Chapter 3

Major Weiss looked at the dispatch, then at the boy who'd brought it. The major was a short, wiry man with reddish-blonde hair and cold blue eyes. His face was triangular, narrowing from a medium-high, medium-wide forehead to an almost button-like chin. His once-snub nose had been battered into a left-leaning blob at the center of his face, and his narrow lips were habitually tense. He turned away from the others at the large wooden table. A tic shuddered in his temple. "They are searching?" he asked in Hebrew.

"Since two o'clock, sir," the boy answered. The messenger wore a djellaba, the loose woolen garment of the desert, and a headdress. He sneaked a look at the officers around the big table. "Will you be coming back with me?"

The major wadded up the sheet of paper and crammed it into the pocket of his slacks. He ripped a page from a small notebook and scribbled a note in English. "Take this to my wife. Stay with her until daybreak. "Take this to my wife, stay with her until home then." He shoved the folded sheet at the messenger and turned abruptly back to the meeting.

The sun had been down a long time, but the air in the cave was still hot as a baker's oven. Sharon lay on her side, her feet drawn up. Another cord lashed her ankles, and the two thongs were tied so that each tug of her feet tightened the strand around her wrists. She ached from the stiffness of lying in one position for so long. The smells of the cave, the men, the donkeys, the stale sweat and the left over odor of fucking, weighed on her like a heavy blanket. She was thirsty and hungry, and the bestial sounds of the four men gnawing and drinking behind her back did nothing to improve her mood. Sharon lay dully, waiting for what seemed like years.

In 1948, the Negev was nearly five thousand square miles of barren desert, with a few hundred irrigated acres at the edges. It borders on the Sinai peninsula, and even on foot, is only a few days from Egypt. In the wastes live only snakes, lizards, small rodents, and few human outcasts, the dregs of once-proud Bedouin tribes. The terrain is more rumpled than a wino's shirt, more hostile than a cornered jackal. In some years a parching hot wind from the east blows all summer, baking nerves, frying tempers, bringing the gentlest to the edge of murder. Further west in Italy and France, the wind is called the mistral, and every Christian court extends mercy to crimes committed when it blows. In Corsica and Sicily, the mistral is mellowed by a thousand miles of water, but still it causes rage, insanity, and cruel death to those who live under its furnace-blast breath.

As Sharon lay in the cave she heard the hot wind moving the sands. Cactus and Joshua trees bend or break, and even the snakes become restless. Sharon stirred in her bonds. A chunk of wood struck her back, thrown from the little circle of her captors. She ached for a taste of water.

The voices of her captors had reached a decision. A note of expectation crept into their voices. The wind and the dullness in her mind kept Sharon from understanding the muttered words, but she felt better. At least something was going to happen.

One of the Arabs swaggered in front of her. He drew a nasty-looking knife from his belt and cut the thong at her ankles. She stared up at his dark, unhandsome face. As was common in the desert dwellers, he wore a thick, heavy mustache and shaved the rest of his face once or twice weekly. The grimy-looking stubble of his whiskers grew to the tops of his cheekbones and down nearly to the tuft of hair at his throat. He squatted beside her, dangling his knife-hilt in his fingertips.

"When do your dogs plan to attack our villages?" he asked, speaking clearly, with a sneer of cruel anticipation.

Sharon shook her head. She tired to speak, but the wind from the desert carried the fulsome reek of his body to her like a cloak of rotting evil.

"We know the wishes of you Zionist swine," he said calmly. "I, Gamal al'Muhammad, have lost lands and livestock to your infidel thieves." He lowered the point of the knife toward Sharon's breasts. Delicately, as if he were flicking a louse from the hem of a garment, he scratched a quick line from halfway up one firm mound to the edge of her nipple.

"No attack . . . we don't want to attack you," Sharon quavered. She looked from Gamal's ugly leer ot the knife, expecting to see her own blood on the tip. "We only want a home . . . we can make the desert grow again, grow food and life for all of us, Jews and Arabs, too."

The knife fascinated her. The handle was polished ram's-horn, glossy from long use. The blade was longer than her hand, blue-gray along the back and sides, gleaming from careful whetting at the edge. A second, in-curved line ran halfway down the back of the blade, just as cold and glistening as the front edge.

