Chapter 2
It was only a nightmare...a nightmare like I had when we first came to Palestine, Sharon thought dizzily when she awakened. Or the sun. . . people go crazy in the sun here. The reassuring color and shape of a British officer's desert uniform confirmed her idea. There were reversed epaulettes, the short pants and the high socks. One of those odd, remote, quizzical Englishmen must have taken her to a cave to get her out of the sun. Sharon flicked her tongue swollen, parched tongue across her lips. "Sir?" she asked in English.
The profile as he turned was wrong. Sharon blinked. That nose, the straight-across brow, the full, cruel mouth couldn't be British, and the man's skin was as dark as any Bedouin. "The princess awakes," he said, smiling. His teeth were a blaze of white in the dimness of the cave. Even under the overhang of his shaggy eyebrows his eyes could be seen flicking over her body, then returning to her face. "How do you feel, Sharon?" he asked.
Her first thought was to cover her nudity, but her hands were still bound tight behind her. Sharon tried to move away. She shut her eyes. Maybe she could pass out again. If she opened her eyes and the mock-British Arab was gone, she would stay out of the direct sun at midday.
A whooshing sound of splitting air ended with a blossom of pain on her belly. Sharon jerked convulsively. "A AAahhh," she gasped. Her eyelids flew up like cheap window shades.
"I'm still here, Sharon. Do not try to ignore me." The uniform he wore was bare of insignia, but darker blotches on the collar points and above the breast pockets of the shirt showed where devices had been.
"How do you know my name? Who are you?" Sharon quavered. She tried to glare defiantly at him, but naked and bound, she only looked more helpless, more ball-warmingly attractive.
The man sat squatted on his heels, still smiling. A length of rope with a cobby-thick knot at the end dangled from his right hand. "Sharon Yolanda Weiss, born Chicago, U.S.A., nineteen-thirty-three, immigrated to the Palestine Protectorate nineteen-forty-six. Your mother Katrina left Warsaw, Poland when you were at age eighteen months in the weeks preceding the great war...the first war.
Charles Benjamin Weiss, former captain, United States Army, now a major in the illegal terrorist Haganah, married Katrina in October, nineteen-thirty. He was wounded twice behind German lines in France; later staff aide to General Donovan of the Office of Strategic Services; specialist in partisan activities, liaison for American and British forces in the Eastern Mediterranean." He blinked as solemnly as an owl. "I an Omar Ibn Muhammad Daoud. You may call me Ben."
Sharon looked suspiciously at the multi-named man. "What do you want from me? Why am I here?" She shifted her legs. A raw pain between her legs told her the multiple rape hadn't been a dream. Her skin showed splotches and trails of flaking semen. Even the tips of her battered breasts were gummy with the crusted jism.
"Where does your father go when he leaves the kibbutz? When will the Haganah attack next? How many rifles are hidden in your village, and where?" Ben asked, firing the questions in a staccato burst.
Sharon stared at him. Her lips tightened to a thin, determined line. She shook her head in denial.
Ben shifted his left foot back six inches. His right hand twitched. He laid his whole arm into a single powerful blow of the rope.
Sharon screamed, a short, involuntary noise. The rope left a long red line down the front of her torso, snaking from her cleavage to her pussy. The money-fist at the end slammed against her cheekbone immediately after the rest of the rope blasted her breasts and belly. Ben pulled the rope back and settled in his former position again.
Sharon's eyes filled with tears. She felt the throbbing flesh over her left cheekbone swelling already. She knew that another blow might blind her. The random motion of the tag-end could strike any part of her face. "I don't know where my father goes," she croaked, trying to summon enough saliva to moisten her throat.
Ben pulled the rope one-handed into a stack of coils on the floor. He took the knotted end in his fist and popped the section he'd first held above Sharon's breasts. He tossed it out again and let the end trail suggestively across her thighs. "What about the guns? I know of a heavy machine gun transported from Beersheba."
The rasping touch of the hemp rope set Sharon's nerves on edge. Every spiky fiber of the rope scratched her soft, tanned thighs. "I never saw it. We don't have a machine gun." She pulled back, inching on her fingertips, scooting her heels in the dust of the cave floor. The firm, youthful muscles of her pale belly stood out, anticipating the next blow.
