Chapter 1
Two years in Palestine had done wonders for Sharon Weiss. She'd changed from a pale, thin, flat-chested thirteen-year-old to a tall, willowy young woman. Her breasts had swelled to rich firmness. Her waist had slimmed until her father could easily span it in the circle of his strong, OSS-trained hands. Her hips were sensuously wide, ready to cradle a man or sway bewitchingly across the shallow, desert-edge bowl of the kibbutz. She was sprouting taller, reaching toward the hot summer sun like a century plant. Her incredibly long, sun-bronzed legs seemed to rise forever from her hiking shoes to the cuffs of her multi-pocketed shorts. The shorts were olive-drab and her worn khaki shirt was nearly as pale as the desert-bleached hair that escaped from where Sharon had piled it under her cap. She walked slowly along the side-hill, keeping an eye on the sheep, wishing her boyfriend would relieve her from noon guard duty. Sharon wondered idly if the U.N. had acted on the Palestine partition yet, and how it would affect the people of the kibbutz.
Her family and friends had been preparing for weeks. Her father gave instruction for hand-to-hand combat each evening-if the Haganah didn't call him away. Sharon shifted the sling of her ancient Lee Enfield carbine. The strap crossed diagonally between her prominent breasts, bringing the mounds out like peaks beside a foothill pass.
Sharon ignored the clicking of small stones on the slope behind her. The sun's heat dried vestigial moisture from the sands every afternoon, and a few rocks always tumbled downhill.
One of the lambs was wandering toward the melon vines. Sharon sighed and started down the slight slope, bracing the carbine's butt with her right hand. She moved like a young colt, leggy and awkward in a way that made even the hardest-bitten adults choke slightly for their own lost youth.
The clatter of stones became a little landslide. Sharon was just out of sight of the kibbutz' buildings when something struck her back. She pitched forward, face down. Hands were all over her. Sharon tried to roll over. She struck out with her feet, her elbows, her hands. She struggled to free the cross-slung gun. Hard hands wrenched it away from her. The sling came up across her throat and twisted. A wad of coarse wool jammed into her mouth. Sharon thought, too late, of screaming.
Her mouth was full of the rancid taste of cooking smoke, the salt of man and horse sweat, and the grit of years on the desert. Thongs went around her wrists. She tried to spit the attacker's djellaba out. The wool was too thick to bite through. A choking sack plunged over her head. Another thong lashed it around her neck . . . not tight enough to strangle her, but more than tight enough to hold the bag.
"Get up, up! Move!" a man hissed. A yank on her wrists nearly tore her arms from their sockets. Sharon arched and struggled, lost in the midnight confinement of the bag. Pellets of light sneaked through the coarse weave of the wool, but the spin of the rays and the tangled dance of dust motes disoriented her even more. She was on her feet, weaving, when the steel-clad button her carbine thudded into her crotch from behind. She half-fell. Her captor yanked the binding on her wrists. Her skinned knees protested, but Sharon stumbled down the hill.
The rocks in the wadi bruised her feet. Sharon twisted her ankles again and again. The footsteps behind her and the jabs of a gun barrel propelled her relentlessly onward. She knew now there were at least two kidnapers behind her . . . only one man spoke, but the flash cone on the Enfield's muzzle punched a larger circle on her back than the other prodding weapon.
"Faster! I'll shoot your Zionist twat off!" the man snarled. He emphasized it with a jab of a gun barrel against the junction of her thighs.
With a shock Sharon realized he'd spoken in English. They must know who lam! Almost none of the Jews speak English . . . and none of the Arabs! Why? What do they want with me?
A man jammed his shoulder into her stomach. Sharon gasped for air. He picked her up and spun her around. The cord around her neck tightened. Blood rushed to her head. Sharon stumbled when he dumped her onto her feet again. She heard the creak of harness leather. Four hands gripped her arms and ankles and dumped her rudely across a burro.
Uphill and down, her guts protesting the hard lumps of the packsaddle, Sharon rode. She lost track of the time. The sun baked the backs of her legs. The reeking sack over her head choked her with its ancient filth.
The burro pulled up. Sharon was unloaded like a sack of semolina. She staggered, propelled into coolness by a punch at her shoulder blades. Her feet hit a cool rock. She fell heavily, face-first, into dust and rock. She tried to roll to the side as she fell. A kick turned her onto her back. The gritty floor of the cave scraped her hands.
Hands tore at her pants. Sharon screamed "No! No-oo-oo!" A heavy cuff along her head snapped her face to the side. She tried to kick. A fist smashed into her belly.
