time picking up the bucket. Delicately, he perched it over the mouth of
the large funnel, positioning it carefully. He tilted the bucket and poured the
golden liquid smoothly, filling the funnel to the brim with strong-smelling
camel urine.
The matron was right.
Her victim's titanic torso heaved, making her monster melons shudder and
shake as she choked down the dark, vile-tasting piss. Coughing and sputtering,
her twin beach balls bounced and shook like jumbo jello mountains in an
earthquake as she gulped down the piss. At last, after a long hard struggle,
Nancy got it all down, emptying the funnel. She drew in a few frantic,
enchantingly deep, breaths. Then she was pulled into the struggle again as her
rebellious stomach threw it back up to refill the funnel.
At last, after a long, coughing, tit-shaking struggle, Nancy gulped it
down and kept it down. The matron kneaded Nancy's monster melons
enthusiastically.
"You're coming along beautifully, Nancy. We'll just keep that funnel in
and this little clothespin pinching your nostrils shut while you dream about
dining out at an Arab chain of restaurants where you fatcat Americans can drink
camel piss and eat dungburgers until you explode!"
Achmed nodded agreeably as the matron slammed Nancy's drawer shut.
"American reporters do talk a lot of shit, don't they?"
The matron giggled.
"You are what you eat!"
"I suppose that we can't release them without revealing this country's
connection to Al Qaeda?"
The matron was smug.
"That's right. They're here, in my tender loving care, until they rot."
"Some of them smell pretty ripe already!"
They laughed genially.
"You have Sheik Rashid's runaway pet here?"
The matron grinned.
"I think it's her. The Sheik sent you to identify her. We've been very
careful ever since that embarrassing episode where over ninety pretty Filipina's
showed up at the Philippine embassy on the same day begging for a flight home to
escape alleged mental, physical and sexual abuse here. We watch the embassy
constantly and intercept anybody suspicious. This girl's answers didn't satisfy
us and she couldn't produce any papers. She's stored right here."
With a dramatic flourish, she pulled open the drawer.
Filipino women, with their pretty faces, lovely skin, short perfect
bodies and flirtatious ways, are perhaps the most seductive women on earth.
Combine that with the widespread poverty in their native land and they are prime
candidates for Arab recruiters offering high paying jobs in faraway countries as
nannies and house servants. These recruiters of course pooh-pooh as vicious
rumours any tales of abuse that may have filtered back to the Philippines.
The Arab recruiters in the Philippines had a slaver's eye for female
flesh. The babe in the meat rack drawer was no exception. This one had no duct
tape blindfold and stared up wild-eyed, blinking rapidly in the sudden bright
light. The duct tape tended to remove the eyebrows and eyelashes when it was
pulled off. Sensitive to her responsibilities, the crone had no desire to damage
Sheik Rashid's prime pussy.
"She hasn't been here very long, just a few hours."
Achmed nodded.
"That's her - Maria Deguzman. She's an insolent trouble-maker, always
trying to escape and trying to get the other girls to join her in various
irritating acts of defiance. If you ask me, the Sheik should have let her stay
here until her crotch rots in her own filth. "
Speaking of filth, the matron insolently reached inside Maria's diaper
and felt around.
"We phoned the Sheik right away. She's only had time to pee a few times.
No poop. No diaper rash."
She winked roguishly at Achmed.
"Are you sure that you don't want to leave her here for a few weeks? I
guarantee that she'll be a totally changed woman - completely unhinged both
mentally and physically!"
Achmed laughed and shook his head regretfully.
"Sorry! The Sheik wants to unhinge her himself."
Chapter 7 - Discipline
Maria stood, nude, on display on a small platform in the centre of the
room, wearing only a pair of black high heels with ankle straps and a bright red
ball gag. Her wrists were bound together overhead, tethered via a short rope to
a ringbolt set in the high ceiling. She had enough slack to let her dance around
a bit, jiggling the goodies for everyone's entertainment, but not enough to
lower her arms much, certainly not enough to attempt to cover herself. Achmed
and other friends of the Sheik sat comfortably in their robes on silk pillows,
inhaling with dignity on hookahs. It was a scene of sybaritic splendour.
Surrounded by expensive tapestries, their eyes were enchanted by a profusion of
flowers and exotic plants. The susurrus of small trickles and the soft swish of
colourful cascades of water from many fountains massaged their ears. Each
fountain was lit to produce a miniature rainbow in the spray. In a desert
country, the features of an oasis are the very hallmarks of wealth.