Ben stood and walked around her. "I know of one on the kibbutz." He stopped beside her shoulder. With a flick of the rope, he snapped the very end past Sharon's toes.
"AAAIEE!! " Sharon screamed. The softest part of the sole of her foot felt flayed. There are more pain receptors in the feet than any other part of the body, and the Arab's rope whip had stripped them bare. Sharon rubbed the sole of her foot against her calf, twisting and writhing in agony.
The rope popped again, barely louder than a snap of the fingers. Sharon stifled her scream, but the scalding pain sent her muscles into spasms. Her arms jerked hard enough to bruise her wrists against the thong. Her ass came a foot off the floor. Sharon tasted blood in her mouth. She'd bitten her tongue.
"How many rifles?" Ben asked. The fraying end of his rope tickled across Sharon's pussy fringe. The spunk-matted hairs at the center of the vee pushed her labia around. When the stiff fibers of the rope touched the burning patch where her cunt-hairs had been yanked out, Sharon gritted her teeth. Her clitty tingled even over the soreness. A too-familiar shivery feeling puckered her vagina slightly. Sharon's drenched rectum quivered with the slow, lascivious tracing the rope-end described over her pussy.
Ben's eyes glittered like wet black rocks under the heavy shelf of his eyebrows. He dragged the line along the still-red stripe where he'd first struck her. He curled the rope around her nipples, then dawdled almost lovingly along her throat. Sharon lay as still as possible while the rope moved along the side of her face. Even when it stopped the slithery, snake-like caress, she hardly dared breathe.
Ben twitched his fingertips. A wave rippled down the rope. The very end of the line rose and fell on her cheekbone. "How many rifles?" he repeated. His voice was soft, almost a caress, but with an undertone as deadly as an oileaviper.
The rope end trailed back down. The sensitive skin where her collarbone arched so enchantingly outward crawled under the touch. The end was almost feathery, with the cords unknitting from each other. Sharon closed her eyes as it traced the rim of her nipple, they touched the very tip of the blunt point. A line of heat, as fast and immediate as a telegraph, arrowed from her nipple to her clit. "I-yie d-don't know," Sharon whimpered. Her voice rose and fell with the mix of terror and lewd anticipation.
Ben held his hand over her middle. "You have a rifle . . . how many others have them?" he asked.
The rope end trailed suggestively, sensuously between Sharon's navel and the scalped top of her pussy fringe. "Ooohhh, please," she moaned. "It's so hard to think . . . I can't say." The frayed strands went down into the softness at the side of her cuntal vee. Sharon trembled. The little creases where her thighs met her torso tensed. Sharon tried to close her legs tighter. Her left knee rose to the middle of her right thigh, accenting the wide, erogenous curve of her hips.
Pop! the rope snapped at the base of her exposed ass-cheek. Sharon grunted. The sudden starburst of pain at the top of her thigh hurt nearly as much as the whipped soles of her feet, but the closeness of the blow to her pussy made it seem much worse.
It was a living hell for her. Sharon didn't know how many guns the kibbutz owned, but she was resolved to stay quiet. She glared up, her eyes slitted. Ben's face was contorted with a strange, gut-chilling glee. He was obviously enjoying the slow interrogation. The astonishingly red tip of his tongue flicked serpent-like across his lips. His eyes flashed and he brought the rope end down with a snap.
The shattering explosion of pain and heat started at Sharon's clit and echoed outward. The intense shock faded just as her shoulders and buttocks hit the floor again. The impact had been so quick, so painful, so incredibly hot, that Sharon's entire body had flown off the floor like a swordfish battling a hook. She rolled from side to side, moaning.
Ben grinned savagely down at her. Sharon was half-curled, her knees drawn up, her hands still lashed behind her back. She rolled away from the Arab.
Another lash of pain struck and burned into the mouth of her pussy. Sharon screamed in a high falsetto. Again the rope popped against the base of her cunt-mound, and again her voice rose to a shattering plea of agony. Sharon tried to roll back. The rope end popped against her left nipple.
It felt like a chunk of glowing charcoal burning into her tit. The whole end of her breast felt bloody-raw and hot, as hot as the blinding glare of the sun of the Negev. Another snap of the frayed end of Ben's rope seared her right nipple. The tips of her breasts were melting. The flesh-scorching pain was so intense that Sharon imagined blood flowing down her tits. She tried to pull her legs high enough to shelter her abused bosom.