Sharon retched with the heavy, dull pain. The whole lower half of her body was in half-numb agony, bludgeoned to a single mass of aching by the blow. She heard two more voices commenting. The
Arabic was fast and harsh, mush harder to understand than the deliberate slow speech of market sellers. They discussed her long legs and the dark-blonde hair of her pussy. A hand assaulted the tender swell of her love mound. Sharon barely felt the twisting, probing fingers beyond the pain of her bruised belly.
The voice that had spoken English gave permission. Sharon screamed again as her shorts went all the way to her ankles. She tried to close her legs, but hard hands held her ankles up and out. She twisted her torso frantically, afraid of what was happening to her. Buttons tore from the tail of her shirt to her throat. A calloused palm slid around the outside of her tits, then covered each nipple in turn.
Sharon panicked. Her throat splintered with screams. She gagged the thick dust of the hood into her lungs and screamed louder. The hand on her bosom pinched each nipple, then withdrew.
With stinging slaps that made the whole mass of each tit shudder, the hand, or another, smashed back and forth on her breast. Sharon arched off the ground in pain. She tried to curl down into a ball, but with her ass held inches from the floor it was hopeless.
A mouth found her tits. Sharon wanted to gag. Bristly whiskers crawled scratchily around the frozen aureoles of her tits. Teeth gnawed the coronas, then tugged at the very tips of her breasts. The Arab mouthed her tits, slobbering and growling while his tongue and teeth defiled the firm, clean mounds. With a terror that made sweat form on her soft, pale skin Sharon felt her nipples erecting.
The attack was nothing like the gentle, lascivious caress of her sweetheart, Chaim Gavno. This rude, incredibly filthy assault on her tits was an insult, an attack on her flesh. Sharon beat her head on the cave floor. She scrabbled at the dirt beneath her. Her fingernails tore. She pulled one ankle free of the hands and struggled to kick. Two men grabbed her foot and leg.
Sharon was upended. She felt the nakedness of her exposed twat splitting wider. They were pulling her like a wishbone. The cords at the tops of her thighs stood out. Every muscle in her body was taut. Sharon smelled the heavier, ranker scent of urine and man-sweat through the stifling hood. A thick, musty reek and the weight of a man's ass-cheeks settled over her face.
Sharon tried to bite, but the Arab laughed. His buttocks, bony and hard, pressed right over her eyes. The shifting mass of something heavy and hot bounced at the tip of her nose and her cheeks.
Another hand found the gaping slash of her twat. Sharon arched and yelled. A gritty, dirty finger stabbed into her vagina. The tender tissues sent screams of insulted pain along her spine. With a spasmodic jerk of her hips. Sharon ripped herself away from the intruding finger.
A hand "grabbed the sparse hairs on her cunt and yanked. It was like a million needles jabbing into her cunt-flesh. With a shriek of victory, the Arab pulled half her cunt hairs out of her labia.
Sharon felt every ripped follicle like a thousand match heads taped to the sensitive skin. A rush of heat and simmering blood flooded her loins. The tips of her gnawed nipples stiffened further. With a despair so deep that she stopped screaming, Sharon felt her body begin to betray her. Already her stretched cuntlips had lost resilience. They puffed out like fleshy balloons, inflamed with the painful stimulation of the cuntal scalping.
The Arab's returned to her cunt. That sacred, secret center of her body was being defiled by anonymous fingers. A nail scraped the lining of her cuntal sleeve. Sharon shuddered, too frightened, too angry, too badly hurt to protest more.
With a vicious tab, a thumb found her clitoris. Sharon gasped. The little pink pellet swelled to full size instantly. The grinding thumb hurt worse than anything she'd yet felt, but it was dreadfully exciting at the same time. Sharon arched her back again, but this time, she arched with lusty heat. In spite of the debasing assault on her body, Sharon half-enjoyed the feelings lancing from her clit.
But it was too fast, too brutally hard. The thumb rolled her clit from side to side. Sharon thought the nerve-laden organ would burst. The whole soft socket of tender flesh around it was inflamed, raging with pain and fear.
Even while jolts of electric heat flashed up her spine, the burning tissues of her labia clamored for relief. Every cell in her crotch was full of mixed pain and lust. The combination shocked Sharon. The floods of sensation rattled her until her brain felt like a pea clattering in the stone case of her skull.
