Chapter 8
The glare of daylight blinded her. Linda cowered against the sun when the soldiers dragged her out of the peasant's hut. She tried to stand and walk on her own, but more hands grabbed her legs. With her arms and legs bent back, her breasts and hair dangling, she swung between four men. On a two-count they swung her back, forward, and let go. "AHHH-unnh!" she grunted, landing on the floor of a truck. Booted feet clumped in around her and the truck started.
It was the same convoy, continuing confinently toward the sugar mills near Santa Ynez. Linda kept her head down, afraid to look at the soldiers. She heard them muttering, laughing, planning above her, and their words filled her with sickening fear. She would be taken back to Havana that night, and given to Colonel Almieda again. In the morning, she would be tried, then hung alongside the corpses of the guerrilla band.
"What can Almieda do that we can't?" one of the soldiers asked.
"Nothing but keep her alive longer," another cautioned. "El Capitan wishes her to live through the trial."
"Oh, she will live," the first one said. A foot ground down between her thighs, pinching her skin against the floor of the truck.
Linda jerked her legs open. The splintery wooden floor abraded her skin, and the constant jiggling bounce of the hard-sprung truck made her flesh ripple. A hand grasped her arm. "Turn over," one said.
Linda rolled as he tugged. She lay on her back, looking up at eight of the army's finest. The gleams in their eyes reminded her of Guitierrez and the colonel. She couldn't even turn her head away, with four of them staring down at her from each side. The truck slowed briefly, and her shoulders and asscheeks filled with splinters as she slid forward.
The pain in her back was nothing compared to the fear Linda felt when one soldier pulled his gun off his shoulder. He grasped the stock in both hands and teased the point of his bayonet along her left thigh.
Tiny flicking motions of the knife made her sweat and tremble. Linda opened her legs, and he stabbed down at her knee.
The soldiers all laughed at her squeal of fear. The bayonet stuck deep in the floorboard, the rifle swaying above it. On her right, another soldier scraped his bayonet against the inside of her knee. The razor-sharp edge stung into her skin with great delicacy. He half-stood to force his rifle into the wood.
Now she was straddling the blades of two bayonets. The one on the left weaved from the vertical in three-inch swings; the rifle on the left bobbed at a forty-five degree angle.
The soldiers talked about her pussy, about the way the hair grew, the pouting curve of the outer lips, the meaty red of the inner slices. Linda was almost ashamed to feel fear. A soldier next to her head traced the swell of her titties with his bayonet, poking the very tip barely into the skin at the base of each mound. "Su rubrica, su rubica," one called, urging him to carve his initials in her tits. The soldier giggled.
A line of pinpricks followed the line where her breast met her chest, then the cold, blood-tinged blade flirted with her nipples. Linda lay there in panic, wondering when the jerky motion of the truck would throw her up at the bayonet. She stared at the knife, at the gun barrel, at the hands that held the rifle. Every detail of the bayonet stuck in her mind, from the blood groove on each side to the little nick in the leather-wrapped handle.
Flick! Flick! Flic-flick! the bayonet whispered, knocking her rubbery nipples up and down. Linda tried crawling up, away from the two knives that held her legs open, but the front soldier on the right put his bayonet against her shoulder. "Hold still," he said sternly.
The youngest of the soldiers was still flipping her nipples back and forth with his knife. Linda felt the erect spikes of her titty-tips sending little jolts of energy down to her clitty. Her cunt was starting to ooze cream now, and the button of her clit was half-hard. She tried reflexively to close her legs, and the angled bayonet sliced another line on the inside of her knee.
What happens if I start to come? Linda wondered, horrified. If they aroused her enough for her body to take over, she would slice her legs to the bone on the cruel bayonets. She drew a deep breath and concentrated on holding her lewd feelings down.
The bayonet at her shoulder moved up, trailing cold along her neck, then tracing the line of her jaw. Linda looked at it from the corner of her eye. She was terrified. A rut in the road made the whole truck jump, and a blade nicked just under her chin. It took an instant longer for the pain under her left nipple to hit. The soldier pulled a quarter-inch of bayonet out of her titmound. Linda felt the sticky flow of blood run past her armpit and start collecting under her back.
The steely chill suddenly appeared alongside her pussy. A knife trailed up the left side of her cuntlips, dragging cold along the hinge of her thigh.It stopped near her hipbone, then trailed back down. With gruesome care, the soldier went down the left side of her cuntal vee, braced the point of the knife on the floor, and rolled it obscenely across the mouth of her pussy.