"When is the attack?" Gamal repeated. Leaving his left hand hanging limp beside his hip, he held the knife between his knees. He looked from Sharon's face to his right hand. With the skill of long habit, he trimmed the nails of his right hand against the heel of the razor-sharp blade. "We wish to know so we can defend ourselves against your blasphemous racial war. You are forcing violence upon us."

The way he concentrated on his fingernails made his oppressive presence even more terrifying. She struggled to open her tightening throat. "It's-I told you . . . no attack. We . . . I . . . our people want peace."

Gamal took the hilt in his hand again. He scratched a line, as slick and painful as a paper cut, down Sharon's belly. The sharp, needle-like tip of the blade stopped just at the top edge of her cuntal crease. "Before the coming of the Prophet, some of our people had a custom." Gamal moved the knife around slowly, circling the tingling zone of Sharon's clit.

She held perfectly still. With panicked fear in her mind, she tried to will her clitoris to stay small. Blood was racing to the little pellet, making the tissues wake up to the touch, making the chilly shivers flow outward from the nerve-laden organ. With its erection came a shiver that ran from her pussy to her brain.

Gamal bore down a trifle harder. Sharon felt her soft skin split under the knifepoint. A single pulse of blood made the dot of her clitty swell up. Moist warmth grew in her pussy. "Our custom, " Gamal said, "of cutting off the heat-trigger of girls meant they would stay virgin until marriage." He moved the knife again, and the point pressed up against the base of her clit. "It was a father's duty. The child would scream, but she passed into womanhood intact."

Sharon felt a lewd urge building up in her loins.

She tensed her muscles, trying to keep herself from moving. Another tiny bit of stimulation would force her hips to roll. Cold sweat burst from her pores.

The knifepoint moved down, splitting the outer fold of one pussy petal. Sharon sighed with the immense relief. For the long seconds that Gamal's knife had pressed at her clit, she thought of nothing but the searing agony that would rack her if he cut the sensitive organ.

The knife passed along her perineum, splitting the slime that had half-dried between her pussy and her rectum. Sharon shivered. Her asshole puckered tight with the chill of the sensation. She watched Gamal's wrist moving, marking every shift of position. She stared between her breasts, and dismay hit her. Not only was that steamy-wet fluid leaking from her vagina, but her nipples were erecting. A flood of shame washed over her. Sharon wished that she could at least close her legs, but Gamal's arm was between her thighs. Any motion might drive that gruesomely sharp knife into her crotch.

"Perhaps the best thing would be to prevent the attack," Gamal said. "But, we have no way of doing that unless we can disarm your friends." He slipped the knife around the tight, ticklish ring of her asshole, then held the blade upright again.

Sharon tensed. Her whole body went rigid as cement. Gamal placed the flat of the blade over the whole warming mound of her labia and rocked it back and forth. The double-edged point sliced easily into her labia, and the thick steel near the hilt mashed her clit hotly back into its juicy nest. With a little moan of fear and pleasure, Sharon's hips began to rock. She moved in a slow, sensuous coital motion, reinforcing the easy pushes of the knife. Warmth trickled past the tip of the knife to her rectum. Sharon didn't know if it was her own juice or blood leaking from the widening slits on her inner labia.

"It would be very much easier if you told me where the arms are." Gamal looked down at the rolling, rocking, sensuously circling center of Sharon's loins. He crooned low in his throat. The Arab held his knife still and watched Sharon work her pussy back and forth against it.

Sharon hardly heard him. The fear, the pain, and the partial relief from both had excited her. She didn't care about the cutting slices the knife skinned out of her cuntlips. She didn't care that her naked body was amusing Gamal. All that mattered was the insistent steel against her pussy and the way it warmed to the touch of her loins. She pulled her knees up and moved faster. Unable to help herself, she stared at Gamal, pleading with her eyes. She moaned, a prayer for satiation.

Gamal opened the front of his djellaba. The thin, stained cotton bloomers under it bulged out with the thick burden of his erect cock. He pulled the knife away from her cunt. Without releasing the handle, he untied the front of his pants and skinned them down. He did everything one-handed, his left hand still hanging at his side.

Sharon writhed on the floor, desperate. She hated herself for wanting the torture to go on. The pain of the slits on her labia was nothing . . . the real pain was Gamal's denying her cunt the pleasure of release. Sharon had known within seconds that she could come against the knife. "Please, respected one," she whimpered in Arabic. "A 'lakbar, effeiidi!"

