Chapter 3
A horrible suction dragged at her guts. Linda moaned, then realized it was Lieutenant Guiterrez' prickhead sliding down the come-clenched walls of her cunt.
The meaty suction of her cuntwalls around his glans was pulling her inside out. "Oohhhaughhh!" she groaned, her mouth falling open. The wide flare of his knob popped sickeningly through the slick band of muscle at the mouth of her pussy. He released her hips. Linda dropped away from his groin, her bruised buttocks slapping wetly against the clammy stone wall. Warm semen spilled down her abused thighs. Linda was too weak to stand. She dangled, her long hair cascading across her face. Her green eyes were glazed, barely focussing on the lieutenant's face.
Lieutenant Guitierrez hitched his jodphurs up, stuffing his wilting prick away. "Now you will tell me," he said, drawing himself up into parade-rest. "You have seen only the smallest beginning of what can happen if you do not reveal your contact."
The handcuffs felt like razors digging into the outside edge of her palms. Linda tried to control her legs, pulling herself upright with her chained hands. Her knees felt like weak soup. She got just enough control of her body to stand, her feet six inches apart. The ache in her shoulders, the searing, slicing pain in her wrists eased. She stared mutely at the lieutenant.
His question couldn't sink into her numbed brain. Linda saw the cavalry boots, the sunbleached uniform, the relaxed stance of the man, and could not comprehend why he still stood before her. Semen was turning sticky on her thigh. She felt the raw, torn nerves and tissues at the mouth of her vagina and the red heat of blood all through her crotch. She took a long, shaky breath.
The motion made her shrinking clitty tingle. The single trickle of sensation was enough to remind her of the obscene fullness, the totally abasing violation of her body. She closed her eyes tightly and turned her head to the side, trying to wipe the lieutenant's image from her mind and body. "Aowww," she whimpered.
"You do not choose to answer?" Lieutenant Guitierrez said. "Very well, Miss Martin. I shall return shortly." He turned sharply as only a petty tyrant can and stomped out of the cell. The footsteps of Mendoza and Villareal joined him in the corridor, leaving Linda Martin alone with her shame.
Death and fear and self-disgust dominated her thoughts as surely as the Cuban chains dominated her body. Linda willed her heart to stop beating. She wept and screamed like a madwoman. The tall, lovely, despoiled teenager flung the back of her head against the stone wall, trying to dash her brains out. Her solid Ohio upbringing told Linda it had to be a fatal flaw in herself that had put her in the cell, locked her in the chains. She was worse than worthless ... she was depraved. Linda thought of her parents, her classmates, everyone who'd ever trusted or respected her. She could never face any of them again.
Linda tried to kill herself. It was the only way out. Sometime during the furious fucking Guitierrez had forced her into, she'd begun to enjoy it, and that made her unfit to live. Linda knew she was lower than any human could be and survive. She felt the drying slime on her thighs, and knew she was slimier than the semen that glued her cunthairs together. She held her breath until spots obscured her vision. Her limbs went slack. A t last, she thought, sinking into a buzzing haze of red-black.
The knife-edge pain in her wrists brought her back. It hadn't worked. When she fainted her breathing began again, foiling her plan. There had to be another way.
Linda pressed her back to the clammy stone blocks. The sunlit square had crept across the floor to the front of the cell.
The cell was bare, blank save for another hook in the opposite wall and the ancient steel plate of the door. Linda felt a curious calm, like the calm of total fatigue, come over her. Even though she knew it was useless, she searched the floor of the cell for anything that could help her die.
Yes, Linda thought, it happened when I started fighting back, whenlworked at tearing him apart. I let my body betray me. He forced me, but I wound up trying to force him. I acted like an animal, like I'm no better than Guitierrez. That's why I have to die. Linda nodded as if there were someone there to agree with her. The frantic struggle at the end of the fucking came back to her, and she involuntarily arched her hips forward. Her head lolled back again as it had when her passivity ended. She knew how to kill herself.
Linda grinned, gritting her teeth at the pain in her wrists. It was simple, really. She drew her knees uj and forward. She planted her feet solidly against the wall. She strained back until the vulnerable column of her throat was stretched to the fullest. Even the ache in her arms eased. She smiled, serene as some Buddha, and kicked off from the wall.