Linda held her breath. The gut-freezing intimacy of the knife held her perfectly still for a long second. The back edge of the bayonet slipped along the above the groove at the right side of her cunt.
Linda felt a gush of warm relief start from her cunt. The peasant's come washed outward on the tide of cuntcream, running down her asscrack and puddling between her cheeks. The probing, sliding, spine-chilling touch of the bayonets had almost made her forget her shame until that instant. Now the rush of semen made her cringe with the shredded remanants of her modesty.
The knife kept circling in her crotch, the tip flicking her inner labia open, the flat chilling her cuntmouth. Linda quivered with the urge to scream, to panic and run, but the bayonets at her knees, her shoulder, her breast held her down. She felt the heat of her cunt start to radiate. She knew from the sensations in her crotch that the meaty red of her inner labia had spread beyond the base of her cunt. Even the tops of her thighs were heating, as was the abused, torn ring of her asshole. She wished they would end it, simply spear her through with the bayonets, but Almieda was waiting for her. Linda closed her eyes and started to weep.
The combination of fear, shame, and horny anticipation was overpowering. Linda sobbed, and her hips rolled up toward the knife at her cunt. The soldier pulled it away.
Instantly, Linda felt the hard wooden shape of the gun butt against her pussy. The steel plate at the base chilled her clit, and a quick spasm of delicious sensuality raced through her. The soldier rubbed the stock up and down, spreading the crease from her cuntmouth all along the central stripe of her twat. Linda moaned and moved her hips against the hard wood.
The soldiers commented on her response. Linda kept weeping while her hips moved in a lewd coital movement. Now shame overwhelmed her, but she could not stop the reactions of her body. She moved from side to side, pressing her knees against the bayonets. Her asscheeks flexed, and the slow, willowy moves of her torso invited more erogenous action.
A hand replaced the bayonet at her breast. The soldier kneaded her tit into a firm cone of sensuous flesh, milking at the tip with his thumb, squeezing the side with his fingers. Linda moaned. She twisted her shoulders. Linda pressed her tit more firmly against his hand.
The gun butt moved away from her cunt. Linda felt the invasion of fingers in her vagina. She welcomed them with a wet, satiny clasp of cuntflesh, like a sucking kiss. She reached for the boots of the soldiers nearest her. She tugged pleadingly at them.
A thumb found its way into her asshole. It rubbed against the fingers in her pussy. Linda felt the growing knowledge that she would come. It gathered in her, swelling like a balloon of warm fluid. She cooed under her breath.
Her legs rubbed up and down the bayonets. One soldier pulled his out of the floorboard. He pricked her thighs with the tip, keeping her legs open.
The pain and the pleasure mingled inside her. Linda wanted to feel something bigger and harder, something more forceful than the fingers in her cunt. She murmured, "Please, ohhh, please!" Her hips rolled like a belly dancer's.
One of the soldiers unfixed his bayonet. Three different men grabbed the length of his weapon. They pressed it against the back of the hand of the fingerfucker. With a tap, they persuaded him to stop.
Linda screamed, then worked against it. She felt the cold, slippery metal invade her ass like a relentless cock. She twisted and rolled, milking sensation from it. The men pushed it deeper, then pulled it halfway out. The triple-bladed sight forced her asstube open, it pulled at her rectum from within. Linda sighed, "Yes, oh, my pussy, yes!"
One of the soldiers took a fat cigar from his mouth. He gnawed the end into a chewed, wet-brown mess and shoved it into her cunt. The unchewed end poked from her cunt like a stubby prick. Linda worked it in and out.
The soldiers marveled. The cigar was moving up and down, circling from side to side without being touched. Linda swivled around the gun and the stogie, fucking her hips upward. The brown of tobacco juice ran from her cunt, mingling with the semen and cuntcream under her upraised ass.
The soldiers placed bets on how long she would keep going. Linda felt the truck slow, then speed up. It didn't matter. As long as she could clench her cuntwalls around something, as long as her clitty felt the kiss of stretching labia, she would be okay.
The truck came nearly to a stop, then ground forward again. Linda rolled from side to side, falling against the soldier's legs with every twist in the road. She hummed tunelessly, milking pleasure from the cylinders in her crotch. She reached down and put both hands over pussy. The cigar went in further. Linda started manipulating her clit.
The feelings were building up. Linda didn't care now that eight amazed men watched her, that she was a condemned prisoner, that she would be in Colonel Almieda's hands that night. All that mattered was the feeling building in her cunt and the hard length of steel in her asshole.