Flick! Pop-pop! three times incinerated the nerves of her feet. Sharon's toes curled tight in agony. She flung herself to one side. The scraped skin on her back and buttocks was nothing now. The scratches from the gritty floor couldn't compare to the pain of that dancing, flicking, relentless rope end. It was only the cheap, quarter-inch cotton cord that traders lashed their packs with, but it worked her over like a flensing knife. Sharon rolled onto her belly.
Her wrists worked against the leather thong that bound them. Her smooth, youthful hands knotted into fists. She wrestled with the thong, despairing. Groveling in the dirt, grinding her raw nipples into grit and dust, Sharon gasped and moaned, totally irrational. The rope stopped punishing her for a moment. She tried everything she knew to get away. When Sharon kicked against the cave floor, her ripped shirt slipped down her arms. The sleeves trapped her as surely as the thongs on her wrists. She twisted, and the worn cloth gave.
And Ben had been waiting for it. He stood, taut as a tent rope, above her. With short, snappy motions of his wrist, he flicked red stars of pain onto the pale ripe swell of her asscheeks. Ben flicked the rope against her torn shirt, and the cloth spread and magnified the pain. The whole small of her back flared up with the blaze of agony. Sharon screamed.
She inhaled dust. Sharon gagged. She coughed. It was enough to strangle her if she'd been less frantically desperate. Still she worked and worried at her bonds. She got a foot under her and kicked off the floor.
Sharon's heart leapt. She spread her toes wide, struggling for traction. The bright light of the desert afternoon beckoned. She tried to run.
Ben reversed the rope as she got up. With one hand at his fly and the other on the light end of the rope, he watched the jiggling flexion of Sharon's asscheeks. He allowed her two steps, then put his back into another lash at her legs.
The monkey's fist knot went past her ankle, then whipped around. Ben yanked, and Sharon was upended. She fell heavily on her shoulder. The side of her face hit a rock. The rope pulled free of her foot. She kicked once, then held still. It was hopeless.
Ben threw the whistling end of the rope against her ass, her cunt, her thighs. Again and again the cord split the air. The knot hit her body with slaps and thuds. Sharon's firm flesh jiggled under the dull impacts. The force of the blows was bruising her skin.
Sharon surrendered. There was nothing to do but lie there and accept the rain of heavy blows. The big knot weighted the rope like a rock. Over and over the massive blows struck, beating the muscles of her thighs, smashing the abused slit of her pussy into puffy warmth. She felt her body swelling, stiffening under the hearty bastinado. With a last, forlorn moan of broken defiance, Sharon started to cry.
The whipping stopped. Sharon sobbed on. She heard scuffling, skidding noises behind her, but they didn't matter. If her screams hadn't brought help, there was no hope for her. She lay face down and waited.
In seconds, she felt hands on her hips. Sharon lay limp as a dishcloth. Whatever the kidnapers wanted would be fine. If they wanted to carry her to another cave, rape her, whip her again, she would have to submit. Sharon turned off the tears and gasped for breath.
One of the hands went between her thighs. Sharon spread her legs further when the hand pushed. The burning top of her love mound pressed against the grit of the cave floor. Her nipples were still glowing with pain, like the embers of a banked fire. She couldn't resist the finger that invaded her abused slit any more than she could have escaped the flogging.
Something hard and blunt and hot bore down next to her knee. The hands on her hips shifted, grabbing the horns of her pelvis. Another knee pressed between her legs. Sharon spread her thighs, moving up and back in the powerful grip of the Arab's hands. With a grim shudder of revulsion and lust, she realized what Ben had in mind. At least I don't have to see him, she thought. She brought herself up to a kneeling position. Sharon stared straight ahead at the mouth of the cave.
Ben shifted behind her. He put his head next to hers. The scratchy bristles of whiskers dug into the side of her neck. "You want to tell now, or after?" he hissed. "I can fuck it out of you . . . the world knows an American slut will do anything for a strong cock." His left hand roamed up, sleeking the soft, indented curve of her waist. He covered the rich swell of her left tit and kneaded the flesh lasciviously. His right hand dove down into the abused, battered nest of her pussy and checked the growing heat and warmth and moist slickness hidden there.