A guttural command scraped her ears like the gouging fingernail in her vagina scraped her cuntwalls. The hands on her ankles let her down until the small of her back crushed her hands again. Sharon felt skin brush the inside of her thighs. With a flash of knowledge and dread, Sharon screamed again. She battled like a tigress, scratching the floor, twisting her head, snapping at the asscheeks above her. Her feet flailed, all but breaking the grip of the multiple hands on her ankles.
It was no good. The men yanked her legs wider. The hand on her cunt slipped upward. The invasive finger pulled out of her cunthole. Finger and thumb rolled her clit around, pinching, pulling, inflaming the hard button until it felt like the white heat at the center of a cutting torch. Sharon's whole cunt was on fire, tortured with a feeling between the urgent scald of long-held piss and the growling hunger of an empty stomach.
Something hard, blunt and hot pressed against her snatch. Sharon gasped. The thing was aimed right at the center of her hole. She squirmed, trying to move away from it. A gush of fluid wet the mouth of her vagina. She moved again, but the pushing bluntness of the organ followed her. The juice from her cunt-mouth spread across the spongy heat of the thing. It felt as hard and blunt and round as a doorknob against the wide-open gap of her pussy.
The tissues at her mouth of her vagina protested as Sharon felt the pressure increase. The men lifted her legs higher until she could no longer move away from the thrusting, stabbing, prodding cockhead.
Sharon felt a bottomless pit of hopeless agony and self-pity open under her. It swallowed her up, leaving nothing but reluctant sensuality.
It was purest, simplest terrorism, and she was the target. The marauding cock wedged its thick knob halfway into her cuntal sphincter. The oozing fluid from her vagina seemed to be helping. Sharon felt circling, swiveling motions press sequentially around the palpitating ring of her cunt-mouth. More fluid soaked out to wet the assaultive knob. The heavy glans entered further. Sharon started to cry.
Sharon cringed. Her sphincters contracted involuntarily, but even that didn't work. The spasmodic motion of her fear and disgust only made her cuntal ring slide wetly along the slope of the rapist's knob. She twisted again, and half his cock-head was into her.
The Arab sitting on her head bounced up and down with sadistic glee. Sharon blubbered, grunting with pain and fear like a prodded bull. She felt the man's mouth leave her tits, and a pang of loss hit her. Somehow the gnawing, nuzzling motions of the man's mouth had helped excite her, helped her put up with the thick bludgeon of pain that abused her pussy.
With a slap that sounded like liver on a butcher block, one of her faceless abusers swung his open palms against her tits. Sharon heard the lewd jabber of three or more voices, but the ringing swats on her tits drowned out the words. Her breasts flogged back and forth on her chest, rolling and quivering with each blow. The tender surfaces heated, and her nipples throbbed. The sensation amplified the wet terror in her cunt.
And with the amplification, the strong thrusts of the rapist's prick grew even stronger. Sharon was totally helpless. She stopped trying to resist. The men holding her legs pulled up with each brutally hearty stab of the rapist's cock against her bruised slit. The two men were working her back and forth like a doll, increasing the horrible rending pressure of his glans against her hymen. With a slicing sheet of pain like a knife stabbing her cunt, the thin membrane ripped and Sharon's prized virginity was lost forever.
The Arab paid no attention to his unsuspected bonus. The jerking hands pulled her upraised cunt against him and Sharon felt her cuntwalls stretching, splitting wider and wider around the invading meat. With a sob of shared lust, she squirmed sideways. The puffy pad of her labia felt the coarse mass of his cock-bush. Sharon drooped like a wet dishcloth.
The hands on her ankles relaxed. Sharon's naked asscheeks touched the gritty floor of the cave. She lay like a dead thing, feeling the harsh swirling of the rape cock reaming circles of pressure and heat into her belly.
In just a few strokes, the man's prick was deep enough into her that Sharon's clit moved in matching circles against the pressure of his pubic bone. The heat and throbbing intensity that the fingering had stored up in her clit started to spread outward, inflaming the rest of her body. Sharon tried desperately to separate herself from the assault on her loins, but the slow, steady spread of sensation from her battered clit infected her. She couldn't even push the assault out of her mind.
Now she knew, from the angle and the measured rhythm of the slaps, that it was the rapist who was slapping her breasts. The entire swollen mass of each tit mound ached. The skin felt red-hot. Her nipples flared more cunty heat along her nerves with each blow. The edge of his palm would flick across the pebble-hard points as his hand ricocheted away, and the rubbery vibrations made the tips feel even harder. Sharon felt the Arab's hands drop her ankles.