Sheik Rashid believed that some things required a woman's touch, which is
why Mistress Marisa was his Meatmaster. Dressed in a black leather pantsuit with
spike heeled boots, Mistress Marisa was every inch the dominatrix. Her cold blue
eyes chilled the most defiant captive. Her haughty face with it's high
cheekbones had obviously never expressed pity or sympathy. Tall, blond and
Austrian, in a previous generation she would definitely have been part of the
Master Race. Mistress Marisa ran a tight ship. She led the first Filipina in.
Isabelita Siasson (Isabel to her intimates, which these days included almost
everyone she met) was wearing an oversize football jersey, white knee socks and
black penny loafers - dressed like a co-ed wearing her boyfriend's jersey. The
diminutive Filipinos, with their perfect doll-like figures, made exquisite
fantasy females, combining extremely youthful good looks with an older woman's
maturity.
A narrow runway led from an entranceway covered by a curtain to the stage
in the centre of the room. Isabel sauntered sexily down the runway and stood
next to Maria. She stared out fearfully at the sea of hawk-nosed faces. With a
true Teutonic love of logic, Mistress Marisa was a strong believer in the
Socratic method, leading a confused and perhaps reluctant pupil to an inevitable
conclusion through a skilful set of leading questions.
"All of you Filipinos chatter to one another, so I'm assuming that you
knew what Maria was planning to do?"
Isabel nodded. Denial would simply dig her deeper into the shitpit.
"Yes, Mistress!"
"Yet you told no one?"
"No, Mistress."
To try and mitigate the inevitable firestorm, lovely Isabel grovelled as
prettily as she knew how.
"I'm very sorry, Mistress. I realise that it was very wrong of me."
Mistress Marisa proceeded relentlessly with her exercise in public
humiliation. The audience watched silently, eyes glittering. They loved watching
Marisa sweat the babes.
"Did you try and talk Maria out of it?"
Next to her, poor naked Maria nodded emphatically, trying to make things
easier for her friend.
"Yes, Mistress, but she wouldn't listen."
"And yet you didn't inform me or anyone else of her proposed flight?"
Mistress Marisa detected a small iota of resistance in her response.
"We are friends. I could not betray her."
Mistress Marisa decided to drive a wedge into this Damon-and-Pythias-like
relationship.
"You do understand that Maria betrayed your friendship by fleeing and
leaving you behind to be punished, don't you?"
From the look on Isabel's face, it seemed that this aspect hadn't
occurred to her. Marissa rammed the point home.
"If she made this escape attempt, your punishment was guaranteed whether
she succeeded or failed. So, by making it, wasn't she condemning you to certain
punishment?"
Maria looked deeply distressed at this view of her behaviour. Marisa's
cold blue eyes glittered in triumph as a small hint of resentment blossomed on
Isabel's face.
"I, uh, guess so."
"Don't you think that it was very selfish of her to try a foolish, doomed
escape attempt, callously leaving you to your fate?"
Maria emitted a small, despairing moan as Isabel nodded agreement.
"Yes, it was."
Mistress Marisa adopted the warm tone of a mother rebuking a well-loved,
but wayward, child. To those that knew her, this was always bad news. The
watching Arabs nudged each other knowingly. Marisa spoke softly, gently, a
deadly adder injecting a few more drops of venom into a paralysed and helpless
victim.
"You too are at fault, Isabel. Maria betrayed you and is unworthy of your
support. Merely to defend yourself against such a selfish person, you should
have reported this to me at once. You could have avoided punishment altogether!"
Marisa gestured to include the audience.
"We are not stupid. Maria was sure to be caught as indeed she WAS caught,
dragging you down with her. Don't you agree that you could have avoided this
altogether, if you'd just been a tiny bit smarter? If only you had been a better
judge of Maria's self-centred character, all this could have been avoided, don't
you think?"
Isabel bit her lip in vexation. The logic was inescapable.
"That's very true, Mistress."
"Do you really think that escape is even possible? Alone, far from home,
in a foreign country where you don't speak the language, where you stick out so
prominently?"
Isabel was devastated, any foolish hopes she may have entertained were
shattered completely. Feeling betrayed, isolated, hopeless and helpless,
Mistress Marisa's venomous words ate into her very soul. Her downcast voice
reflected her despair.
"No, it's not possible to escape, Mistress. Maria didn't even get to the
embassy."
Mistress Marisa was brisk.
