Chapter 2
Linda tried to contain her turmoil all during the morning of the ninth. Those cascades of feeling that had overwhelmed her the night before couldn't possibly be anything but sin, could they? She was jumpy and jittery during breakfast, during the stroll she and Maxine and Judy took through the plazas, even during lunch.
She was a long way from Akron, and a long way from the way she'd been brought up. That curly-haired nest between her thighs was private, secret, not to be touched except by anyone besides the husband she would someday have.
But it had felt so good, and Judy obviously wasn't worried about the sin-if there'd been one. Maxine had become even surlier, but Linda couldn't tell if it was from the blonde's obvious hangover, or if, somehow, she'd dragged herself from rummy unconsciousness to see what Linda and Judy had done. Before Maxine had awakened, Judy and Linda were both dressed for breakfast, so it couldn't have been the way the two taller women slept, arms and legs wrapped around each other.
Judy smiled and winked secretively at Linda and tried to cheer Maxine while they meandered through downtown Havana. She made whispered remarks at the police who drove around in jeeps with machine-guns mounted on the back, and at the sweating shopkeepers. They finished an early lunch and wound back toward the hotel. The streets were clearing. Even the growling jeeps and armored carriers of the national police slowed down, then disappeared.
Right in front of the hotel was a square with three wide trees and half a dozen wrought-iron tables. Linda watched a shopkeeper roll down the wicker blinds over his windows. Across the plaza, a taxi-driver turned off his motor. It was two minutes of twelve.
Linda still didn't believe that Judy would go through with it. The leggy brunette smiled brightly, and said, a bit too loud, "Oh, Maxine, I just remembered! I have to re-register us at the hotel. Why don't you and Linda get us a couple of those straw handbags to take back next week?" She pointed to the shop that was closing for siesta. "Oh, and your mother wanted castanets!"
Linda's throat tightened as Judy waved. She tugged Maxine's arm, leading the blonde toward the little shop across the plaza. "Come on, Max," she said huskily. Her eyes stung.
She's going ... going now, Linda thought. She ignored the abrupt tug that snatched Maxine's wrist out of her hand. Judy's really, actually doing it! Linda turned away and hurried ahead of Maxine to the dark interior of the shop.
Behind her, a motor started. Something was wrong! Just as Maxine followed her into the shop, Linda realized what it was. It wasn't the taxi! The pebbly banging of a heavy diesel roared louder.
Linda spun around. The shopkeeper grabbed her arm and threw her to the floor. A flashing glimpse of the taxi-driver pulling a pistol from his shirt stopped Linda for an instant.
Judy ran across the square. A clattering, rust-smeared tank roared into the plaza. The taxidriver dodged behind his cab, and the tank's machine guns opened up.
Dust flew. Chips of stone from the cobbles and powdered plaster from the fronts of the buildings filled the air. The dreadful hammering of the heavy machine guns went silent as the turret cannon belched. With a huge "BAA-RUMMPHH!" the taxicab caved in. The machine guns rattled again, dimmer in the echoes of the gun.
Rifle shots mingled with the chaotic screams and shouts of dead and dying Cubans. Pieces of taxicab rained down, smashing wrought-iron tables, tearing limbs from trees.
Someone beat on Linda's head. She rolled over, kicking and yelling. The image of Judy, a third eyehole in the middle of her forehead, blinded her in the dark of the curio shop. Linda didn't recognize Maxine until the soldiers pulled them apart. The general strike against Batista's government had begun.
Linda Martin had no idea of where she was. The twists and turns the truck had taken had lost her completely. Barricades in the streets were on fire. Gunshots and ricochets rattled and whined around them, sometimes ringing the side of the closed truck like a huge, mismade bell.
The handcuffs cut into her wrists. Linda tried to think, tried to reason her way out of the nightmare, but all she could think of was Judy's twitching body on the cobblestones of the plaza. "Why, Maxie, why?" she sobbed.
The soldier in the back of the paddy wagon never answered. He sat with his rifle across his knees, watching the half-dozen prisoners as if he didn't care one way or the other about shooting them. All but one of the Cubans sat as stolidly as the guard, waiting for the journey to end at the prison barracks. The exception, an old, sweating mulatto man, lolled his head back against the steel side of the truck and chuckled every time he looked at Linda. "Ay, guapa," he half-whispered. "Ay, ay, pobrecita guapa!"