With self-loathing and disgust, her body responded. Even with her hands tied tight behind her back, Sharon rolled her hips. By the time the other kidnaper had moved his ass off her face, she was moaning in a curious mixture of need and pain. Her heels dug into the dirt Her knees came up on either side of the rapist. Sharon moved her pelvis with, then against him.
The whole lower half of her body turned to soup. The thick, oozing heat at her cunt-mouth dissolved the fear and the pain. Her body still hurt, but the warm wash of sensation was overwhelming the hurt. Even the constant chafing of his prick against the ruptured remnants of her cherry faded away. Sharon felt a strange sensation, like a battery charging up, growing in her belly. It centered in the region where the nerves of her cuntwalls lost contact with his plunging cock. Sharon found herself moving, rolling, gyrating around his meat, trying to find the source of that strange feeling.
Tension knotted up in her body. The slaps at her tits slowed, but the motions of the pistoning prick in her cunt speeded up. Sharon moaned. She had a notion, just a vague inkling, as if there were some cloudy memory in her cuntwalls or in the throbbing button of her clit. She sought it with lewd writhing of her hips, with churning, stirring motions of her pelvis. Sharon gasped. There was definitely something there.
The Arab on top of her grunted louder. His strokes had stopped the sleeve-stretching circling. His cockhead no longer searched around and around, levering the base of his shaft against the rim of her cunt. Sharon felt the change. His motions became straight, deep, pumping strokes. His belly levered above her clit. The hot spark of feeling just above her cunt-mouth was the focus. They were welded together there, precisely where her feelings were most intense. Sharon levered back up against him.
Working like steam engines, puffing like locomotives, they rolled on the floor. Sharon heard the excited comments above her as through a waterfall. The rushing roar of blood in her ears, the effort of sucking enough air to fuel her muscles nearly made her lose consciousness. She worked from her heels, from her shoulders. Her hips moved the man up and down. She rolled and swiveled like the dasher in a washing machine. The long, hard strokes of maleness inside her cuntsleeve accelerated.
Sharon was ready to beg, if she'd known what to say. The knot of tension in her belly was whirling around, growing tighter, slipping looser again. A heavy thudding bounced the numb dullness of her cervix back and forth. The strange, half-wooden feeling of her womb's motion increased the furious heat in her pussy. The rapist's cock was reaching places that she couldn't quite feel, and the tantalizing punches of prick against cervix made her insane. Sharon's feet came up off the cave floor. She curled and arched, whipping her spine back and forth in an accelerating series of motions that made her ass-cheeks ripple.
That whirling feeling in her belly was building. It spun faster, like a dreidel flicked with a string. The Arab stopped slapping her tits. His hands clenched, gouging into the voluptuous mounds sending streaks of fire through her breasts stretched in his grip. The grit on his palms scraped her nipples raw. His fingertips forced heat and pain into her bosom. Sharon's head snapped back and forth. Her cap flew off. Her long hair whipped on the floor. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream. She was right on the edge of a huge gulf, an abyss of excessive sexuality.
The man above her reared back. Her belly was free of his. The mingled sweat of both bodies cooled on her abdomen as his prick punched deep, then withdrew. Sharon pushed her pelvis up. Her knees opened further. The tendons at the tops of her thighs went taut with fear and anticipation.
Another blasting stroke of his prick slammed past her womb. His pubic bone battered her cunt-mound. Her clit sent a shower of rocketing sparks along her spine. Sharon teetered like a rock climber. The knot in her belly, her whole grip on herself, was slipping.
The Arab pulled back again. He started forward. Time split within Sharon. Her thoughts flashed with lightning speed. Hanging by a single skein of knotted nerves, Sharon had time to pray and hope. If he would stop . . . if he would keep on. . . .
With a stumbling hitch, the man impelled his prick deep into her cunt again. His belly slapped hers like a truck ramming a fortress. Back again, and in, and something cut loose inside of her. Sharon let the train-whistle scream rise up from the bottom of her lungs. The balloon of feeling in her pussy exploded.
The man was hunching, throwing prick into her with steady, forceful strokes. The battering rhythm of his thrusts matched the frightening intensity of the events in Sharon's pussy.
She felt herself clamp down on him. Her tension rushed out like water through a burst dam. Sharon wept and wailed. Something inside her had broken, and the whole excess of sensation poured along her nerves. The terrifying release spread through her, rippling outward from her cunt like rings in a pool. The feeling went along her body, an icy heat that made her shiver. One ripple would barely reach her fingers, her toes, the roots of her hair, when the next wave would start. Again and again the eerie, frightening cataclysm in her cuntwalls rolled through her. Sharon surrendered and let the orgasm crest.