Sharon felt a strange combination of nausea and lust rising inside her. The Arab's fingers were skillfully caressing, molding, moving her titty and her labia into masses of arousal. The sheer slippery skill, though, put her off. He seemed too practiced, too expert in the unctuous way his right hand found her inner cuntlips and the erecting button of her clit. The easy, assured motions of his hand made her want to rebel.
But the effect of his fingers, especially after the sharp jolts of pain he'd whipped into her, made Sharon quiver. Her pussy flowed. The private, hidden juices gushed like a river. It felt like enough to irrigate the whole desert. Sharon felt the clear, thin syrup of her vaginal walls ooze out and mingle with the dried semen on her thighs. The mixture thickened and drooled on her skin, as warm and wet as a slow-moving tongue. Sharon wondered how many women Ben had experimented with to gain that lascivious skill, that easy knowledge of how to make her body respond.
And she was responding faster and faster. Sharon's disgust centered on herself. That hidden slot, the mysterious center of her femaleness, was betraying her. She couldn't trust her own body. With a sinuous motion of her hips, she began to sway as if she were making love. With a low moan of relief and revulsion, Sharon pressed her titty forward against his hand.
Her whipped nipples ached, but now the ache was from their hard arousal. The whole mass of each firm, heavy mound throbbed with residual pain. It was like water to a parched tongue when Ben's hand squeezed her tit into a conical mass. Sharon groaned and gargled. With a strange shock, as if she were watching herself from afar, she realized she was pushing her ass back toward Ben's middle.
Sharon's breath caught in a quick, half-choking sob. She bent her head forward in shame. The hand left her tit, leaving the mounds of her bosom to hang alluringly toward the floor of the cave. The tips of her nipples were bright red, distended with blood. The rounded globes stretched down, making perfect triangles in the side view. Sharon was ready to pitch forward onto her face when a stiff thrust of sensation made her freeze.
The head of Ben's cock jabbed her pussy. The knob pressed at the slippery valley between her vagina and the hard, buzzing button of her clitty. Sharon held still, leaning forward. Her tied hands involuntarily clasped each other.
Ben grabbed the thong at her wrists. Sharon gasped. He pulled her arms back and up. The pain tore at the sockets of her shoulders. She moaned.
A frozen needle of cuntal delight shot through her. Ben's cock had skidded forward and across the end of her clitty. Sharon shivered. The flash of pure sensuality made another gush of fluid squirt from her cunt-mouth. Sharon groaned, half-praying that Ben would slip that hot, hard knob across her come-trigger again.
The wide flare of his glans scrapped her clitty-hood back over the sensitive little bullet again. Sharon pushed her hips forward, then back. The slippery traction of her inner cuntlips on her clitoris was as exciting as the naked touch, but not nearly as sharp or as clear. Sharon cursed herself for letting her body take over her will, then surrendered to the Arab's degrading touch.
His fingers still pinched and poked and probed at her labia. Sharon felt the slippery little slices puffing wider, thicker. She could feel every rushing pulse of blood that inflamed her center. Sharon moved her hips from side to side, and the wide angle of Ben's cockhead pressed against her vagina. She tried to wiggle until it slipped into her.
Ben pulled back as Sharon tried to engulf him. Sharon moved forward again. She knew that the tip of his knob was coated with her juice, ready to slip deep and hard into her cunt. She shifted her weight from one knee to the other. Ignoring the pain in her shoulders, she bent her elbows and dragged herself against Ben's knob again.
But the slippery cockhead skidded the other way, flashing an obscene chill across the tight ring of her anus. Sharon hissed through her teeth. She arched her back, moving the whole central zone of her hips away, then moved up and back.
And there it was! Sharon felt the captured stiffness of the bar of cock pressing up against the center of her cunt-mouth. The ridge at the back of Ben's knob indented the puffiest, hottest part of her labia, the place where the soft, slippery little pads passed the edge of her pubic bone and went down to shelter the juicy oval of her cunt-mouth. She moved back, and the helmet-like ridge scraped across the end of her clitty. Sharon hummed ecstatically.
The Arab's left hand still burrowed at the top of her love mound, but now it molded her mons against the blunt slope of his cockhead.