Linda didn't care that she was a poor little cutie, or even know what he was calling her. She only knew her friend was dead, and that Maxine had shouted hysterical Spanish at the police before they led her away. Oh, poor Judy, she thought, poor, pretty Judy!
Nightmares never end as easily as Linda would have liked. The thick stone walls of the Moncada barracks were clammy, dank inside, even though the afternoon was half over. It was no place to be stripped naked by leering guards, and no place to be stood against a wall while soldiers and their prisoners marched past. Linda, her hands cuffed behind her, her legs chained, tried to shrink through the massive stone blocks of the wall, but the slimy-cold touch of the clammy blocks made her flesh creep. The statuesque redhead didn't know which was worse, the moldy nastiness of the hewn boulders or the lewd sniggers of the soldiers.
It took her hours to decide that this couldn't be an ordinary day at Moncada. The fat, greasy-eyed corporal who'd ordered Linda's original captor to leave her in the entryway had scarcely had time to leer at her since she was brought in. Soldiers borught in blocks of prisoners, some bleeding from the wounds of bayonets, bullets, or cobblestones, some dragging unconscious comrades. It seemed as if half the population of Havana was rounding up the other half for instigating the battle that had started at noon.
And there Linda stood, her long red hair hanging loose. She'd tried to shake strands around to cover her breasts, but the rich pink of her nipples poked through. She shifted from one foot to the other, trying to hide her cuntal vee with one tight-presseed thigh, but that only accented the tapering slimness of her legs and the outrageously lewd shape of her hips.
She couldn't even tell if the street fighting had subsided. The heavy steps of the soldiers' boots and the slamming of metal doors drowned out any sound that could have filtered through the stone walls. Moncada barracks is on the outskirts of Havana, and the strike was confined mostly to the middle of the city, where the Twenty-Sixth of July Movement and its allies were being crushed by Batista's army. Only the gunshots inside the prison walls were audible, the pistol shots that killed any sympathizer that an officer or non-com recognized or held a grudge against. There were more and more bullets fired within the prison as the day wore on. Unit commanders came in from the streets, swaggering, with boasts of routing the disorganized rabble outside. Linda stood naked, numbed, while prisoners came in and bodies went out. She at last slid down the wall and let her forehead rest on her knees, utterly despairing of ever seeing the outside of the prison again.
Decisive footsteps halted in front of her. Linda became aware of shiny black cavalry boots reflecting her forlorn image. Her eyes traveled up the long tops. The flare of well-worn beige jodphurs ballooned out, then a shining black holster at the left side of an equally shining military harness. A strange hope rose in Linda's heart. She recognized the passport cover her mother had bought. She looked up at the man's face.
"Miss Linda Martin," the officer said. "I am Lieutenant Guitierrez." His blue-black hair was slicked back in a helmet-like pompadour as glossy as his leather equipment. His eyes were off-black, set deep under his brow, glittering like the eyes of an animal in a cave. He gave Linda a thin-lipped smile. The wings of his large, hawkish nose flared.
Linda looked uncomfortably around. She pressed her knees tighter against her breasts. "My ... my clothes?" she asked hopefully. "When will the consul be here?"
The lieutenant carefully put Linda's passport in his tunic's breast pocket. "Ah, yes ... the consul." His eyes glittered like wet rocks. He made a sad pout with his lips. "The general strike has ... impeded, yes, impeded, communications. For now, we would like to ask you some questions." He whipped a small, thin baton from under his left arm and gestured sharply. "Mendoza! Villareal!"
The two soldiers could have been twins, save for the smashed-putty lump of the first one's nose. They grabbed Linda by the arms, their expressions' blank, and hauled her to her feet. "Hey!" she protested. Straight-nose dug his fingers painfully into her arm while Lump nose shook her other shoulder. "AHHH!" Linda gasped. One of them had found a cord of nerves in her bicep and pressed it into the bone. "Where are you taking me?"
The lieutenant's lips stretched bloodlessly in that knife-edge smirk again. "A norteamericana so lovely as yourself deserves more privacy." He turned sharply away from the sergeant's desk to lead Linda and the bookend soldiers down a corridor.