"Take off your top and show the gentlemen what you have to offer."
Isabel had a lot to put at the disposal of an experienced pervert: full,
firm breasts, shapely legs, smooth belly, pretty face, tight buns and a mind
whirling in confusion and despair - a perfect package. Mistress Marisa proceeded
with her Socratic exercise.
"You realise that Maria's selfishness, combined with your own
foolishness, make it necessary to punish you?"
Isabel replied despondently, a catch in her voice, her gentle brown eyes
glistening with tears.
"Yes, Mistress."
"I want you to embrace your former friend and put your mouth next to her
ear so that treacherous Maria can hear your every cry and whimper clearly.
Perhaps she will learn something from the misery she has caused you."
Isabel hugged Maria close. Since they were much the same height, they
stood nipple-to-nipple, belly-to-belly, thigh-to-thigh, pubic hairs touching.
Maria could feel Isabel trembling in fear, her soft pants of breath brushing
gently against her sensitive ear lobe.
"Spread your legs, Isabel."
Isabel spread them. Mistress Marisa held up an eight-inch rod with
alternating bands of copper and black insulation, set in a long, thick handle.
"Do you know what this is, Isabel?"
Maria felt Isabel's bare body shudder against hers.
"Yes, Mistress! It's the Cue Stick. If I forget something important, it
serves as a valuable cue to remind me."
The watching Arabs chortled with delight. Isabel watched fearfully as
Marisa lubricated the tip.
"Do you remember where it goes?"
"It's something I can never forget!"
Mistress Marisa rested the Cue Stick against Isabel's wrinkled brown
rectum. Isabel began to cry softly in Maria's ear. She gasped and whimpered;
sniffing and snivelling softly, as Marisa slowly began worming it into her back
passage. Maria could feel Isabel's nipples hardening with fear as the Cue Stick
was slowly, lovingly inserted.
"The copper bands alternate as positive and negative poles connected to
the batteries. When I press the button, I want you to do me a little favour,
Isabel."
"What's that, Mistress?"
"I want you to scream 'thank you, Maria' into Maria's ear."
"Yes, Ma'am."
Screaming was easy. Remembering what to say proved more difficult. Maria
stiffened violently as Isabel's naked body shuddered against hers. She felt like
her eardrum was being blasted out the other side of her head by Isabel's
piercing shriek of raw pain.
Mistress Marisa was always patient with the slow learners.
"You forgot to thank Maria, Isabel. I'll give you a few moments to catch
your breath and then we'll try again."
Everybody watched Isabel shiver and shake with fear, the Cue Stick up her
ass, wagging like an obscene tail. Maria could feel Isabel's warm body pressed
tightly against her, quivering like an aspen.
After everybody had enjoyed this delightful tableau for a few moments, it
was back to business. Isabel's buttocks clamped hard around the intrusive anal
electrode, quivering with the current, as the Cue Stick hummed its evil tune a
second time.
"THANK YOU, MARIAAAAAAhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Her raw primal scream echoed through the room. Pale and shaking, Maria
looked like she was going into shock. Mistress Marisa slowly withdrew the Cue
Stick and wiped it off. She patted a sobbing Isabel on a sweaty buttock as a bit
of positive re-enforcement.
"Very good, Isabel. I knew you could do it!"
Mistress Marisa picked up a fan of long peacock feathers attached to a
leather belt.
"Enough fun! Time to get back to your duties, Isabel. Let's get you into
your peacock-girl serving outfit."
The belt went around her slim waist with the large peacock fan spread
behind her. Mistress Marissa adjusted the headpiece, which featured a smaller
fan of miniature peacock feathers atop her head like a miniature crown.
"Now for the crotch strap."
Two large dildoes connected to a slim belt were greased up. Isabel went
up on tiptoe as the large ribbed dildo was jammed vigorously into her tight
fuckhole. The anal dildo had a bulbous rubber tip. It was forced into her aching
shit-hole with difficulty. Mistress Marisa attached a hand pump to a metal
nipple at the back of the dildo and inflated the bulbous rubber tip to anchor it
firmly in Isabel's bowels. Everyone watched Isabel carefully as she did so,
enjoying the expressions of distress flitting across the young beauty's pretty
face, savouring her pathetic small whimpers. Her blood pressure high, a large
red dot appeared on either cheek of her sweating visage as she struggled to
accept the ever-expanding anal intruder.