Sharon sighed when she felt him pull back far enough to push the abrupt over-and-under curve at the very tip of his cock against her clit. His fingertips helped, holding the little fuck button straight while he stroked excitingly up and down its minuscule heat. His prick bobbed back and forth, back and forth until the bottom side of her clitty was almost raw. Sharon moved her hips more vigorously, speeding the slithery chills that shot along her nerves. Each time the lip at the back edge of his knob skidded over the end of her clit, another little rocket of sensation would shoot through her loins and she would stiffen like a scared rabbit.
But her hips moved like a fuck-bunny, working backward and forward, faster and faster. The accelerating motions of her pelvis pushed her satiny, rope-burned buttocks back against his belly. Sharon felt the coarse strands at the base of his cock scratch around her cunt-mouth and up the wide, deep ravine between her buttocks. Even the ticklish little ring of her rectum responded, winking open and shut against Ben's bush. Sharon moaned. Her body was demanding more. She tried to hunch up and forward, strained to grab that knob with her vagina. She was ready to burst from the hot, concentrated stimulation of his glans against her clitty. The milder, fuller feeling of having his wand shoving into her cunthole would be a welcome relief.
But Ben didn't allow it. His fingers on her cunt-mound made it impossible. Each time Sharon tried to rise away from the satiny touch of that broad knob on her clitty, his hand pressed harder against her pubic bone. The grip on the front of her pelvis was far too strong for her to beat. Sharon felt sweat bursting out all over her body. She was wet and sticky everywhere. The heavy-hanging masses of her tits swayed further with each desperate move of her torso. The sides of the mound, glistened with perspiration. The whole rippling smoothness of her belly was hot and hungry. Tension and hollow need boomed in her guts like a jungle drum. Long before she was ready for it, Sharon felt the heated shivers of her pre-come welling outward from her slit. The touches on her clit became almost painful, carried on so long and so well that she couldn't take much more.
"Ahh, yes, yes," Ben growled. He amplified Sharon's movements with tugs on the rope around her wrists. Her torso jerked back and forth in response. The puffy flaps of her cuntlips almost made a vagina for his cock. The labia were swollen, slick with juice, and hot as any fevered flesh. Even the spasmodic opening and closing of her cuntal sphincter added to the Arab's sensation, pulling a section of inner labia tight around his prick, then letting the swampy folds loosen again. He started driving his cock through her thigh-junction faster, harder.
Sharon moaned. Her whole lower body had melted into hot gravy. She jerked back and forth, tugging against the thongs. The slamming, slapping, smashing impact of his belly against her ass-cheeks made her whole torso jiggle. Her tits rippled with every fast, hard drive of his prick. Her belly tightened and relaxed, tensed and slacked as his cock slid forward, then skated back again. Hot, naked streaks of lust shot through her clitty on the push-stroke, then the gut-tightening shiver of her labia folding over her clitty hood made her arch away on his back-stroke. Again and again Ben's belly slapped her ass. Over and over Sharon gasped and shivered. The sensation was so intense that she wanted to die. A tiny fragment of her mind protested, then blinked out under the flood of cuntal sensations that racked her body. "Ohhhhh," she crooned, then her voice went higher like a trombone sliding all the way in. "Oooohhhhhhlihhh.T
Sharon didn't care that the Arab could hear the piteous hunger in her voice. She wanted him to know how incredibly hot she was. She needed to tell Ben how much her pussy ached to feel his prick. Only hours before she'd been a virgin, and now her cunt was making her howl like a starving animal. She straightened until her back arched like a bow. Her tits projected up and out, the nipples aimed outward like a pair of miniature howitzers. She struggled to hold the painful arch, grinding her hips back against Ben's belly. Her asscheeks were raw, but every touch of his male flesh inflamed them with white-hot pleasure.
Ben slipped his prick back, then forward once again. Sharon cringed. She felt the whole length of his joint pass under her cunthole, then rub fire across her clitty. She jammed her ass back against him. His hand left her cunt. It rose to her tit. Juice from her sopping pussy smeared all over the vibrating tip. The whole mound throbbed with frustration, pain, and long-delayed pleasure. Sharon twisted her shoulders. Her tit felt alive under his hand. She forced her nipples against his palm until the whole rock-hard tip pushed back into the springy mass of her titty. She felt his prick start moving back again. Sharon knew she would come with one more touch.