The rifle clunked against the floorboard. She rolled from side to side. Linda was riding higher, higher, approaching the peak. She breathed in short, sharp v gusts. Her pussy was tightening, mouthing the cigar. Her clitty felt harder and harder. Every touch of her hands sent electric shocks along her spine. She muttered louder, louder.
The splintered wood under her dug into her again. Linda twisted lasciviously on the floorboards, reveling in every iota of sensation. If it was pain, so much the better ... it justified her pleasure. The truck turned, and Linda rolled face-first against boots. She was halfway under the bench, up against ammo boxes and packs. She struggled back to the center of truck and fucked at the rifle and cuntfull of cigar.
The noise of the rifle on the floorboards was constant. Linda felt the whirling knot in her belly expand. It was ready, all but ready to take her over. She arched high, then fell back down. With a singeing twist of her clitty, Linda started her orgasm.
She cooed and arched, fucking at an imaginary lover. Over and over the luxurious waves of feeling ran through her. She moaned with delight. Linda ignored the sounds of the soldiers, the stopping of the truck. She knew they'd restarted, but it didn't matter nearly as much as her come.
A pleasant warmth washed over her. Linda wondered how long she could keep coming. She let her muscles go limp at last, then opened her eyes. She smiled at the soldiers. Linda cruised off into drowsiness. A nap would be nice ... very nice, she thought. Linda reached down past her pussy. None of the soldiers stopped her when she pulled the rifle barrel from her ass. The gun sight caused a twinge of pain at the top of her assring, but the single quick spasm was no worse then the entry had been. She pulled the cigar out of her pussy.
Roaring, raging hell broke loose. The truck squealed to a stop, turning sideways on the road. Linda skidded forward into a man's feet. The soldiers trampled her in their haste to get out. The column was under attack!
Machine guns rattled and clanged. The sides of the truck ripped. Bullets poured through the canvas. A huge explosion, then another, shook the whole vehicle. Linda's head slammed against the floorboards. She crawled under the bench seat, her head ringing.
Five minute of explosions, machine guns, rifle shots raged. Linda looked for a weapon. I must be the Sixth Column! she realized. I have to help them!
There was not a pistol, not a peashooter to be found. The hot "thwup!" of a bullet snapped past her head. Linda crouched, rummaging through the cases and the packs.
Screams and the sound of burning trucks assaulted her ears. Linda hurried. The truck might blow up anytime. She found a case of hand grenades and threw it out the tailgate. Finally daring to look outside, she saw guerillas scattered all round the trucks. The machine guns on the jeeps were silent. Dodging, firing their rifles from the hip, two bearded men scrambled to a jeep and swung the machine gun around. The brutal hammering of fifty-caliber rounds started again.
Linda saw an Army soldier reach for her case of grenades. She jumped out of the truck and clawed at his face.
A bullet nipped the flesh of her shoulder. Linda felt the soldier go limp. Naked and bleeding, she dragged the heavy case around the side of the truck. She clawed at the top. Shouts rang out. The firing stopped.
Linda finally got the top off the crate. Her fingers were ripped, her nails torn back. A last gunshot rang out.
The guerillas rose from their hiding places. Linda watched as a dozen government soldiers, hands high, walked slowly to the edge of the road. A wounded officer stood in the middle of the group.
Linda set her grenade down. She surveyed the faces of the Castristos. They were suprised to see her there, but the prisoners were their first responsibility. She waited next to the truck.
Something seemed familiar about one of the guerrilas, a small one near the rear. It was the way he moved ... not like the jungle-running regulars of the rebel army. Linda watched him carefully, waiting for him to turn around.
"Maxine! Max! Oh, my God, I'm so glad to see you!" Linda called. She ran toward the girl, her hands held out in a desperate embrace.
Maxine looked shocked. She stared and shook her head. The red hair was long and tangled ... the body was dirty, covered with blood and grime.
"It's me, Linda, Linda Martin! God, Max, I-"
Maxine swung her Garand across her body. At ten yards, she fired. "Murderer!" she snapped. "That's for Judy!"
Linda fell at the edge of the roadway. Her hands went halfway to the wound in the center of her chest.
The hammerblow force of the bullet shocked her. She looked at Maxine quizzically. The pain hadn't started yet ... the naked redhead curled in on herself. Her thoughts went back to Akron ... as close as she'd ever get to home.