At last, Mistress Marisa judged that Isabel was going to be thinking
about it with every twitch of her hips for the rest of the night. The crotch
strap was fastened to the belt at her waist and cinched tight.
"Very good, Isabel. Now for the serving tray!"
A large, silver serving tray was hooked onto the front of the belt at her
waist. Two thin straps dangled from the outer edges of the tray. Each ended in a
nipple clamp to help hold up the tray. Isabel groaned as Mistress Marisa screwed
each of the small clamps brutally tight, pinching her teats viciously,
stretching her tits obscenely.
Marisa slapped the serving wench playfully on the rump.
"Go to the kitchen and get loaded up."
"Yes, Mistress!"
At a leisurely pace, for the rest of the evening, each of Maria's
Filipino friends was trotted out in a fetching outfit and persuaded that Maria
had betrayed her. In succession, dressed as a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader, a
French maid, a prim businesswoman and an elegant socialite in a slinky black
ball gown, each stripped for the audience. Each clasped Maria's naked body in an
obscene embrace, had the Cue Stick rammed up her asshole and screamed her
gratitude into Maria's ear. Each then donned her peacock-girl costume, suffered
through the insertion of both huge dildoes, sweated through the inflation of the
anal dildo and had her tits screwed to the support straps for the engraved
silver serving tray.
They then spent the rest of the evening serving goodies to men whose idea
of entertainment was leaning on their serving trays and seeing how far their
tits could stretch.
After this delightful routine had been repeated five times, Maria was a
complete basket case. Ashen faced and shaking badly, she could hardly move as
Mistress Marisa considerately helped her off the stage, remarking that she
wouldn't want anything bad to happen to her personal pet. She'd been a naughty
little girl trying to run away, but mama understood that her petsy-wetsy
wouldn't do it again. The peacock-girls, rectums burning, cunts opened wide and
penetrated deep, stretched nipples aching, were totally outraged at this blatant
favouritism.
The men grinned. Maria the troublemaker had been neutralized completely.
Chapter 8 - Follow-up Interview
Jelena moaned ecstatically as the naughty nurse slipped knowing fingers
inside Jelena's pyjama pants and massaged her throbbing, stiff clit skilfully.
Jelena obligingly parted her thighs and humped her wet slit shamelessly against
the nurse's hand. When she had cum a satisfactory number of times, she sighed,
looked up at the nurse and batted her long eyelashes coyly.
"Is this part of my therapy?"
"Absolutely! Every female patient has to cum a thousand times under my
personal supervision before I can be sure that she has recovered completely."
Jelena giggled.
"Under your personal supervision?"
The naughty nurse gave her a dirty smirk.
"Yes, I have to be certain that she's not faking it. A woman always
knows!"
They had a good gigglesnort over that. The naughty nurse shuddered
delicately.
"The Mossad! They are animals!"
Jelena nodded solemnly.
"You can say that again, sister! Being in their hands gives you a really
scary look into the male psyche. It's turned me off men completely."
The nurse gave Jelena's tits a friendly massage.
"Women are much better, although men have their uses, mainly financial."
"Amen, sister!"
The phone rang and the nurse answered it. She listened briefly and hung
up. The nurse smiled happily.
"You have a visitor, Jelena. They just phoned up that he's on his way!"
Jelena was relieved.
"My brother has come at last?"
Jelena had spent a few weeks in hospital recovering from her ordeal. The
staff was wonderful. The nurse had been very warmly supportive indeed as she
drew the curtains around Jelena's bed for additional privacy during their
intimate little sessions. It was a single room, but every bit helps when you're
being naughty.
Jelena felt warm and secure in the hospital, surrounded by helpful,
deeply sympathetic staff, dressed in her navy blue silk pyjamas with oversize
white buttons. Of course, having a nurse's fingers and tongue stroking her to
ecstacy regularly was a big plus. Jelena looked up wistfully.
"I guess you go off shift now."
The nurse winked at her cheerfully.
"Proof positive that there is some rest for the wicked!"
"I bet that you don't rest at all. You probably have a girlfriend in
every closet."
"It's when they come out of the closet that I worry!"
They laughed together.
"You certainly work long hours, but then, your work is so rewarding!"
They had another rude little gigglesnort. Jelena was curious.
"Did this visitor leave a name?"
"No, but he apparently told the receptionist that he knew you well! A
lover, perhaps?"
The naughty nurse pouted playfully.
"A pretty girl like you must have so many lovers! I'll leave you alone
and you can tell me all about it afterwards..."