There was nothing Sharon could do about it. Her pussy milked and sucked at his prick. She drowned in the gluey suction in her cuntwalls, the way the tube collapsed around his prick and clung to it, the strange feeling as his strokes pulled the tight ring of her sphincter out and pushed it back in again. She actually felt a letdown when the thrusts tapered off. The motions became slower, then still, and her body went on moving under him.
Deep shame welled up from the leftover fragments of her mind. Sharon felt herself chill. She was covered with gooseflesh. Her cunt, that secret femaleness she'd always had to guard, had not just allowed the rapist's prick in, but had helped it find the final flurry of harsh release. Sharon's mouth watered with the compulsive wetness that precedes vomiting. For a short, hopeful moment, she thought she could throw up in the bag and choke before the kidnapers could defile her body again. And still her treacherous twat was constricting and relaxing around the rapist's softening cock.
The thought of dying, still hooded in the cave, sent a shiver of fear and secret power through her. Sharon's pussy clenched yet again. Sharon felt a suction start at the pit of her stomach, and her reamed-raw pussy protested. The rapist was pulling out. The ripped membrane of her hymen shrieked again. His slippery, sperm-soaked cock pulled back through it. The flare of his cockhead's wing-like edges made the torn spot shrink, expand, and shrink again. A last ripple of full, ocean-like release rolled through her and Sharon went limp on the floor.
Semen and blood and the hot, thin juices of her pussy mingled, dribbling out of her vagina and across her rectum. The blushing heat of the mixture chilled when the air hit it The copious flow puddled under her ass. Sharon felt the grit of the cave floor gluing itself to her pale skin. She lay in naked shame and waited for the next man. They certainly wouldn't stop now.
A rough, hard touch started at the top of her love mound, then pushed downward. The still-erect button of her clitty sent a jolt along her nerves. Sharon writhed, half-trying to escape the touch. A single broad pad covered the zone around her clit. The larger mass pressed her cuntlips half into her soup-filled hole. The pressure circled and increased.
Sharon writhed. The sexual feeling was building up in her loins again. The sharp, short climb toward another peak began. With growing familiarity she felt her body reaching the edge of that abyss of sensation. Sharon wept in the bag. She recognized the touch in her pussy now. Another dirty bare foot pressed on her left tit, mashing it into a flattened pad of heat. She moaned, helpless. As much as she tried to gather the scraps of her will power, she couldn't stop the slow, sensuous gyrations of her hips. The men prodded her tits, her pussy, her belly with their feet. They muttered among themselves as if they were dissecting the bizarre, cunty performance. One of them spoke with cruel, boastful wonder.
The unbelieving one has the morals of a jackal!
The balls of a hundred camels could lodge in her cunt while she rolls in the dung of her farm!" Sharon felt a foot withdraw from her crotch as he spoke.
"Yes, Gamal!" another replied. "Show the albino she-goat what happens to her womanish race of land thieves!"
Sharon heard the steady thump of fists against bellies. She'd guessed at the meaning of the sound in the children's dormitory...it had come only from a few of the boys' beds. With a grunt, a shifting of feet on the cave floor one fist speeded up. A thick, hot mass of viscous fluid splatted on her breasts, then another. More and more drops hit. The men around her were grunting, cursing, showering her with scalding heat. Sharon felt the gobbets of fluid strike from her breast down to her thighs. A mass landed over her mouth, stopping the dusty air from passing the hood. The seedy, pollen-like smell of the wad sent a flutter down to her pussy even as it gagged her.
A shattering blast of pain and heat hit her. The foot kicked dead center on her cunt. Sharon felt the toes, curled up, batter against her pubic bone like a hammer. The Arab kicked her cunt again and again. With a scream of pain and rage, Sharon started coming.
The grunting, growling, panting knot of men around her called curses on Sharon, on her mother, her father, her every relative back to Adam. Sharon groaned with the overload of pain and lust in her cunt. The randy excitement of the semen-smell and the repeated thrusts of the kicking foot against her cunt drove her crazy. Sharon cried when the kicking stopped. Her empty pussy clenched, expanded, and clenched again, making noises as wet as a boot sucking out of mud. A cloud of inky red formed in her mind. Sharon went down into the pain-edged blackness willingly. The tossing, pain-forced motions of her hips carried her over the depths and let her fall in. It was the most merciful thing that happened that day.