Her luscious breasts stretched further, flattening until the tips were like pink towers. Linda swung forward and up, her hair streaming behind her. She dragged her chained ankles up into a tight tuck and fell back toward the wall. She would end the shame, the abuse, the pain in one second. The satisfying rush as her body accelerated toward the stone blocks relaxed her completely. Her grin widened. Limp, her head fell forward onto her chest. The blocks slammed her shoulders. The back of Linda's head bounced off the wall. The bitter shame of frustration and failure overwhelmed her.
Metal scraped. Linda looked up. Light and the sound of Lieutenant Guitierrez' voice hit her simultaneously. "Miss Martin?" the lieutenant asked. "You are ready for more questioning?" He gestured to the soldiers behind him. They materialized in the cell and plucked her from the floor.
Linda wanted to buckle like wet cardboard, but she struggled to her feet. She let herself be frog marched through the corridor, watching the shifting shadows of herself and her captors grow and shrink on the ill-lit walls.
They stopped on another level, half a flight of stairs and several hundred yards from the cell she'd been left in. The door in front of her was so old that the hand-hewn timbers had blackened. Lieutenant Guitierrez stepped in front of her and unlocked the cuffs and leg irons before opening the door. Linda rubbed her hands together, trying to make her arms work at her command again. The two soldiers took positions on either side of the door. The lieutenant opened the door and ushered her in.
Linda was shamefully aware of her nakedness when she stepped onto the heavy Oriental rug. She tried to hang back, crossing her hands in front of her. Lieutenant Guitierrez pulled her into the room, bringing her face to face with a jowly, much-decorated officer behind a huge desk. The senior officer's lizard-like eyes blinked twice, lazily, before the lieutenant spoke. "Mi Coronel, esta es la rebelde Norteamericana."
"Bueno," the colonel said, raising his hand in a perfunctory fraction of a salute. His eyes followed Guitierrez out of the room before returning to Linda's disheveled, stillerotic form. His expression never changed as he took in the bruises, the cuts, the bloodstains on her fair skin. At least thirty seconds passed. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. He finally looked away.
Linda hadn't realized she held her breath until she let a sigh of relief gust out. "I want to see the Amer-" she began.
The colonel slammed his hand on the desk top with a pistol-crack sharpness. "Silence!" He glared across the few feet separating him from Linda. "You are not entitled to speak!
Linda cringed back, raising her hands in protection. For the first time she saw the glass-fronted rack of guns on the wall behind the colonel. A snake-like coil of black leather on the desk caught her eye. She gulped. A five-foot length of slender darkness stood in the corner, a black cord trailing from its tip. Linda swiveled her head. The room was dark and bare behind her. Heavy manacles and iron devices that looked old enough to have been used by the conquistadors lay on a low table near the edge of the rug. She wanted to back away from the colonel, but whatever unseen horror might lurk behind kept her in place.
"Look at me." The colonel's voice was as flat and deadly as his dispassionate eyes. "I am considered skillful. You will tell me whatever I ask." His bulky shoulders and scarred, moon-like face filled Linda's vision. Goosepimples stood up all over Linda. She nodded.
"Who was your contact?" The colonel didn't look at Linda after he asked the question. He slowly stood up and hefted the coils of the black snake whip.
"I ... I came with my friends. I didn't know-" Linda stammered. The whip curled out in a long line and flicked her naked belly with aloud "CRACK!" The sound alone made her jump back. Only the tip had touched her skin, and a flash of fire on her belly blossomed in pain.
The colonel coiled the whip again. "Ten thousand American dollars is too much for tourists to carry. I have already checked with your compatriots in the ... exporting ... business. They know nothing of you." He stretched his lips in a travesty of a smile. "What can a poor simple Cuban think except that you were going to join the rebels?"
The colonel walked around the desk. He stared down at the tableful of torture implements and asked, "What do you know about the owner of the shop where you took cover?" He nearly made a choice, like a plump matron debating over a box of chocolates, then moved away from the table. "He turned for us less than a week ago. Los Castristos found out just this evening. He probably saved your life today, but your Communist friends murdered him. What is the point of protecting such ones?"
Linda's mind raced. She knew Judy was dead, but that was all she knew. Loyalty to her lover-friend made her resolve to tell Batista's officers nothing. She thought of the places they'd been that morning (was it only a morning ago?) and wondered if she could pinpoint one, any one, and bargain for her own freedom. She shook her head.
The colonel took the long, thin buggy whip from the corner. He watched the frayed end of the silk cord pop softly as he made fly,-casting motions with the long handle. "A strange coincidence that you should pick that particular hotel. Your own government has told us about the owner, about his long stay in Mexico. Why were you and your ... friends staying there?"