The heavy, clanking chains on her ankles hobbled Linda. She took two or three hurried steps for every long stride of the soldiers. She tripped. Mendoza and Villareal merely tightened their grip on her upper arms and dragged her, letting the smooth-worn stone of the ancient corridor scrape the ends of her toes. The lieutenant tapped his swagger stick on the seam of his pants, never looking back, until they reached a heavy iron door set deep in the wall. He stood aside while Lump-nose found a wrist-thick key and swung the ancient portal open.
The soldiers thrust her through the narrow door. Linda fell heavily on her right side, unable to catch herself. "I-I'm an American citizen! You can't keep me here!" she said, her voice rising hysterically. Linda rolled onto her back and stared wildly up at the lieutenant. The brief flag of hope that had waved when she'd seen her passport in his hands had fallen in the corridor outside.
The only light in the bare cell came from a tiny window ten feet off the floor. A square of brightness illuminated the officer's crotch, showing the distinct lump of his hidden prick. "You are suspected of treason against the people and government of Cuba," the lieutenant intoned heavily. He stoped tapping his baton and reversed it smartly into the crook of his elbow.
Linda couldn't believe her ears. "No! I ... I just came for a visit! My friends and I...." The image of Judy dying in the cobbled street hit her like a medicine ball.
"Find Maxine! She'll tell you! We ... we were shopping, and-" She crept away as best she could, pushing her shackled feet against the floor, spider-walking her fingers beneath the small of her back. She moved halfway up the wall behind her, trying to press through the stone into whatever sunlight showed outside.
"Shopping for heroin, perhaps?" the lieutenant sneered. He moved closer, and the square of light rose to his face. "Or was it guns, guns for those barbudos, those bearded swine in the mountains?"
The world caved in around Linda. The light on the officer's face locked her eyes to him as surely as the handcuffs locked her wrists. His hard, glittering eyes seemed to bore into her face, reading Judy's words of the night before like a string of tickertape running in her mind. His nostrils flared again, but this time his hawk-beak nose was like a bloodhound's on a hot scent.
"What was the name of your contact?" he snapped. Linda shook her head numbly.
"No ... no," she mumbled. There was no way the Cuban lieutenant could mistake it for anything but abject misery. She was limp all over, held up only by the light reflected from those burning black eyes. Linda was losing everything outside the band of light across his face. When he snapped a string of orders, she thought her mind was gone. Linda couldn't even recognize the sounds as Spanish.
Hands grabbed her. The cuffs on her wrists released for an instant, then snapped shut again, catching her hands in front of her. With a twist of her torso and a heavy, almost brutal shove between her shoulderblades, Linda was propelled to a side wall. A soldier yanked her hands over her head. Something snapped metalically. The cuffs held her wrists fully extended over her head.
"How were you to get to the mountains?" the officer rasped.
Linda stared dumbly at him.
"How were you to get to the mountains?" he repeated, a dangerous undertone in his voice.
Linda felt her moods swinging like a pendulum, moving from ox-like numbness to panic. "No, I'm going home next week! I never wanted to join Castro! It wasn't me! It wasn't!" Her voice rose to a shrill scream.
Quick and deadly as a viper, the baton whirled from the crook of the lieutenant's elbow to slash across the tips of her breasts. A knife of pain speared into her tits, then a hot throb replaced it. Linda stopped protesting, her eyes and mouth opening at the shock as much as the pain. She cringed against the wall, trying to pull herself up, out of the officer's reach. The chains rattled on her ankles.
"Who was the taxi-driver?"
Linda shook her head again. This time she was ready for the quick slash of the swagger stick, but it didn't come. "Who gave you the money?" the officer asked.
"I didn't have money ... just for shopping, a few dollars," Linda said.
The baton ripped up and in, across her left breast, then the backhand stroke slashed down and across her right nipple. Her nipples felt as if they'd been burnt with a branding iron. The points oozed pulses of throbbing fire outward until the whole round swell of each tit glowed from within. Tears of pain and shame at her nakedness welled up in Linda's eyes. "Please, I'd tell you if I knew," she whimpered, gnawing at her lower lip.
The whistle of the stick speeding through the dank air warned her-too late. The tip sliced across her left cheekbone. A strip of skin felt torn away. Linda turned her face to the side, leaving the stinging red brand showing full-on to the lieutenant. "I don't know," she whined.
The whole front of her body felt hot, as if the fiery pain of the lacerations was spreading. Linda sagged, dangling from the handcuffs. Her knees bent, and the strain on her arms lifted her blazing breasts higher, flattening the rich globes. The officer gestured with his baton and stepped closer.