She winked merrily.
"... or not!"
Jelena laughed a little too long. She found herself laughing at
everything these days. The relief at not being tortured mercilessly for
information she didn't have was tremendous.
A few moments later, the curtains parted and cruel-eyed Captain Zukerman
stepped up to her bed, accompanied by his hard-faced help. Instantly, Jelena was
catapulted deep into the fear locker. Feeling like her heart had been drop
kicked, she wet herself. As the dark urine stain spread around the crotch of her
pyjama pants, they drew the curtains behind them, intending to be very naughty
indeed.
Captain Zukerman seated himself. He eyed Jelena sternly.
"It would be best if you unbuttoned your top and showed us your tits."
Jelena's trembling fingers hurriedly undid the big round white buttons.
She obligingly spread her top wide, sitting up straight in the bed and flashing
her big boobs to an interested audience.
After everyone had a good look, Captain Zukerman instructed her quietly.
"It would be a good idea to remove those soggy pyjama bottoms as well."
Jelena squirmed out of them. Captain Zukerman leaned forward and rested
his palm on her trembling naked thigh, his fingers absently playing with a curly
wisp of blond pubic hair.
"There is some concern that you may complain and cause problems for us."
Jelena looked at him askance, her eyes as blue as a newborn babe's - a
deeply troubled newborn babe that wanted to crawl right back into the safety of
the womb.
"I would never do such a thing!"
Jelena's tits jiggled suddenly as he gave her bare thigh a sharp warning
squeeze.
"The Mossad has a very long reach, Jelena. If you cause us any trouble,
there will be painful consequences."
Jelena tried to put as much sincerity into her voice as she could
command.
"Believe me! I understand completely. You won't have any trouble because
of me."
Captain Zukerman smiled - a chilling sight.
"Good! Then you will be prepared to show us the most complete,
eager-to-please co-operation?"
Jelena nodded energetically. Her bare boobs nodded along
sympathetically. She said the magic words that are dear to every pervert's
heart.
"I'll do anything you want!"
"You could start by laying back on the bed, spreading your legs and
showing these gentlemen a good time. They have all served me well and you're
their reward for a job well done. It would be an act of courtesy if your back
covered the wet spot."
As the first of his hard-faced helpers, with a warty face that only a
mother frog could love, lowered himself on top of her, Captain Zukerman had
another friendly little bit of advice.
"Of course, I don't have to remind you of how very important it is that
each man is made to feel welcome."
Experiencing a bad case of performance anxiety, Jelena smiled adoringly
into her rapist's warty face and looked totally enchanted as he rammed his
thick, unlubricated gristle home. He drooled gently onto her pretty face as he
humped her hard. Jelena moistened his hairy ear hole with her wet pink tongue
and whispered lewd encouragement.
She was surprised at how strongly she felt his orgasm. Wartface had a
real fire hose and a lot of oyster juice stored up to squirt out of it. Thinking
it over briefly, it didn't seem likely that he got laid too often so he'd
probably been saving all of his sperm up just for her. He came so powerfully
that she could almost taste his peckersnot. With this queasy thought in mind,
she thanked him prettily and rolled over to accommodate his heavily scarred
successor, a backdoor enthusiast.
Scarface had a really thick sausage. Even heavily greased, Jelena had to
work hard to accommodate him. Red-faced and panting, she smiled radiantly and
arched her back obligingly. Her asshole burned as his erect member pounded in
and out like a jackhammer. She tried not to think about AIDS and the dangers of
unprotected sex. It seemed to her that these guys probably didn't have sex often
enough to carry much in the way of disease. On the other hand, they couldn't be
picky or they wouldn't get laid at all. She tried to shut out thoughts of the
diseased, raddled whores that were probably their usual sex partners. Her skin
crawled as he slobbered down the back of her neck while he unloaded a thick,
heavy load of scummy bull gravy deep in her bowels.
The third charmer, whose face had been badly burned, wanted to put his
prick between her tits and come in her face. Jelena obligingly rolled onto her
back, put a hand on either tit and squeezed them around his thick dick as it lay
in the valley between her breasts. She spent the next few moments staring in
delight at his gnarled, heavily veined pile driver, licking his knob with her
darting tongue whenever it pumped into range. Everyone watched carefully while
lovely Jelena put in another Academy-Award-winning performance, proving to be
quite an adept actress. In the fullness of time, he spurted a thick, sticky load
of dark-yellow, foul-smelling penile scum into her face.