Linda shrugged, trying to keep the fear from her face. That little thing can't possibly hurt like the bullwhip, she told herself. "My ... my parents recommended it. They stayed there on their honeymoon," she lied.
The tip of the limber steel rod whistled. The silk popped against Linda's cheekbone. "UNHHH!" she grunted. The eye on that side filled with tears. It's not that bad, she thought, biting her lower lip.
"Please, Miss Martin," the colonel said softly. His voice was becoming breathy. "I am a lie detector. You mustn't try to fool me."
"They stayed there, they did," she protested. The limber little whip flicked again, the tip moving only a few inches. The end of the cord slashed from the edge of her labia to the outside of her thigh.
An angry welt was already rising. It felt like liquid fire painted carefully along her skin, touching her pussy. She looked up at the colonel again. The first sign of interest showed on his face. The pencil-thin butt of the whip rested between his thumb and two blunt fingertips. The silk cord trailed along the floor from where the shaft rested on the rug. "I'm not a rebel ... I don't know anything about Castro ... about anything in Cuba!" Linda whimpered. "Please, please, Colonel, just let me go!" Her face, her whole body, pleaded with him. Her hands rose in a half-prayer, and Linda took a step toward him.
So fast she hardly saw it, the whip slashed up from the rug. The end of the cord popped softly just at the top of her cuntal crease. "AIEE!" Linda screamed, throwing her shoulders back reflexively. Her hips snapped forward in an instantaneous pelvic thrust, offering her cunt to the searing touch of the whip. She held the position for a split-second, then covered her pussy with both hands and tried to shrink away. "Oh, God, please! No, Colonel, please!"
The heavyset colonel smiled for the first time, an oily, sinister smirk that promised more pain. Chills ran along Linda's skin even as heat in her loins followed the stinging pain in her pussy. "Tell me who, tell me when, tell me where," he hissed.
"I can't! I don't know!" Linda wailed. She shook with deep, gut-twisting terror. The rising heat in her pussy scared her almost as much as the slow, step-by-step advance of the colonel, and the colonel scared her witless.
Flick! Flick! Flick! Three short, sharp movements of the colonel's hand tweaked her nipples, her hands, her belly with the end of the whip. Linda's arms moved a fraction of a second behind each shocking slash, too slow to shield her from the bite of the innocent-looking silk cord. It was like a bombardment of flaming match-heads on her most sensitive spots.
"Who!" Flick! the corner of her mouth blazed with pain.
"When!" Flick! the left side of her pussy stung.
"Where!" Flick-flick! the top and bottom of her left breast were sliced open.
Linda turned and ran, but the room was only twenty feet long. The snake-tongue slashes of the whip crisscrossed her buttocks, her thighs, her back. The icy sweat of terror dripped onto her welts, fueling the fires that ate into her skin. She reached the wall and huddled into a fetal crouch.
It was useless. The strokes became deliberate, moving here and there with graduated intensity.
Linda jerked and quivered under the skinny braid. The back of her neck, her shoulders, her buttocks felt the white-hot caress of the whip again and again. Kinda knew without looking that the colonel stood over her, picking each spot before lazily laying a razor-thin line of pain along her body. She pulled herself tighter into her defensive ball, pressing her forehead and knees against the stone wall. Linda gasped and whimpered, squealing at each touch of the whip.
It had seemed haphazard at first, but Linda soon saw the gruesome method. Each fresh stripe on her skin was planned to surprise her. No two strokes landed on the same spot. Once the tip would pop a flower of red pain onto her ribs. Next, the whole braid would wrap cruelly around her ankle or thigh, leaving a line of bare-peeled blood and muscle and raw nerve ends. Her asscheeks were a latticework of blazing red lines. The tip of the narrow cord could insinuate itself around her arm and bite her titty, or pop numbing pain into the quivering ring of her asshole. Linda choked on tears.
The plan changed slowly. The strokes of the whip strayed less. The tip of that obscenely nimble silk cord kept finding new routes across her skin to the base of her pussy. Linda clenched her asscheeks. Was that blood flowing from the welts on her labia, or was it juice bubbling fresh from her abused cunt? Linda wished the colonel would go back to punishing her.
Her body was doing it again, preparing to betray her. Linda's sobs changed. More bitterness and self-disgust sounded in her voice than pain. She hated herself, cursed her body, loathed the erogenous warmth that the silk-tipped whip lewdly elicited from her cunt. She wept at the deadly realization that the whip's caresses aroused her as skillfully and surely as had Judy's tongue. By the time she realized the fact of her cunty heat, it had passed beyond titillation. Dread and excitement mingled in her mind. Linda realized the pain could make her come.