The hard, heavy grab of his left hand on her cuntflesh straightened her like an electric shock. "Is this why you won't talk? You want me to fuck it out of you?" the lieutenant hissed. He twisted the fistful of flesh cruelly, tearing the hairs at the edges of her cunt.
Linda tried to close her legs, but the officer's fist was locked to her twat. "AHHH!" she grunted. "Oww, oh, please!" She tried to squirm away, but that only tortured her tight-gripped gash more brutally.
She could feel every one of his fingers gouging into the outer pad of her left cuntlip. The ragged nail of his thumb dug up and down the other side of her vee, bruising the inner folds against the stiffening pellet of her clit and ripping still more hairs from her pussy.
The kneading, twisting, tearing pressure around her pussy slowed, becoming gender. The new series of grasping touches was somehow more abusive, more an invasion than the officer's first violent grab at her twat. Linda felt moisture ooze from her vagina and grease his palm. He worked the cuntjuice against her labia with degrading voluptuousness, slimily coercing her body to respond.
A fingertip found the mouth of her pussy and wriggled in. The insidious violation of her body made Linda want to gag. "No-oooo," she moaned, twisting her arms, galling her wrists on the handcuffs. "Oh, God, please, Mister Guitierrez," Linda whimpered.
With a mixture of pain, disgust, and self-hatred, Linda felt her clitty erecting. The burning of her nipples telegraphed along her nerves, and the three hot spots grew hotter and harder together.
"Yesss, ah, yess," the lieutenant whispered. "A norteamericana slut, a whore for me to find answers from! Ay, si, puta colorada! Venga por me verga, pnta!"
The glossy diagonal strap of his harness pressed Linda's right nipple into the throbbing ache of her tit. Her asscheeks flexed and clenched against the stone wall. The tall redhead tried to stifle the part of her mind that was enjoying the arousal, the relief from the questions and slashes of the swagger stick.
The futile attempt only made her cuntmouth kiss against his fingertip. Linda felt the sensitive walls of her vagina milking at his straining digit. She turned her head away in shame, tossing her long red hair across the lieutenant's face.
A hand fumbled at her belly. Linda squeezed her eyes shut. His lips pressed against her ear, muttering Spanish words she'd never heard in an oily intonation that was too too familiar. She caught words like "carne" and verbs that sounded as gluey as a boot sucking out of thigh-deep mud. Her flesh crawled.
The two soldiers had left the cell. Linda felt the lieutenant's hand creeping on her skin, roaming degradingly from her hip to her breasts. The end of the swagger stick scraped her, stack between his thumb and the pad of his palm, reminding her of the whiplash blows he'd already given her. There was just enough slack in the chain between the handcuffs for Linda to sway from side to side as his hips forced her to the wall.
The heavy buckle of his belt flopped against her thigh. Linda felt a length of hard heat against her lower belly. An ancient, surpressed curiosity melded with her pain and fear. She knew it was his cock touching her, and a part of her wanted to grind her belly against it. Linda tried to move toward his prick and away from the finger stabbing into her cunthole. She moaned, torn between terror, revulsion, and the high, heady feelings of arousal.
A hand grabbed her asscheek, pawing and kneading the firm flesh. It was a cruel parody of Judy's gentle, unhurried touch, molding her flesh lasciviously. Linda sobbed huge defeated tears, drowning even the continual murmur of the lieutenant's voice.
The officer's fly was fully open now. His pants had fallen away from his cock and the wiry, sweaty clumps of his prickbush. He took his intrusive finger out of her cuntmouth and held her asscheeks away from the wall. His prick ground steadily up and down on her pussymound, tugging the hairs back and forth. Lieutenant Guitierrez took half a step backward, still reveling in the lush textures of her asscheeks.
Linda arched forward like a hood ornament, her legs dangling, her arms up and back, still imprisoned by the handcuffs. The stripes of the baton glowed on her skin, reddening as the officer pulled her further from the wall. She went higher, higher, until his cockhead slipped down the center of her muff and wedged between her cunt and her asshole. Her arms ached as if her shoulder sockets would break. Linda felt a huge gush of cunt juice flood from her vagina as the lieutenant rubbed his knob back and forth in her crotch. She wanted to die from the sheer debasing shame of her body's reaction, but a part of her mind made her watch his face as the moment of penetration came nearer.