As his penis spew dripped down her lovely face and he wiped his dripping
member off in her hair, Jelena smiled prettily and thanked Burnface for a truly
unique experience, taking great care to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
His grinning assistants zipped up and left, leaving Captain Zukerman to
enjoy some quality time alone with his bitch. He considerately handed Jelena a
towel to wipe herself clean.
"Time to get me some skull."
He unzipped and fed her his dick for a quick knob job. Jelena's head and
boobs bobbed as she hoovered him with all of the considerable skill that a
stewardess and former cheerleader could bring to the task. She sucked on his
bare, circumcised knob and licked the underside of his penis to bring him
throbbingly erect, while she pumped him with skilful fingers encircling the base
of his dick. His hairy balls slapped her chin repeatedly when she proceeded to
deep-throat him. As he bathed her tonsils in sperm, which she gulped down like a
pro, he grunted in satisfaction and patted her condescendingly on the head.
"That's very good, Jelena. A nice set of performances under admittedly
trying conditions. It just shows what an actress can do once she finds her
motivation."
He cupped her lovely face and looked into her big blue eyes, while he
gave her his somewhat biased view of the female sex.
"All you pretty girls are phoney little actresses, trying to seduce men
into granting them all sorts of favours and unfair privileges, playing them for
fools. You did well, Jelena."
Jelena wondered briefly what his history with women had been. She and
probably others seemed to be paying the price for some snotty bitches' burning
putdowns. Captain Zukerman stared thoughtfully into space as he zipped up.
"People keep telling me that sex without love is a superficial
experience."
He grinned and slapped Jelena cheerfully on the rump.
"But, as superficial experiences go, that was certainly one of the best!"
He left without another word.
Chapter 9 - Farewell To The Flesh
In the dark of the night, they came to her.
It had been a very strenuous day. Maria awoke sleepily as she felt the
covers jerked from her bed. She was flipped onto her belly. Strong hands pinned
her arms over her head. Her pyjama pants were pulled down. Other strong hands
gripped her slim ankles and twisted them so that she was pigeon-toed, hence
unable to clench her buttocks.
Arabs love anal sex. Some keep bum boys just for the purpose. They all
like the dark secrets of a moist, tight heinie hole. Unbeknownst to the other
Filipinas, the highlight of the Sheik's party was an anal gang bang with Maria
as the unwilling hostess.
To loosen her up, Sheik Rashid inserted a bristle brush up her poop chute
and scrubbed vigorously. Poor, reamed-out Maria squealed frantically, bucking in
the bed futilely, gripped by strong Arab hands.
Then it was down to business. Maria grunted as the first rapist slipped
his uncircumcised sausage up her ass and began pumping hard.
In between each anal rape, her asshole was cleaned out briskly with the
bristle brush. Maria sobbed and blubbered as man after man jammed his way into
her scraped and raped shit chute, pumped viciously to enjoy her screams and
emptied himself in her bowels. Snot mixed with her drool as she bawled like a
baby. Her pillow was a mess as she cried and whimpered pathetically.
When they were done, each slapped her hard as he left, delighting in
leaving their handprints in flaming red on her buttocks, her face, her belly and
her breasts.
"I wonder how she'll do when she's the bumgirl for the camel racers'
convention tomorrow? Those guys are brutal!"
As the laughing men departed, poor friendless Maria, the sheik's official
gangbang bumgirl, sobbed into her pillow.
* * *
No longer feeling safe at the hospital and desperately wanting to leave
the Middle East, Jelena checked herself out at the first opportunity. As she
headed for the airport, she was deeply grateful to be leaving the so-called Holy
Land. She stepped onto the bus and sat next to an Arab girl. When you looked
carefully, the Arab girl's pretty face was twitching nervously in the grip of
some powerful emotion. She could hear the girl softly muttering the word bastard
over and over again. Jelena sighed. The Middle East seemed filled with people
traumatised by their love lives.
Jasmine sat quietly next to her, struggling to appear normal, to blend
in. The Star of David branded on her ass no longer burned. It ate into her mind
and sickened her soul instead. She took a deep breath and screwed herself to the
sticking point.
Jelena jumped, startled, as Jasmine suddenly screamed out, her voice raw
with hatred.
"Allah is great!"
Everyone on the bus stared at her in horror as Jasmine detonated her
explosive vest. In the split second before her world disintegrated in a
white-hot fireball, Jelena uttered the most common last words in the English
language.
"Oh shit!"
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