The whole throbbing length of Gamal's cock jutted toward her, as long and rigid and hot as any of the cocks she'd felt that day. Sharon scrambled around on the floor, trying to enfold him with her legs. Gamal slapped her backhanded, her fist still closed around his knife. "Camel balls would rot in your cunt!" he snarled. Reversing his fist, he jammed the ram's-horn hilt of the knife into her vagina. The twist of the knobby handle reamed into her cunthole like a drill. Sharon screamed with rage and pain and cunty heat. Every inch-wide ripple of the polished horn sent her vaginal sphincter into spasm. Gamal twisted the hilt. The end swiveled, stretching an almost obscene fullness into her cunt. Her hips bucked upward. Sharon felt a storm of lust break out in her belly. The muscles of her thighs, the rolling flexion of her asscheeks, and tense, knotting panel of her smooth abdomen all worked together to move the horn in and out of her cunt. She felt the suction move the handle deeper, then the pressure of clenching muscles pushed it out. Sharon rode higher and higher, reaching toward the crest of an orgasm.

Gamal straddled her chest. His bony asscheeks mashed her tits. Sharon writhed under his weight, gasping in the heavy stench of his crotch. Gamal grabbed her hair with his right hand. He pulled, and

Sharon's head came up.

She was horrified to see the blind eye of his prick staring at her, but the overriding passion in her cunt left her powerless. Sharon opened her mouth to gasp. Gamal shoved his prick in.

The sudden spearing of male meat into her mouth shocked her. Sharon tried to pull back. She pressed her tongue against the end of his glans. Sharon wanted that obscene, thick, meaty mass out of her mouth, but Gamal thrust deeper. His fist clenched in her hair and pulled harder. With her scalp ready to rip, Sharon submitted.

"Lick me . . . suck me," Gamal snarled. He emphasized his demands with another yank at her hair. Sharon pursed her lips around the thick middle of his cock and sucked. The odor of his prick, the reek of his balls, and the clinging fetor of shit caked around his rectum almost choked her. Sharon rolled her eyes up toward his face.

Gamal was grinning savagely down at her. He moved his ass forward and back, gliding on the lush pillows of her tits. Sharon's nipples pressed up at him and throbbed with the weight of his ass. She thrashed around, and Gamal let go of her hair. His hand smashed into the side of her face. "Bite and you will die in the greatest agony Allah can provide," he hissed.

Sharon sucked again, then licked around the rim of his knob. A strange excitement began to flutter in her middle. She ran her tongue around and around the wide flare of the knob, then titillated the little slit at the tip. The taste was salty-strong, with an overlay of bitterness, but it struck a strange chord deep inside her. An eerie, lewd connection between the twisted fullness in her cunt and the warm, meaty presence in her mouth made her heart beat faster.

Gamal smiled as Sharon began to work more earnestly. His lips stretched wider. "Yes, yes, to move your tongue around slowly and with care," he muttered. He held her face in his right hand and stroked deeper, then pulled back. Only the head of his cock remained in her mouth.

Sharon found the shape and the size of his knob tremendously exciting. She lavished tongue work on the rim, the sloping back, the little tuck at the front. She pressed her lips tighter around the narrow neck of the wand and moved her head back. She sucked heartily, and the glans grew. Sharon took more cock into her mouth, licking and swirling around the end with her tongue, and it shrank partway down again.

Gamal hesitated for a moment. His cruel smile became wider. His lip twisted in a sneer. With clumsy care, he rubbed the palm and fingers of his left hand along the side of Sharon's face, then reached back to mold her cuntlips around the hilt of his knife.

Sharon felt the heat within her leap up like a fire flaring under a bucketful of gasoline. She didn't care that the residual shit from the Arab's left hand had dirtied her face, or that the ragged, brown-stained nails of his hand were poking and prodding at her cunt. All that mattered was the glowing excitement that his filthy hand added to her swampy cunt and the slow, lascivious strokes of his prick in her mouth. She sucked harder, working her lips and tongue like a fantastically skillful cunt. Every cell in her mouth seemed receptive to the long, hot mass of his prick and the spongy swell of his knob.

Every second of the act inflamed her more. Sharon almost wished that her pussy weren't so full, that his fingers would stop kneading the softness around her clitty. The fascination of cocksucking deserved more careful study than she could give with her cunt so close to coming. A slight taint of fear stayed, too, the fear that her orgasm would make her jaws automatically contract. Sharon tried to separate the fellatio from the feelings in her crotch, but the Arab's twisting, writhing, cunt-pleasing fingers wouldn't let her.