Guitierrez' face was twisted into a look between a sneer and a lusty leer. His eyes ran over her body, taking in the coppery red of her cunthairs, the smooth flatness of her belly, and the amazing swell of her tits. "Ay! Que clara! Su cula es clara, y grande, y...." He stopped, then the curl of his upper lip exaggerated into a contemptuous snarl. "Your ass, Miss Martin! I'm talking about your ass, your bright, beautiful, big ass!" His fingers gouged deeper into the sensitive flesh every time he hissed, "ass".
"It's wide and soft and perfect for a man to slap his balls against! This ass, this pale white American ass of yours used to be my breakfast, my lunch, my dinner and my bed at night when I had to suck the bullshit from your fat mother and your stinking father! I'm going to fuck your beautiful American ass until you tell me about the barbudos, until you tell me about the money, until you tell me everything you know!" Flecks of foam spattered from his lips as he sprayed hatred at her. His fingers never stopped the ceaseless massage of her ass cheeks.
Linda was terrified. Only the middle link of the chain between her ankles touched the floor. She tried to writhe away, but his fingers had turned to claws. The head of his prick found the tiny oval of her virgin cunt and stabbed up at it. She squealed.
Guitierrez held her in his left hand and brought the baton around to the front of her body. He shook it at her, then, jabbing two stiff fingertips against the very top of her muff, said, "I'm going to start with your cunt, Miss Martin, this passionate red cunt! I'm not going to talk about your TITS-" he backhanded across her breasts, making both aching mounds vibrate with agony-"because your tits-" he slapped again, and the base of the swagger stick cut a groove in the underswell of her breast that immediately oozed blood-"won't hurt you as much as your ass and your cunt!" With the last word, he shoved savagely up into her vagina, tearing the membrane of her hymen.
Linda gasped. The assaulting lance of pain seared her vitals. Guitierrez slapped her face, knocking her head half off her shoulders. The knob of his prick was lodged in her cuntflesh now, and he pushed deeper.
"We Cubanos love fucking American cunts," he growled, working his prick further into her torn channel. "We love Americans, and we love them too fucking much! That's why culito Eisenhower won't help us with more guns! Your fat sugar daddies don't want American cunts to come close to Cubanos." He took her hips in his hands and pulled her down onto the base of his prick.
Linda felt the hard arch of his pubic bone grind her pussyflesh against her clitty, and a fuller, hotter excitement than ever Judy's tongue had given her filled her belly. The end of the lieutenant's prick circled around, levering deep in her belly, and she opened her mouth soundlessly, shocked at the variety of lusty feelings in her body. Her tits pulsed with an aching, throbbing fire. Her cuntlips burned from his fingernails. Her ass had the dull, tender feeling of bruised muscle everywhere his hand touched. The hottest, most sensuous part of her cuntchannel was on fire with the stretching pain of her ruptured cherry. Linda spread her knees wide and clasped her thighs around his hips.
"Yes, I know you whores," Guitierrez grunted. "You stole the blonde bitch's lover, and she told us about your plans." His fingers gouged into her asscheeks like the claws of a nursing cheetah, dragging her close, then letting her swing away on the chain that held her hands so high above her head. "You come here, here to my country, and perform your perverted actions on each other."
Linda felt a huge thrust of his cock ram her womb up and forward. "Unh!" she grunted, automatically tightening her long legs around his twisting hips. "No-I-" she began, shaking her head. Her downcast eyes caught the moving bulge of his prick-knob where it pressed her belly obscenely forward.
Lieutenant Guitierrez lifted her ass high, pulling his prick back and away. "YES!" he shouted, and jammed Linda's twat down the length of prick. "Bitch cunt whore! You think Castro will let you work your filth into his camps?" With every second word, as if he were reciting a violent chant, the officer rammed meat into her cuntchannel and stroked back out.
Linda gave up. She wept, not even trying to disagree with the officer. She wept for Judy, she wept for Maxine, but mostly she wept for herself. The brutal slam of his pubic bone against her pelvis made her legs and arms tighten in spasms. She jerked herself up and down, back and forth on the handcuffs until blood seeped down her wrists. She quit listening, trying only to let her body go slack against the battering-ram assaults of the lieutenant's prick.