The colonel reveled in the sadistic power he held over Linda. His lips curled back from his teeth in a bizarre grimace of twisted lust. He lingered longer between strokes, watching the ripple of her flesh tightening in anticipation, then slashing the whip across her buttocks when the muscles relaxed. He was like a long-caged cat visiting years of stored torment on a single battered mouse. He stood ten feet away, letting the long handle and the skinny lash reach swiftly to raise welts on her ass or draw flecks of blood from her back and thighs.
Like an undermatched prizefighter trying to give a crowd its money's worth, he spun out the punishment as long as he could. The tip of the cord danced on Linda's skin. With a gesture as obscenely delicate as a painter putting a gleam in a portrait's eye, the colonel flicked the whipsilk to tear a half-dozen hairs from Linda's tangled red mane, then resumed inflaming her pussy. He selected the spots carefully, teasing more warmth into the base of her mons. The undercreases of her asscheeks glowed red with the repeated touch of the lash, and the tiny puckered dot of her rectum blushed to the same shade as her overheated cuntmouth.
Linda found the waiting between strokes worse than the cutting slashes themselves. Where would he strike, and when? Would the cord curl around her, or would it give that whispering "pop" that meant a starburst of agonizing pain? At the end of the whip, at the end of her rope, Linda knew it was useless to resist. Even hiding her face in her arms did no good ... the snaky tip of the cord could still flash to cut her lips or curl around to slice viciously at her forehead. Though she jerked with every measured blow, Linda slowly uncoiled from her huddled position.
The colonel loved the sight of the tall, naked redhead acceding to his expert torture. He struck at her arms, and they went slack. He curled the lash around her thigh, and Linda's legs uncoiled. She rolled slowly onto her back and stared at him. Her green eyes pleaded dully.
And pleaded for more. Linda let her legs fall apart, and the colonel devoured the open vulnerability of her loins with his eyes. He took nibbles of her cunthair with the delicate whip, then sampled the firm, fleshy delight of her full bosom with the fraying end of the silk cord. His thick neck bulged over the collar of his tunic. The colonel strode closer.
Linda looked up at an aroused figure of relentless power. She drew her knees up, offering the abused slot of her pussy to him. Her mouth opened in a gasp when the silk lash trailed across her thigh. Linda closed her eyes and rolled her hips forward when the feathery touch slid along the side of her cuntmound. She was aroused enough to want another whip slash across her pussy. The burning weals on her ass and thighs had heated her cunt until the whole copper-haired region around her pussy sopped with cream. As she lay waiting for the next stroke of the colonel's whip, she thought, I'd do anything, anything for-"N-n-nooo!" she moaned, frightened by the enormity of the thought.
A jolt like a welder's arc blazed in her cunt. Linda's hips snapped off the floor, thrusting toward the whip before she even heard the silky noise of the tip popping. The sharp spear of pain that arrowed into her cunt shocked her whole body into instant rigidity. Linda let her hips down again.
Another lash at her cunt made her buck again. The dreadfully sweet agony around her clit made a balloon of cunty heat swell in her belly. She knew that the release couldn't be long in coming. The pain was a hundred times sharper than the ripping of her cherry had been, a thousand times as arousing as the first cuntal kiss from Judy's sucking lips.
The next stroke was torture worse than any of the beating so far. The lash hit the outside of her cuntlips, popping so precisely, so sharply, that only a ripple of flesh caressed her clit. Again, down the other side of her red-furred pussy, then across the top of the vee. Linda moaned, feeling the near-climax heat in her pussy fading. She rotated her hips lewdly, inviting that harsh silk cord to slice her clit to orgiastic ribbons. She felt the edge of cunty frustration bringing its dull, ugly chill into her loins, and she wanted to cry. "I won't tell you ... I'll never tell you anything?' she screamed, frothing. She glared defiantly up at the colonel. Linda grabbed the back of each knee in her hands and dragged her thighs up against her tits. "Never!" she shouted.
The colonel grinned voraciously. He began whipping her cunt again. His flushed face and the ring of sweat at his collar showed his excited arousal as much as the rigid lump in his pants. He didn't bother with artistic strokes or fine touches. He slashed at the red-haired, red-meated center of her gash like a madman. He cursed vilely in Spanish.