She sucked voraciously. Sharon felt the top of his helmet-like glans press against her palate, then slide erotically back along the roof of her mouth. The tight ring at the top of her throat half-opened around his prickhead. Gamal shoved deep, and Sharon fought to keep from gagging. She sucked harder when he pulled back, then paused for the next forward stroke.

The rhythm was as relentless as her rape had been. Sharon sucked and licked, worked and writhed. Her tits were aching with pleasure. Her nipples were two living spots of electric excitement. Every motion of her body or Gamal's made the feeling in her mouth and her pussy climb higher.

When Gamal shoved deep, fucking his prick violently into her mouth, Sharon struggled to swallow the whole long mass. Her tongue worked frantically, fighting to bring the knob into her throat. Her lips parted. Saliva drooled from the corners of her mouth. Sharon gasped for air. She forced herself to keep her tongue rippling along the underside of his prick. She felt Gamal's hand leave her pussy. Sharon wanted to scream in desperation.

A gradual change in Gamal's cock thrusts made Sharon slow the rapid whipping of her tongue. She lavished voluptuous licking on the rim of his knob. The glans swelled up and stayed. Larger and larger it grew. Sharon felt a tremble in the shaft. She coaxed saliva out from under her tongue. She let her lips part until the whole lower half of her face was covered with spittle. She drooled like an oozing well. Sharon's hips still churned, but more slowly. The power of her hip motions increased as Gamal's cockhead grew.

The knob filled her whole mouth. Even when he pulled back, the top ridge pressed her palate and the arrowed wedge at the underside pressed at her tongue. Sharon sucked. It swelled another quarter-inch. Her heels pressed down into the dirt of the cave. Her hips rose. Her asscheeks were half a foot off the floor. Sharon's cunt sucked and pushed at the hilt of the knife. The knobby horn moved up and down, stretching and stimulating her cunt sleeve.

With a slight hitch in his motion, Gamal pulled back. He pushed forward again. Sharon's tongue rolled lustily around his knob. She combined suction and licking, searching out every nerve in his prickhead.

Gamal shoved in, pulled out, fucked vigorously into her head. His hand held her face steady. He gathered steam. His strokes accelerated like a train leaving a station. The knob battered the back of her mouth. Sharon gulped saliva. More spit flowed from her mouth. Her jaw ached. The inner surfaces of her lips hurt. The bruising force of his fuck strokes battered them against her teeth.

His balls swung forward with each thrust. They slapped against Sharon's chin. She felt the hairs sticking in the drool that covered her face. With a supreme effort, she extended her lips further down his shaft.

Gamal pulled back further. His ridge slipped out of her lips, then burst back in. He drove his cock past the muscle at the tip of her throat. Sharon gagged. His prick went out again.

Gamal held back, shivering. Sharon's ass was high in the air. She rolled her shoulders, forcing her tits against his cheeks. With a last, long, heavy thrust, Gamal's prick blasted deep. A jet of thick, bitter fluid spewed into Sharon's mouth.

Sharon gulped. Her throat puckered with the stringy assault. She tried to swallow more, but the next spurt drove cream out of her lips. Another pulse then another filled her mouth to overflowing with jism.

Sharon's pussy started going off. She recognized the brutal pulses, the viscous fluid, as Gamal's peak. She struggled to suck more from his cock. The flow was tapering off. The cloying taste coated her mouth. She tried desperately to drain his prick, flicking her tongue at the slit of the tip.

Another squirt, much smaller, shot into her mouth. Sharon swallowed. Her pussy was forcing her hips up, down, left and right. She wanted to weep as his prick pulled out of her mouth. Sharon wished he'd kept on. Her pussy's clasping, clenching pulsations increased, then faded. With a long gasp, she lay still.

When Sharon looked up, Gamal was already standing, pulling his pants up. He arranged his robes around himself. She tried to speak, but the gummy semen glued her lips to her teeth. "I. . . I'm thirsty," she stammered.

Without looking at her, Gamal bent over. He retrieved his knife with a single jerk.

Sharon thought her cunt would collapse with pain. The twisted horn gouged a path down the front of her cuntal tube. She doubled up, staring in shock and apin. Gamal walked away, sheathing the knife in his belt. He farted audibly and left the cave.