Ben's prick ripped past the mouth of her cunt like a cannonball. The tight ring at the entrance went halfway up the sleeve with the hard, heavy impact. Sharon screamed. Her voice filled the cave with piercing echoes. The sheer power of that first fuck thrust seemed to drive her cuntlips, her clit, ever her asshole up into her belly. The fast-blasting mass of male meat rammed past her cervix, shoving the whole dull lump of her womb up and back. Pressure grew in her belly like an explosion. Sharon didn't know if she could contain it. The shock of the cockhead opening and filling her cunt sleeve made her buckle. She bent from the waist, her tits bouncing with the speed of the motion. Almost as soon as she felt the knob of Ben's cock propel itself into her cunt, she jerked again to the slap of his belly against her asscheeks.
There was nothing Sharon could do, or wanted to do, but ride back and forth on that strong, hard prick. It felt like every erotic nerve in her whole body was on fire. Sharon leaned forward and presented her gleaming asscheeks to the Arab. She gasped for air, then felt him stroke deep again.
The see-saw rhythm of the strokes kept a steady, rapid beat. Sharon moved away, then back. The Arab shoved in, then pulled out. His strokes were short and sharp at first, more a matter of levering his prick in and out than sliding. Sharon added a little rotary motion. Ben responded by reaming bigger circles inside her pussy.
Sharon -liked it. She loved it. She moved faster. The fifteen-year-old worked back and forth, swiveling her hips in a figure-eight that made Ben's prick search every corner of her pussy. The hard, fast in-strokes dragged her bruised cuntlips halfway into her vagina, then pulled her cunt ring outward with a suction that reached halfway to her throat. Sharon took short, fast breaths to keep up with the motions. She pushed her ass back then rolled it forward. Her breasts found the rhythm of the moves. They swayed like pendulums, bouncing once at the top of the arc, once at the bottom. The quick jerks sent sheets of heat through her. Sharon recognized that strange, pre-orgasmic feeling in her belly again.
But it wasn't just her belly that was tightening. Sharon's thighs strained. The cords at the top of the long, smooth columns were taut. The ripe swell of each ass-cheek firmed, then relaxed. Her toes curled tight. Sensation covered her whole body, filling her nerves like Ben's pistoning cock filled her cunt.
And still he didn't stop. His strokes kept the same metronome beat, sloshing in until her asscheeks slapped his belly, pulling back until the suction made her whine. Ben's cock moved further, accelerating faster, then stopping instantly. The beat was the same, but the sliding heat of cock in cunt heated. Sharon felt her juice spurting all around his prick, greasing it. The lube was thinning, and the friction at the mouth of her cunt grew.
The friction didn't matter . . . it helped. Every drag of another heated cuntal cell on his pulsing prickshaft made Sharon's cuntlips hotter. Every bit of traction her labia gained on his meat made the frilly inner lips kiss more strongly at her clitty. Sharon felt the length of his strokes increase, the diameter of his prick grow, and she was glad. Even the scratchy, fiery warmth that grew as his whipping prick skinned juice off her cuntwalls was welcome. It inflamed her clitty more, and she loved it.
Sharon's asshole was working against Ben now. She felt the sphincter open along with her cunt-mouth with each plunging stroke of the Arab's meat. Each time his knob slammed past her cervix, the muscles would snap shut. The curled, scratchy threads of his cock-bush caught in her asshole, then the motion of his withdrawal dragged them through the tight ring of the muscle. Sharon began bucking back against him with vigor. She forced her cunt and her rectum open wider with each plunge of his cock, then clamped down like a fist when he tried to withdraw.
In and out, faster, stopping shorter, plunging deeper, Ben went. Sharon had his fuck thrusts timed perfectly. She milked at his prick. She willed her squishing cunt to clamp down, to open, to writhe and wriggle around his prick. More meat filled her with each hearty bang. The walls of her tube collapsed, emptier with each removal. The sound of sweaty skin slapping her buttocks rang out in the cave like some huge hand slapping water. Sweat and the overflow of cunt-juice from her simmering pussy spattered around them. Sharon smelled the heavy odor of Ben's balls and the ripe musk of her own sloshing cunt. Even while the desert air parched her throat, the cave was full of a fog of juices and sweat and splashing skin smell. Sharon closed her eyes. She forgot about the pulling, mashing, jiggling feel of her heavy tits. She ignored the tickling pull of cock hairs through her clenching asshole. She drowned herself in the sweet friction of her cunt around Ben's pistoning cock.