Linda writhed under the whip like a woman possessed. She felt the fiery stimulation forcing her blood to rush faster in her loins. The whole wide cradle of her pelvis was congested, full of cuntcream and heat and the incredible steamy simmering of her cunt. She rocked back onto her shoulders, and the end of the flailing whip sliced ribbons of torchy heat along her ass. Even the ring of her rectum ripped with the lashing. She had to turn her head to the side as the colonel stepped closer. The cord sliced up between her thighs, branding her belly with vertical stripes.
The colonel tore at his pants with his left hand and flogged furiously at her cunt with his right. A bloated, purple-tipped length of cock appeared, jutting up like a howitzer. The whole knob was smeared with pre-come juice. It looked as brutal and evil as the colonel's snarling face. Spit flecked his lips, spraying onto Linda's ass and thighs as he spattered her with curses.
The metal rod itself beat against her cunt, and Linda started to come. The silk cord was tattered from slashing at her skin, frayed larger than a half-dollar at the tip. The handle was as limber as a fly casting rod, and it bent to deliver a stinging slash from her clit to her rectum with each frenzied motion of the colonel's arm.
Linda was coming harder with every second of the beating. Her hips rolled like a stormy ocean. Her cleavage was scarlet from the thrashing of the lash. Her cuntmouth winked open and shut with each shattering pulse of her orgasm. The merciless rise and fall of the whip slowed, then stopped, and Linda faced the colonel again.
The whip flew across the room as he ripped the buckle of his gunbelt open. The holster hit the floor like a lead weight. High boots, tunic, necktie and all, the colonel knelt on the floor between her legs.
Linda felt hot, sweating hands on her ass. She tried to control the pulsating convulsions of her cunt. He raised her ass higher. She rested on her shoulders and the back of her head. With a hammering, piledriver impact, his cockhead burst past her cuntmouth and plumbed her guts.
Linda screamed with shock, terror and ecstasy. She squirmed, milking hot, simmering cunflesh around his prick. The barreling momentum of his first fuck thrust carried his engorged knob past her womb like a bludgeon. The numb shock at the center of her loins stopped her for the space of one frantic heartbeat, then her hips rotated in a faster frenzy than she'd ever felt.
The colonel's belly battered her cuntmound. His prick sloshed back and forth like a stallion's, reaming her hole wider. The constant, mind-warping waves of Linda's orgasm kept her cunt clamped down around his meaty rod like a vise. She wailed and babbled, begging him in Egnlish. He cursed and foamed back at her in Spanish.
They rolled across the floor, battling with the fury of Linda's come and the colonel's inflamed balls. The sweaty, hairy mass of his sac flogged against the whipstripes on her ass, and the sweat burned. The scratchy bush at the base of his massive cock scraped her raw clit like sandpaper. Pain and gasping, grasping, groaning cuntal pleasure racked her. Linda knew her shoulders were bruising, knew her cunt was aching, but her ongoing come blotted the fear out. She wrestled with the colonel, daring him to stop and daring him to continue. The whole world was nothing but a huge cock wrapped in a boiling cunt.
The colonel grunted. He went stiff all over. Linda worked her cunt feverishly against him. She rolled and swiveled. She pounded her fists against his back. She dug her fingernails into his ass. That bulky belly against her cunt was hard as rock. She refused to let him slow down.
Bouncing, jiggling, straining with the blurring speed of a totally released woman, she stripped the nerves from his prick. Linda kept moving when his tension slacked, then milked his prick harder when a pulse went through him again. She worked three viciously hard spurts of come from his cock, then lost count. Linda slowed enough to match his remaining thrusts. She threw her cunt up at him, then ground her belly into his. With a superhuman effort, she pulled back until only that massive knob was still in her cunt. She hung there, dead to everything but the swelling flange of his cockhead, and waited. Every nerve in her body screamed.
"FFFUUUCKK!!!" she wailed, and slammed against the colonel again. The delayed waves of her orgasm came harder, harder, harder. She couldn't stop. The colonel was dead weight above her. He let her slide down. Her ass touched the floor again. Still Linda went on fucking back at his prick. She rolled and rippled, scratched and clawed, until the darkness at the bare end of the torture room swallowed her up. Even though she'd passed out from the sheer intensity of her orgasm, her body went on and on until the colonel's prick had faded to a limber ghost of its former size and slipped greasily out of her drooling pussy.
After a long while, Linda woke again in the corridor outside the office. "Back to the cell," Lieutenant Guitierrez smirked, snapping the cuffs on her wrists again. The soldiers picked her up, and Linda's heart sank.
I've got to get out of here ... but how? How!