It was worse than vile, worse than degrading. He still wore his tunic, his pistol, his boots. Linda felt the crumpled top of his pants brushing her chained ankles with every thrust of his cock. Linda tried to make her disgust rise again, tried to form a wall of hatred that would stop his throbbing cockstrokes, but it wouldn't work. She stopped resisting everything but the rising heat of the sensations in her cunt.
She couldn't help herself. The forcefucking compelled her body to respond to his prick. The slashed heat of her titties, the mauled mounds of her ass, the puffy, bruised slices of her cuntlips, all worked to arouse that secret center of tension in her belly. Linda let her head loll back. Her long hair brushed the wall whenever the officer loosened his grip on her ass. She split herself off from the feeling, staring at the ceiling until her cunt seemed miles away.
But each jabbing stroke of the rapecock brought that whirling hunger in her cunt closer. She felt the muscles of her thighs knotting. Her asscheeks flexed and relaxed in time to his grip. Her tits rolled on her chest-the twisting motions of her shoulders encouraged them. Her hips began moving in time to his strokes!
Linda knew the feeling was just like the magical excitement she'd felt with Judy. She laughed hysterically, and the officer snarled. His words were no longer distinct enough to hear. He redoubled the savage intensity of his fuckstrokes.
His prick jabbed and whirled, throbbing into every corner of her cuntflesh. Linda's rage and disgust and hysterical panic merged, and she threw her cunt at his rampaging prick.
Over and over, she corkscrewed her hips around the plunging piston of rigid meat. The sweaty slapping sounds of his belly against her crotch filled the dank air of the cell. She battled with the lieutenant, her cunt working furiously against his cock. Linda tried to rip the invasive prick away from his body. With her feet shackled in heavy chains and her hands cuffed high overhead, Linda could fight back only with her raped, ruined, bleeding cunt. She growled like a tigress.
Gripping, milking, rotating her hips, Linda discovered more about the frenzied skills of her pussy than she'd thought possible. She straightened her neck and glared back at the sweating officer. She saw the oily perspiration on his face, the swampy patches darkening the armpits of his tunic, the bulging cords in his neck. Knowing she looked at least as wild and abandoned as the furiously hunching lieutenant, she grinned savagely.
Linda looked carnivorous. She showed her teeth in a grimace of lust and revulsion. She churned her hips like the dasher in an overloaded washing machine. She squeezed the base of his prick with a vise-like cuntal grip. The redhead whipped her long hair back from her face with a flick of her neck. "Ahhhrghhh!" she snarled, and accelerated.
Even the brutal fury of the lieutenant's cockthrusts was nothing compared to the sloshing, churning, hipswinging speed of Linda's cunty contortions. The chain between her ankles flogged against the shins of his high boots. The sweatslick surfaces of her ass made his fingers skid. Her tits bounced and jiggled like Jell-o creatures trying to break free of her body. The coral-pink tips of her tits were only a widening blur. Linda whipped her ass up, down, sideways, like a dervish. She felt his cock tense. The slap-slap-slap of his balls against her ass stopped. His nuts drew up into a tight mass at the base of his prick.
Linda felt victory, a victory as cruel and painful as the first cherry-rupturing stab of his prick into her twat. She fought on, the glove-soft walls of her cunt stripping the nerves in his prick. The lieutenant's eyes went wide, then squeezed shut. He grunted like a feeding bear.
The assaulting stabs of his rape tool slowed. Linda speeded her hips. Two frothing rotations of her ass whirled cuntflesh around each shuddering stroke of his prick. Three ... four swampy motions to his one. Linda's chains clanked like a hundred maltuned bells.
Her shoulders were ripping. The skin at her wrists sliced to ribbons. Pain and hate and anger filled her, rising on the crest of tension in her cunt.
With a blast like a ton of dynamite, a fantastic explosion hit her cunt. The thrust of the lieutenant's cock blasted past the end of her womb. Linda knew his seed was spewing deep in her cunt.
The gutwrenching power of her orgasm numbed her. The hot trail of slime on her thigh couldn't be anything but his jizz. Linda didn't care. The fury in her mind fueled the incredible bursts of energy in her cunt, and shattering waves of orgasm flashed throughout her body.
Her vision blurred. Linda forgot the lieutenant, forgot the prison, forgot the cock that still pumped sperm into her cunthole. She felt the marvelous release of her cuntal tension, and that was all that mattered, at the end. She rode the pulses for long, long seconds, and everything was peaceful within her at last.