More cock and more filled her, then emptied her sleeve. Sharon wanted to sob at the end of each out-stroke. Her tube was empty for a heartbreaking fraction of a second before Ben's meat filled her again. Now his prick pulled back until only the head was in, then it slammed deep. Sharon's ass bruised under the impact of his pubic bone. Her womb bounced within her like a rubber ball, rebounding again and again from the savage speed of his cock thrusts. Sharon fucked back at him for all she was worth.
Her brain was on fire. The same raging heat that stripped the nerves of her pussy raw infected her spine, then ran all the way to her head. Red heat and white stars shot across her vision. Her eyelids showed a constant stream of fireworks. Sharon felt the whirling mass of sensation in her cunt accelerate. Sparks detached from the mass of feeling and arced through her. She gasped and babbled. Sharon prayed in English, in Arabic, in Hebrew for release.
Ben's prick went clear to the mouth of her cunt and out.. Sharon screamed with forsaken need. With an impact like an avalanche, Ben's cock blasted into her cunt again.
He pulled out. Sharon waited for an eternity. The flare of his knob slammed through her wide-open cunt ring again. His belly hit her ass. The slap was as loud and wet as liver on a butcher's table. Out, out so far that the whole world, all pleasure and all salvation, disappeared. In, pile driving with steam hammer force. Out again . . . the yawning emptiness of her cunt was wide enough to fall into. Sharon held her breath.
A blast like a boot in the crotch hit her. The Arab screamed and yanked her wrists back. Sharon felt tendons tear. His knob had struck the arch of her pelvis. Another beat of soul-searing emptiness passed before his cock rammed into her cunt again.
Sharon sobbed with relief. The one miss had made her cunt spasm shut. Tissues felt torn as his prick exploded into her cunt again. She ached, but the ache was better than that godawful hollow at the pit of her cunt. Sharon wailed with joy as his cock pulled away again and mashed her cuntlips halfway to her throat.
The beat faltered. Sharon struggled. She worried. Why? She wasn't missing his strokes, was she? Sharon held her hips still. Another stab of cockmeat thrust up into her cunt. The lube was almost gone. The rim of her hole was bone-dry. Her cuntlips squeaked like chalk on a blackboard, sending a shiver of horrified heat from her clit. Another faltering thrust of Ben's cock pushed her to the edge of the crevasse. Sharon teetered.
Ben was straining to pull back again. He moved until his knob tugged at the inside of her cunt ring. Sharon held her breath. She was still as a hunted rabbit. With a last shove that knocked her to the floor of the cave, Sharon felt Ben's cock explode in her pussy.
The pulsating cord along his prick pumped once, twice, a third time. Sharon felt the jerking, bucking motions of Ben's body on top of hers. His weight drove her forward. The added pain of grit against her clit sent her off.
like a dreamer flying and falling, Sharon surrendered to her body. She groaned and gasped in the dust of the floor. She writhed, hunching back up at the pile driver thrusts of Ben's prick. She bounced under him, increasing the hard, heavy magnitude of his strokes. Every cell in her body seemed to expand, then clamp tight around the spouting pole of meat in her cunt. The whole world was thrusting cock and spasming, sopping cunt flesh, and Sharon was around it all. Her mind broke down. Nothing but the sheer sensuality of orgasm existed.
She lost track of the jarring jolts of Ben's prick in her cunt. Even the tidal waves of feeling echoing through her nerves were too much to add up. Sharon let herself be, accepting the awesome power of her pussy mouth and earthshaking cataclysm of her cont.
It seemed like hours before the Arab pulled back. Sharon begged, "Please, no!" The sucking hollow at the center of her being pleaded with his emerging meat.
Ben pulled free with a pop that uncorked a gush of semen. Sharon gave one last convulsive jerk and lay still. A little voice echoed inside her, Fm lost, I'm lost, I'm lost forever! and went still.